So I gave myself an exercise (eating my own dogfood)…

You see a lot, doctor. But can you point that high-powered perception at yourself? What about it? Why don’t you – why don’t you look at yourself and write down what you see? Or maybe you’re afraid to…
– Clarice Starling in The Silence of the Lambs

 
If you’ve read Writers’ Groups – Introduction, Writers’ Groups – Critiques and Butchers, Bakers and Candlestick Makers then you know I’m on a quest.

To find a critique group that does critiques as I do them.

Jennifer, my editor (whom I mention in About Joseph) has told me many times I’m on a fool’s quest, my time would be better spent going to writers’ conferences/conventions where I’m more likely to meet a few like-minded individuals.

I yield to Jennifer the Wise.

And meanwhile…
While I’m waiting for that to happen and based on my workshopping experiences over the past few months, I gave myself an exercise: Critique one of my own pieces as if it were someone else’s piece.

Critiquing my own work seemed like a good and valid exercise for me. I reread/edit my work several times and, in retrospect, never with the same filters in place that I use when I read/edit other people’s work.

I chose one of my flash pieces, Sanctuary because it was (literally) on top of a pile of stuff on my desk.

So I had at it and share the exercise with you in the hopes that you, like me, will profit from it.

The Critique
The actual story is in regular text. My comments/suggestions/edits are in red, explanations/responses are in blue. Here we go:

[[There is a planet on the scanners.: Great opening line. You know immediately that this is a science-fiction/speculative fiction piece. You’re either there or not, accept the story frame or not. If not, stop reading because you’re not going to like it. If yes, strap yourself in, it’s going to be a fun ride.]] [[It is large and round and red. The sun is yellow and warming, and the planet is in the sun’s life zone. The gravity is slightly stronger than Earth’s. The air is a bit richer, and there is abundant water under the surface.: This is excellent in two aspects; 1) I can see everything, feel and taste everything. Excellent sensory detail. All that’s missing is some kind of sound but the lack of auditory information makes me think of some kind of solitude. 2) It feels tired, as if the narrator is exhausted or close to. “It is…The sun is… the planet is…” all environmental details and stated with a DUH-duh, DUH-duh rhythm. Plodding. If that’s your intention, EXCELLENT! If not, fix it!]]

[[The red coloring comes from two things. The surface of the planet is covered with red vegetation and their spores are everywhere.: Excellent, keep the details coming, although I think we’re close enough now that no more are necessary, unless you’re about to invalidate the setting/scene somehow.]] The ground is also red, although not with spores but [[with clay and slate like so faraway Connecticut.: Okay, now we know the narrator is from Earth, probably from the US, definitely has had experience in Connecticut (possibly farming? Knows about the soil constituency). Also “so faraway” – again, that feeling of exhaustion, of wanting release. Not just “Connecticut” but “so faraway Connecticut”, a memory, long ago, on the verge of being forgotten?]]

[[The dog beside me raises his massive head and growls.: He’s not alone? Who else is with him on this ship?]] [[I scratch behind his ears and his hind legs start thumping the cabin floor.: Nice detail that anybody familiar with dogs will know and understand.]] [[I make him thump in time to songs I sing, switching legs as I go from chorus to lead and back.: Okay, he’s familiar with the dog, the dog with him and they’re on good terms with each other. Got it.]]

[[“We’ll go down, see if this is the one.”: Again, subtle hint of tiredness, exhaustion. Whatever’s going on (and we’re only 144 words in!) is something they’re prepared/preparing for, probably/possibly something they’ve done many times before? They’re doing something, part of the crew, not passengers. Again, who else is on the ship? What is their role?]]

[[His ears go up slightly. I wonder how many of the words he understands.: All that’s missing is the dog cocking his head, trying to understand]] [[I’ll add something along those lines in a rewrite.]]

