Success or not - Did my short story get published?

Dear Robert.

Thank you for submitting "Sunglasses" to Midnight Echo.

Sadly, we regret to inform you that we are declining acceptance at this time.

This was an original piece, well written and approached taboos unlike anything I've read this submissions period. However, I felt that the emphasis was on the disgusting rather than the horror that arrived a little too late in the story.

Good luck in placing this submission elsewhere.

I have to return to work tomorrow.  The $58.36 before tax isn't coming.  Fortunately, the writing industry has prepared me for this occurrence.  In Stephen King’s book ‘On Writing’ he says he would stick his rejections on a nail.  He started submitting stories to magazines very young, but didn’t get published until he was 20:

By the time I was fourteen … the nail in my wall would no longer support the weight of the rejection slips impaled upon it. I replaced the nail with a spike and kept on writing.

I’m starting later than Stephen, but unlike tennis, the muscles required are less prone to old age.  The response is encouraging, and gives me a hint on how to improve.  Let’s see if somebody else is willing to publish.  Meanwhile, on to the next story...and continue with the novel.

But what about you?  Are you wondering what generated the phrase ‘emphasis was on the disgusting’?  What did I write about?  You’ll have to wait until a publisher picks it up to find out, or, in a couple of decades, when I’m rich and famous, I release a money-making anthology of short stories that no one would publish before.

The Co-efficient of Friction - what surfaces conflict in your life?

You may remember a recent blog about Momentum.  Who knew that my Bachelor of Science in mathematics and statistics, with a dalliance in physics would come in so handy?  Let’s move on to understanding friction.

Not the friction that occurs between me and my daughter when she wants to play for a fourth hour on her Nintendo 3DS, and I want her to practice the piano.  Although, this blog might be applicable.  Let’s come back later and test it out.

No, I mean the friction between two surfaces, that either stops the objects from movement, or slows down their movement.  It gets a little more complicated than momentum (I can tell, because I quickly understood the mathematics around momentum, but am struggling a little with Coulomb’s Law of Friction).  Suffice it to say, there is a value known as the Co-efficient of Friction, which varies depending on the two surfaces in contact.  For example, ice on steel has a very low co-efficient of friction, although not as low as Teflon.   

Another time, I’m going to write about Teflon coated people, but let’s master the basics first.

Rubber on dry concrete has a high co-efficient of friction, and this is important when you lock your brakes up.  You want the car to come to a quick stop.  Another pair of surfaces that have a metaphorically high co-efficient of friction are writing and procrastination.

As I write, with the momentum I have, there is a force working against me.  That’s how friction is experienced.  I’m tempted by so much.  Should I stop and check how many hits my blog has had?  Are any of my friends saying anything of interest on Facebook.  Recently I rediscovered my love for table-tennis on the Wii.  It’s very realistic, mirroring topspin and slice.  Next thing you know, several hours are gone as my daughter and I strived to defeat the Champion...without success.

How did my earlier conversation go?

‘Daddy, I’ve already practiced four times this week.  I don’t need to practice anymore.’  Siena’s voice needs a shriek meter to measure the decibels.

‘How often does your piano teacher say you should practice?’

‘Twice a week.  That’s all.  Why are you so mean to me?  Give me back my things.’  Blackmail is a constant in our house, as Siena reminds me.  It’s a big concept for a ten year old, but she understands it well.

‘Let’s call your piano teacher and ask her.’  Parents can be so wicked.  I disturbed our Piano teacher on her Saturday morning and was rewarded with the knowledge that Siena should practice twenty minutes every day.  But the best advice was to ask Siena to complete her Piano practice diary every day.  I don’t know if that will work, but it’s certainly worth trying.  It’s probably a good idea for me to overcome my writing friction.

What are the surfaces conflicting in your life, and how do you overcome the co-efficient of friction?

There are words we shouldn't use.

There are words that we should just not use.

In the seventy-five thousand words of Chapters One through Twenty-Three of the first draft of my novel, there are 651 iterations of the word ‘that’, and 135 instances of ‘just’.

There are words we should not use.

The second draft of my recent short story focused on removal of these terrible words.  They kill the flow and remove the immediacy.

