Month: March 2019

Saturday night, I attended the birthday party of a good friend and a supporter of my work. Yes, I had a very good time but there came a humbling moment late in the evening. It happened unexpectedly, as most of these moments do, and left me with (as my older daughter would say) “some good and bad feels.”

What happened?

This wonderful birthday woman, a true lady in all respects, introduced me to some of her guests as a published author. As the good people they are, their immediate responses were complimentary and bespoke the automatic reverence many of us hold for the authorship of any completed and published book.

At first, I thought these compliments were the ‘good feels’ I wanted and deserved – pride of recognition, pride of accomplishment, pride of the acknowledgement of the hard work, focus, and dedication of completing not only 1 but 2 books with a 3^rd on the editor’s desk, and more, in other genres, to follow. But then, right in the middle of this ‘feel-good moment,’ I inexplicably found my tongue tied and stumbled along for a few minutes until, fortunately, we were called to sing ‘Happy Birthday’.

I spent most of yesterday revisiting this moment.

Why did I run to hide behind the curtain when the spotlight shined on me?

The epiphany struck when I recalled a passage I myself had written in Book One – The Last Born. Ever intent on teaching Chork the virtues of knighthood, Dame Pogi says to the elf,

“Humility teaches us that pride is both a vice and a virtue, like two sides of the same coin. A vice, when you strut like a peacock for no good reason. A virtue, when temperance and truthfulness are applied.”

Integrity, first.

The real ‘good feels’ came the moment when temperance and truthfulness had stepped forward and had stayed my tongue.

The ‘bad feels’ moment came the next day when I realized I should have voiced to those good people what I was thinking – “I deserve little credit for I can do so much better. I owe it to you as readers, to my friend who already sings my praises, and to me.”

Thank you, good friend. I came to celebrate your birthday and received two wonderful presents – a proper dose of humility and a large helping of inspiration.

Integrity, first.

Writing this post is arrogant. At least, that’s how I feel as my fingers rest on the home row of the keyboard.

I am no great novelist. I may never get there, or even close to it. But I won’t stop trying. It’s that one regret I do not want to face on my death bed. “He was a lousy writer.” But at least I tried.

I’ve been told that what I am about to reveal (as if it’s some great secret) is precisely what readers and other budding authors want to know. They ask: “How many iterations were there before you published? How many drafts? How many edits? Are you a planner or a ‘pantser’? Why does it take so long between books? Where did the idea for your story come from? Why did you choose this genre? Isn’t is just about you? Aren’t you just doing it for the money?”

To answer these and other questions and, hopefully, to inspire those who fear that same death-bed regret, I offer this first post in a series about writing books in The Last Elf series.

You should know that I sort of subscribe to Stephen King’s writing process – the first draft is you telling yourself the story; the second draft is you telling the reader the story. Yes, sometimes I do mix the two. (Mea Culpa, Mr. King. Every writer has his or her own quirks.)

I’ve already told myself the entire story in detailed outlines, storyboards, time lines, character and realm arcs, and countless notes (ranging in length from single phrases to pages of prose and dialogue). In other words, if you somehow could organize the charts, graphs, index cards, Word files, notebooks, and reams of yellowing copy paper into their proper order, you too would know The Last Elf story from word one to the final period. This is what Mr. King might call the first draft – me telling myself the story.

The fact that I did this, I’m told, makes me a ‘planner.’

Also, that makes what I call the ‘first draft’ (on my website and when talking to others) the first draft of the second draft – or, more concisely – the first draft of me telling you the story.

The second draft immediately follows the first. This is a rewrite. I add and subtract bits and pieces, change wording to assuage my inner voice’s rhythm and reasoning, align flawed character behavior, and triple check time lines. I also repeatedly run spell and grammar checks and exhaustively review the consistency of terms, name usage, and titles. Usually, I remove as many of those ‘pungent literary meanderings which bespeak my artistry and mastery of the language’ as my ego allows.

Only when I deem that this draft is the best it can be, do I send it to my editor.

This is the most emotional period in the book’s creation. It’s like giving your first born to a babysitter and leaving for a full year abroad. You place a year’s worth of effort into the hands of someone else and say, “Here’s the best I can do, and you’ll think so too.”

He disagrees. Always. He delineates, in minute detail and without a dollop of mercy, the what, when, where, and why.

Recall the babysitter metaphor above? Imagine you return home to find that the babysitter felt your first born was not all he or she could be, took a meat cleaver, and …

He provides me with these bloody pieces in a Word file, which I open and read.

I spend a day or two complaining and whining, claim his parents were not married and call into question his sanity. Then, I print it out and begin to work on the first rewrite. Caviling over every change, I fix plot holes and character arcs, break long sentences into shorter ones, rearrange illogical flows, add or remove detail, turn dialogue into prose (or vice versa), AND REMOVE COMMAS.

Back to the editor it goes. Afterall, I enjoyed reassembling my baby so much, I must do it a second time.

Now this could go on without end. Write, edit, rewrite. Some fellow writers fall into this deep, black hole of continual improvement. Some never come out. Some emerge with a child ready to face the world.

Is it maturity and a growing confidence in my story telling that enables me to kick the baby bird from the nest to fly away on its own? Maybe. I certainly hope so.

I also hope you do too. Book 3 goes to the editor’s cutting board on March 16.

Finally, after a year-long struggle, the first draft of Book 3, The Gathering Fails, is complete. At a whopping 107,148 words, it is the longest manuscript to date in The Last Elf series. A full 25% more content than either of its two predecessors, this draft pounded the crap out of me. I have the scars to prove it.

Why so long?

Book 3 not only follows Chork’s journey from Donham to Gooleport, it introduces the Blue Leafs, the band of last-born elves mentioned in The Prophecy – “Now, gather Thirteen, Those Last to be born from Homes Made of Green.” Led by Prince Ellessar and Princess Sabrine, these bold elves have sworn to ensure Chork fulfils Jhodon Rafke’s divination. They are as varied in look and feel, in personality and ability, as the humans after which they are modeled.

Along for the ride are old and new supporting characters. Some good and others evil, these characters play current and future roles in the unfolding story of The Last Elf. Warning: Like me, you may need a colored index card catalog to keep track of them. Or, you can refer to the Glossary on my website.

Don’t forget Jolph Rhince and his plans to conquer the realms of Brehm. His minions, and the turmoil they cause, proliferate, providing a background of impending doom for the ancient and new races on this world of magic and wonder.

So, what’s next?

Uh, a quick rewrite to incorporate the notes made during the manuscript’s composition – “What happened to the keg of Last Born Ale that Albert gave to Chork?” Then …

Rather than make this longer, let’s do this: Check out my next week’s post to learn more about how a book in The Last Elf series materializes.