[[“Take the dog,” my wife said.: Excellent, more detail about the narrator and a relationship he had/has.]] [[The cabin has room for me and one more.: So it’s just him and the dog?]] [[The taste of her lips is still on mine. The smell of her hair is here before me. I can delight in her touch and feel her sun-warmed and reddened skin.: Okay, he’s alone with the dog, his wife isn’t with him but he remembers her. In some ways this feels like a husband being told to take his dog for a ride but I know/sense there’s more. And again we’re having that DUH-duh, DUH-duh rhythm. You’re moving towards something, growing the story towards something but I don’t know/am not sure what it is.]]

[[The dog growls and I scratch. His legs thump. I sing.: We’re getting a repetitive line. A theme? Is this the chorus?]]

[[This is the third planet my scanners have shown.: In how long a time frame? Today? Since he started traveling?]] [[I’ll add something to clarify this in a rewrite.]] [[The first too cold, the second too hot; the third just right?: Nice touch of whimsy. The question mark at the end adds another hint of exhaustion, of seeking without reward.]]

[[Landing is hard. There isn’t much fuel left.: Again exhaustion. Does this guy ever find rest?]] [[Forty-seven years in the ship.: Ditto. Also, the dog is how old? What kind of dog is it? Or is this subtle foreshadowing?]] [[I was twenty-three when I left. : Tritto the exhaustion theme.]]

[[“Take the dog,” my wife said.: Okay, we have a second echo/repetitive line. I don’t think this is by accident. If correct, these are going to intersect before the end of the story as you’re building two separate choruses and they’ll either harmonize or clash at the crescendo. Not sure which. If incorrect, get rid of one or the other, or figure out how to use both.]]

[[I check the gauges and say, “This place will have to do. We don’t have enough fuel to take off again.”: Exhaustion]] [[The dog growls. I scratch.: We’re tightening the chorus. Because…?]]

[[There are mountains in the distance, behind a clough of trees beyond the field where we land.: “distance” and “beyond”. Not “here”. Not only exhaustion, now straining. A last gasp? Of or for something that can’t/won’t be obtained?]] [[The dog goes ahead, sniffing.: Nice anchoring to common experience.]] [[He is a big dog. Black and furry, about two-twenty-five on earth. Perhaps closer to two-fifty here. He adjusts well.: That’s a big dog. Are you sure about this? Or is this more foreshadowing?]] [[I’m glad my wife took that decision away.: There’s so much emotion in that statement. Relief, definitely. Melancholy? I don’t know what’s coming and I know it’ll be good. ]]

[[He stops and sits, silhouetted by the trees, mountains, and sky,: Good visual.]] [[and memory’s shutters click as if a slide has dropped into a stereocam.: Nice metaphor.]] [[The trees shift slightly, righting their angles between earth and sky, and a home — my home — slips down from the stars and comes to rest against the mountains and sky.: This is confusing. I think he’s remembering this, correct? If yes, make the fact that it’s a memory more obvious. I’m not sure if his home is actually coming down out of the sky and landing or he’s having a memory.]] [[I’ll fix in a rewrite.]]

[[I cock my head left, my eyes wide with wonder, and scratch behind my ear.: If this is the echo then we need the dog to cock its head earlier in the story.]] [[I’ll fix in a rewrite.]] [[My leg thumps. The dog sings.: Okay, these two lines are the echo, one of the repetitive lines in the chorus. Is the change re what the man does and what the dog does from earlier lines because of…? The memory shutter thing? Then make it more obvious. If not, lose it.]] [[fix in rewrite.]] [[My wife comes out on the porch, her gasmask hiding her features, hiding her brilliant gold hair, as she checks the house for leaks against the burnt, reddened sky.: “gasmask”, “leaks”, “burnt, reddened sky”. I’m at the point of saying “F?ck you!” because I know this is heading somewhere and I don’t know where and it’s freaking me out (in a good way).]] “They’ve chosen you,” [[I hear over the radiophone,: They’re close enough to see and recognize each other but they’re talking over a radiophone? SO MANY CLUES WHERE ARE YOU GOING WITH THIS? I’m exhausted with anticipation just reading this!]] and I wave acknowledgement. [[Her voice is sad and so is my wave. I’m happy to go, but it is not what I would have chosen.: Again with the exhaustion?!?!?!? Thank god this is only 900 words. I wouldn’t be able to stand this emotion level for something longer.]]