There are only three ‘just’s in the finished product, two in dialogue, and one I agonised over before leaving.  There are too many ‘that’s in the story – eight in total.

Deadlines are the enemy.  I was busy correcting some logic flaws and missed some word and line editing.  Let’s hope it’s still OK, but there is a lesson here.  Allow enough time for the required editing.  Here are my rules, developed over a few years of writing, articulated for the first time.

Draft 1: Get the story down.  So the story is shit.  Burn it and whip a sharp knife across your throat, or finish the bloody thing and see what’s needed to fix it.

Draft 2: Correct the logic flaws.  Oh, you forgot to mention the bad guy is a sniper until he needs to make a thousand yard shot.  Oh, you need to have a cold, wet and windy night, but it’s the middle of summer.  Oh, the back story requires your main character to have experienced something before they were born.  These become obvious as you write the story, and are fixed with the addition of a paragraph, or the changing of a number.

Draft 3: Correct the word errors, such as ‘just’ and ‘that’, or the repetition of the same word in adjacent paragraphs.  Don’t worry about understanding misplaced modifiers, or the difference between future perfect verbs and past progressive verbs.  I’m no grammar expert, but if a sentence reads funny, there’s something wrong.  Stop and change it, even if you can’t spot the grammatical issue.  Trust your reading.

Draft 4: Beautify the wording.  To all my lecturers over the last six years, thank you!  In my recent short story, I looked, ever so briefly, at rhythm and poetic elements.  A critical paragraph full of colours, originally described as yellow, green and black, lifted from flat to interesting, as green became ‘spinach-coloured’, yellow became ‘jaundiced’, and black became ‘inky’.

I should have finished draft four several weeks before the deadline, and let the story rest for some time.  Next time, hey.

The Australian Horror Writers Association short story competition is open until May 31.  I’d best get cracking.

Tax advice please - disclosure of a writer's earnings.

Imagine putting on your tax return under profession: WRITER.

I submitted a story to a money-paying magazine for the first time yesterday.  Two cents a word.  The story is 2918 words, so if it gets published, I get a cheque for $58.36.  Woo hoo.

Will I have to declare the income and pay tax?  Of course, there are significant expenses to negatively gear.  Late fees on library books not finished within the allotted time; cups of tea purchased on breaks at TAFE; journals purchased and never opened.  Legitimate expenses incurred in the development of my writing career!

What’s that you ask?  If they pay two cents a word why not write more?  Good question.  The limit is 5,000 words but the payment is capped at $75.  A fortune was never going to be made.  Better to let the story happen in the best amount of words.

No doubt the magazine receives many submissions...the odds of selection are slim.  If, in a few weeks, it doesn’t get published, you’re welcome to ask for a copy.  No charge, because it wasn’t even worth $58.36.

 

But the tax advice is still relevant, because if this one doesn't get published, another one will.

I play tennis too...

I’m supposed to be writing, but I play tennis too.  The Australian Open is on, and with two Australians making the fourth round, there’s a bit to watch.

An old hero is back – Ivan Lendl is coaching Andy Murray.  Do you remember Ivan?  People said he was robotic and boring.  He hit the ball hard on both sides.   Fantastic.  I caught a glimpse from the entry to a packed Margaret Court Arena, and saw him strike a forehand.  The ball boomed through the air before topspin took hold and the fluffy green ball dove for the baseline.  He won three consecutive US Open finals and played in eight consecutive US Open finals.  He trained obsessively day after day.  Every hour of his professional life was scripted, from the hours spent on physical training, to practice, to what he ate.  Despite not being the most gifted tennis player, through his physical and mental regime, he remains third in number of tournaments won.

Lendl leads me to think of the scruffy Miroslav Mecir, nicknamed ‘The Big Cat’ because of his court movement, and the ‘Swede Killer’ because he kept beating the endless array of Swedes that followed Bjorn Borg.  At University, with an unshaven look, one of my tennis playing friends honoured me with the nickname ‘The Big Cat’, unfortunately, not because I could play like Mecir.  Have a look on youtube.  He was deft, loving the angles on the court, and balls seemed to accelerate away from his racquet.  Impossible, but it comes from the timing and the effortlessness of the shots.  His talent was inspiring when it was on display.  He won Gold in the Seoul Olympics.

