work in progress

Life and writing: where it all stands

Wednesday, February 6th, 2013

Several folks have asked me lately, in the various and sundry ways of communication these days, what I’m working on. If you are one of the few, the proud, or the curious who swing by this blog from time to time to see how it goes with me and where the heck I’m living right now, I hope you will find this FAQ helpful.

  • I thought you were living in Oregon/Maine/Texas/California? The latter would be correct, but only until October. Then we might stay in California. Or go to Massachusetts. Or Virginia. I sure hope not Alaska. It depends on the Coast Guard clinic where E. will get stationed.
  • Wait, you’re married? You and I really haven’t talked in a while, have we? E and I are formalizing the whole shebang in Manhattan next month, where it’s legal ‘n stuff.
  • Wait, to a woman? Last time I checked, yep.
  • I thought you wrote fiction. What are all these Salon essays? My weekend fun. I do still, as ever, bleed fiction every morning from 7 a.m. to 11 a.m.
  • What’s happening with that weird set-in-the-future Mideast novel? The great Marjorie Braman edited it last winter. I brooded on it for a year. Now I’m halfway done with a revision, and I’m posting chapters on Authonomy to see if the genre really is all that weird. The editors chose it as One to Watch last week. I hope the new draft is ready to submit later this spring—only, oh, a  year after I wanted it to be done and told people it would be done. (Clutches hair in hands.)
  • How’s business? The Threepenny Editor turned ten this month. It’s great. I’m booked until May, but taking a week off every month to write, though, for my sanity.
  • Did I see something about your going to school? I’m also getting a second bachelor’s in Arabic.
  • Do you still race? No, I just run. If you do, too, I’ll see you at the San Francisco Marathon this summer.

 

 

When an editor hires an editor.

Friday, March 9th, 2012

At February’s San Miguel de Allende writer’s conference, agent Kathleen Anderson had some great advice for writers. One of the unexpected good fortunes to shake loose from the publishing industry’s  layoffs is the sudden abundance of freelance editors for hire.

Let me clarify exactly how good this is. There have always been lots of freelance editors. I am one. In my ten years of full-time freelancing, I have had to work very hard to distinguish my website from the sites of unscrupulous people who say they know how to edit, but don’t know the difference between an em-dash and an M&M.

The editors that Kathleen Anderson is talking about, on the other hand, are hard to find on the web. They have little websites that are as plain as vanilla pudding. But buried on those HTML-coded dinosaurs is a list of successful authors that scrolls, and scrolls, and (remember, these aren’t high-tech websites) keeps on scrolling.

You’ll find some of them on Facebook here and here.

You’ll pay a lot for these editors’ services. You’ll get unvarnished honesty, and a frank opinion of how salable your manuscript is. The advice is worth it. I have sat through hundreds of workshops in my writing career, and edited hundreds of manuscripts since I left the Carnegie Mellon University Press to start my own business. I don’t trust editors easily. I may not have hired one had my mentor, Jane McCafferty (First You Try Everything, One Heart), not personally recommended her now-freelance editor, Marjorie Braman, to me.

And let me say, Kathleen Anderson’s tip is right on. Marjorie is now probably the only person in the world who can tell me to change everything, and I’ll listen. I am sixty pages into a revision of a novel I never thought I would rewrite, and I love what the advice is doing for the story.

Being an editor gives me some advantages as a writer, but I still need outside help. If I didn’t love my characters enough to overlook a few of their shortcomings, I wouldn’t have felt compelled to tell their stories in the first place. As my wife’s academic advisor once told her about medicine, “You don’t have to know everything. You just can’t be stupid.”

And it would be foolish indeed to ignore the wealth of editorial talent out there right now.

Who’s Controlling YOUR Internet?: A Review of the Book You Don’t Know You Need to Read

Friday, October 28th, 2011

Who Controls the Internet?: Illusions of a Borderless WorldWho Controls the Internet?: Illusions of a Borderless World by Jack L. Goldsmith

My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Written accessibly by a Harvard law professor and one from Columbia, this is the kind of “new history” that should probably, soon, become an essential part of our standard education about the world. It explains how the Internet came to be, why it failed as a truly borderless space, and how and why meatspace issues such as censorship, commerce, politics, and even warfare have begun to duplicate themselves in cyberspace.

Although published in 2006, this book is worth talking about now for two reasons. First, it’s interesting. I have been studying power and coercion for a while, and these ought to be issues relegated to the physical world, a.k.a., meatspace. The body is the ultimate place of enforcement. Without the threat of pain or imprisonment, there is no ultimate consequence to lend force to a demand. The Internet’s early popularity in the late 80s and early 90s was due in part to the recognition that cyberspace was different: there was no such thing as a painful consequence. When people organized themselves there, they did it anarchically, and the system worked because no one could aggregate disproportionate force.