And then youtube sucks you in.  You can watch Rosewall playing Laver.  If you’re my age, or younger, you probably haven’t seen either of them play much.  I saw Rosewall play on grass at Kooyong when he was about 40 years of age, sliding backhands down the line and volleys finding corners of the court.  There’s an argument for Rosewall being the best player ever, but his peak occurred when he played professional tennis and was ineligible to play in the Grand Slams.  He had the most wonderful slice backhand.

I still remember when Madeleine, my first daughter, played an outstanding backhand in competition.  She served out wide to a boy’s forehand, he scrabbled it back to the middle of the court, and she leaned into her double-handed backhand and banged it to the other side of the court.  The boy had no chance.  I can’t play that shot.

John Newcombe is commentating now on the Nadal / Lopez match.  He spoke of how Tony Roche coaches children, and asks them to hit balls as hard as they can into the corner.  They hit them well for the first four or five shots and then slip away in standard.  Tony stops them and says, Rafa practices that shot one hundred times.

I didn’t have a playing or practice partner in my late teens, so I trudged to the tennis courts, alone, with a bucket of balls and a target to position in the backhand corner of each service box.  To this day, I can serve to your backhand every time.  If I had practiced serving to the other side I might manufacture an ace or two.  Still, the logic remains sound – at my level – the backhand is always weaker.

At Rod Laver’s level too.  He sported a set of left arm much larger than his right, used to whip his topspin forehand around the court.  For a right-hander, that forehand springs up and away from your backhand, a very uncomfortable position.  Much practice builds up muscles, and there’s the parallel with writing – it too is about practice, and the more you write, the stronger your writing muscle.

So it’s ok to take a break from writing, to learn lessons from other activities.  Just as well, because one of my highlights of 2011 was the tennis tournament at Kerang with the family.  Four days and fourteen matches left me a broken but happy man, and I played doubles with Shelley and Madeleine, and with Siena in her first ever competitive match.  Siena has now played a full season of competitive tennis - undefeated in seven singles matches!  I can’t wait to get back to Kerang in 2012 and I might start training soon.

Meanwhile, I’d best get back to writing.  The leaders of my favourite sport demonstrate the commitment required to get to the top.  If you want to sell a million copies and reap the rewards, the lessons are there.

Siena's bored at Venus Bay.

‘I’m bored.’

If you’re a parent, you’ve heard those words a few times.

‘Name ten things that aren’t boring.’  Ditto.

‘You could go for a swim.’  There are thirty or more kilometres of sand on the Venus Bay beach.  The water temperature is fine in summer.  One time my heart nearly stopped when a fin went past, but it was a seal, and it surfed a wave or two with me, then took off.  A penguin popped up one time too.  Crabs are plentiful, along with the odd bit of a seaweed.  A nipper got my toe the other day, but he was there first.  A wave carried me away.

‘Boring.’

‘You could take the dog for a walk up the lookout.’  Anderson’s Inlet stretches away in front of the lookout.  Kangaroos are always visible.  The rule is, ‘A kiss for the first person to see a kangaroo.’  Somebody always scores a kiss within thirty seconds, although they can be tricky to spot.  Their brown fur camouflages them against the flood plain the Tarwin River runs through.  The dog likes to run through puddles on the way.

‘Boring.’

‘How about a game of shuttle-cock?’  There’s no breeze today.  It’s the calm before the storm.  The grass out back is soft underfoot.  Perfect conditions for shuttle-cock, although we’re not allowed to damage the two flowering gums struggling for life by the back fence.  If ever they take off and flower, the kangaroo paws will breathe a sigh of relief.  The wattyl birds sit on the flower stems and poke their beaks in the flowers.  The stems move from side to side with the weight.

‘Boring.’

‘Why don’t you go for a ride?’  We’ve a few old bikes in the garage, picked up over the years.  The roads are unsurfaced, although every so often we get asked by the council if we would vote, and pay, for road surfacing.  We like the country feel of the gravel roads, although they get a bit dusty in summer.  It’s a small price to pay.  Last year Maddie and I rode through the reserve to the beach and then along the sand.  The sand was soft and we had to push from time to time.

‘Boring.’