Which brings me to the second reason why the book is important. The Internet’s history ought to be taught in classrooms: It has founders, inventors, competing systems of governance, and international drama. For instance, the Internet’s early anarchic structure failed when the U.S. government reasserted its rights to the root servers (citing that the Internet’s invention in the 60s was funded by a DARPA contract). The reason was money. Capitalism. Now is an opportune time to mention that I believe that history, as a course of study, exists to give us perspective on why we do what we do, and why our environment looks the way it does; as opposed to just acting on guesswork, assumption, and blind tradition. And given this premise, I will also voice a supposition that if this particular history is excluded from public school curricula, the cause is not mere oversight. As long as the Internet is a cornerstone of U.S. commerce, its historical, anarchic roots are a threat to the cultural assumption that unregulated capitalism is the only route to freedom.

As Dave Clark, one of the Internet’s founding minds, says: “We reject: kings, presidents, and voting. We believe in: rough consensus and running code.” And for over thirty years, this was the Internet’s credo. Without ideal anarchy, the Internet would not exist as it does today.

If you’re reading this review, I’m guessing you spend a fair chunk of time on the Internet. As long as the Internet is a tool that consumes a great deal of our lives, influences our understanding of the world, and can fail or be forcibly removed from our lives, it is worth understanding–therein lies the ability to judge fair and worthy use from trivial, stupid, or malicious use.

Note: I may change my rating to five stars after finishing the book, but I have not yet finished digesting the authors’ premise that the nation-state is in fact essential to the Internet’s stability. From a pragmatic standpoint (which is perhaps the only relevant one), they are likely correct. But my bias is toward idealism, and I would yet like to find some possibility for a stable, long-term form of Dave Clark’s manifesto on cyberspace.

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Some goals, and the not-quite WIP

Tuesday, October 25th, 2011

Since finishing SHAHIDA in April (and again in August), I’ve been researching the next novel. It is a low-level obsession, always at a simmer, which is how I know the idea has the staying-power to keep me interested in the project for the next two to three years. Still lacking an outline, or even a logline, I cannot call it my work-in-progress yet: But I can finally identify the obsession. It’s that America has been at war for ten years, but until I met my wife, who is a decorated participant therein, it was easy to, well… forget, most days, that we are fighting.

  • From this side of the gun (or console), why does war look so much like peace? Should it?
  • Is it a war between the United States and al-Qaeda, or between the nation-state and a borderless state?
  • What does victory look like? How do we know for sure if we’ve won?
  • Who is responsible for this quasi-amnesia, and is it needed to win a war on terror?
  • What does Internet freedom have to do with it?

I know the standard answers to these questions. Those answers fit on placards. The longer versions fit in op-eds. But there is a dystopia, a speculative novel, something, simmering between the lines, too. My goal is to outline the story soon, and then fill a few more months with research; I will say more later, but for now, I trust there is an important effect on human identity, and therefore relationships, that matters here. And that effect is worth a novel.

Besides that goal, here are the others in no order: Finish the marathon on Nov. 13. Stay on schedule at work. Plant some flowers around the tree in the backyard. Find a damn agent, finally. Walk the dogs in this beautiful warm autumn weather. Sleep well two nights in a row. And life is good; therefore, to live it in awareness that it is not good for everyone, and write something that might make a difference.

What doesn’t grow, doesn’t travel well.

Wednesday, February 23rd, 2011

An update on SHAHIDA is long overdue, and like most things novelists say, requires context.

The short of it is that I plan to have a complete draft by the end of March, and am hauling away loads of scaffolding–that is, what the Portland Dangerous Writers call those tedious passages of first-draft writing in which the novelist explains the story to herself. The only thing SHAHIDA lacks is its ending, which lies somewhere beneath the final load of scaffolding. You can’t find clarity until you’ve piled a lot of chaos on top of it, and let it germinate.

The long of it is that while I am finishing this novel, E. and I will be uprooting ourselves again and moving to San Antonio. I’m getting better at chaos–at searching for houses from afar, checking walk scores, finding the right glassware (e.g., the margarita glasses) on the other side, and most of all, stepping back from routines, favorite streets, new friends, and whatever lens on the world is local to the current city. Except for the friends, it’s scaffolding. It doesn’t travel well. Unless it someday appears in a novel, reshaped or cleverly distorted, it’s gone.

What travels is the habit of writing; the love of my work; the long e-mails with friends (it has been a joy to discover a sharper premise in tandem with my friend Laura Stanfill‘s own journeys into her novel, for instance); and the whole complex inner city that is a relationship with another human being. Maybe language, too–the most personal lens on the world, our voice.

There seems to be a chicken-and-egg question with regard to adaptation, travel, and growth. What doesn’t travel cannot learn to adapt. Yet what doesn’t grow doesn’t travel well, either.

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