‘Would you like to play a game of cards?’  There’s a full arsenal of games and card decks at the house.  I’m leading Shelley two-nil this weekend in Spite and Malice, a rare occurrence.  We can play Uno, Spit, Fish, even Twenty-One with the gambling chips my mother-in-law bought for us.  Some days, back when my father-in-law was alive, we’d start playing Canasta after breakfast, stop for lunch, and get back into it as soon as the dishes were cleared.  ‘Are you heavy, love?’ he’d ask, before finishing the hand.  It won’t be long before both girls are ready to play Canasta.

‘Boring.  And you cheat.’  How would a ten year old know?

‘Read a book.’  We had friends come to stay last weekend.  They forgot to bring books, but we have a few on the bookshelf.  They came with the first house, purchased seventeen years ago.  That house is gone now, knocked down seven years ago when we realised it was too small for four people, let alone having friends stay.  We built a modern house with a dishwasher.  The kids don’t have to wash the dishes.  We can laze around and read books, and often do.

‘Boring.’  Not quite true.  She often reads for hours.

‘Do you want to play tennis?’  We’re members of the Tarwin Lower tennis club, about ten kilometres away.  We can be on the courts in ten minutes, and sometimes we’re there every day.  The dog comes with us and gets tied to the net post, and watches the balls go back and forth.  The four of us can play a decent game of doubles now, and it won’t be long before they’re taking Shelley and me on, and beating us.

‘Boring.  Why can’t I play on my 3DS?’

Momentum - I've got it, do you have it?

Why do we do what we do?  Why do we show up at work each day and slave away?  What if we don’t like what we do?  Why don’t we change our direction towards something we want to do?

The answer is simple.  We gain momentum in life and changing momentum is difficult.

Momentum, scientifically, equals mass multiplied by velocity.

We can have many different momentums (can you pluralise momentum?).  For example, my children provide me with a certain momentum, metaphorically, when I reflect on the above scientific equation.  They and I are busy propelling them through school.  They have a velocity of one grade each year, and their mass is the accumulated education of previous years.  This multiplies, and the end result is the momentum to reach the end of school.  Let’s hope they pay enough attention to their education so they don’t falter before they reach the end.

Employment is another example.  Some people travel with great velocity towards the top of their career.  They’re the high flyers.  Again, let me suggest the mass equates to their capability, which can be improved through education and experience.  Neglect the mass, and the momentum can peter out.  There’s no reason you can’t restore the momentum, but the mathematics rule the equation – make sure you work on your mass...

I suspect you could derail my little metaphor here, but not inside this blog.  It’s my blog.

Getting enough momentum to write a novel has taken some serious work.  Momentum started back at primary school.  All my stories in Grade 3 were longer than everyone else’s.  Once I started writing I couldn’t stop.  My voracious appetite for reading caused me to wonder if I could do the same.  The seeds were sown.  Over the following years of education, prior to employment, I occasionally worked on my mass (no smart remarks thank you).  English literature in Year 11.  First year English literature hidden inside my Bachelor of Science.

Then a short course in creative writing.  Only eight weeks long.  More mass, but no velocity.

The breakthrough was the suggestion from my wife to do something serious.  I started at Holmesglen TAFE – a diploma of professional writing and editing.  I don’t need the diploma.  I’ve got a Bachelor of Science.  I took the course to gain some mass, but mainly velocity.  I needed something to get me travelling.

I have a pile of short stories from my first three years at Holmesglen.  Year 1: Popular Fiction.  Year 2: Short Story 1.  Year 3: Short Story 2.  Then a hiatus as I studied Editing 1 in year 4.  Finally I tackled Novel 1 in year 5, last year, and Novel 2 this year.

Another time I’ll tell you about the things I’ve learned.  But rest assured; I’ve got velocity.  Writing is a habit now.  Nearly every day, 300 or more words.  Writing every day would deliver 110,000 words in a year, which is enough for a novel.  With 80,000 words in my first novel written already I have mass too.  It’s impossible to consider not finishing.

Now I’ve got a blog with a few posts.  I have two short stories on the go.  It’s been a huge investment to get this momentum, but with a fair amount of fun along the way, and a few friends I would never have met in my normal circles.

Who knows if I’ll get published.  I have no illusions about this.  But I have changed the momentum of my life.  You can too.