The dog comes closer, [[his big eyes lighting.: Okay, this isn’t a dog dog (a real dog), right?]]

[[“We’ll have children there,”: I had to check to see if this line/idea/concept shows up earlier in the piece because it feels like another chorus line.]] [[my wife says. We’re inside our home, safe from the sun, safe from the air, safe from the things which float on the sea and land.: Really? Or imagined? Remembered? Clarify. Is this a dream sequence? Some kind of hallucination/dementia? This needs to be clarified and I’m at a loss what to suggest because whatever you do, it’s got to be so-o-o freakin’ subtle…]] [[fix in rewrite.]] [[Our masks are off and we make love: Nice.]] , [[knowing nothing will come, twisted seeds finding no purchase on desert soil.: Nice.]]

[[“When you get to a suitable world,” they tell me, “you’ll have a memory, a signal. An implant will trigger the reaction. You won’t be able to resist it. When the signal occurs, it will already have begun.”: Okay, this is the reveal. The BIG reveal because you’ve been laying hints/foreshadowing/laying down little reveals all along. Great. Excellent. It’s all coming together. It might help everything that comes before if, when he has that “shutter” moment earlier, he knows it’s the signal. He doesn’t have to tell us everything about it, but he does have to know what it is and what it means (more foreshadowing?).]] [[I’ll fix in the rewrite.]]

I nod. I agree.

[[“Take the dog,” my wife said.: Beautiful echo.]]

[[He scratches. We thump. We sing.: Okay, I’m getting it, the echos are getting ready to intersect. Beautiful.]]

He stops before me, [[facing where the house might be.: Clarify that he’s imagining/remember/hallucinating this.]] [[fix in rewrite.]] [[The flanges on his sides open. His back shifts and parts slightly, along his spine, as a saddle forms.: HAH! He’s not a real dog! HAH!]] [[I’m glad my wife made the decision.: I KNEW THIS WAS ANOTHER ECHO! HA HA NEENER NEENER NEENER!]] I could not do this if they had fashioned the [[regenerator: Accelerating towards the ending and I’m loving it.]] after her. I mount the dog as if he were a horse. From the saddle and flanges I feel sweet needles enter my legs, pierce my femurals, enter my buttocks, lift my groin. [[“We’ll have children there.”: ECHO ECHO ECHO I’m wondering if readers will be panting at this point. I’m exhausted as if I’m finishing a race.]]

His legs go deep into the red, clean earth. A ground where things grow. A sky where stars shine. An earth where water brings life. [[My wife is before me. I feel her lips on mine, taste her tongue, smell her hair.: Okay, this is another echoed line and I know you want to keep that imagination/hallucination concept going. This is going to be tough because I feel this line needs a bit more clarification. How about “I see my wife…”? But that might mean he’s more aware and you want him already kind of gone, right? Tough one and your call (and not an easy one, me thinks).]] [[Something I’ll consider during the rewrite.]]

[[The dog is shaking, thumping, but I have no hands with which to scratch.: Okay, forget what I just wrote. Maybe. I don’t know. He has no hands left to scratch. Somehow signify that he’s already dissolving (if that’s what’s happening?).]] [[Something I’ll consider during a rewrite.]] [[Inside his computers, inside his organic cells, are the matrices for all those we left behind. All those who here are soon to be.: Oh, wow. F?ck me sideways. Forget what I wrote above. No, don’t. No, do. Don’t. I think this is a story that the reader is either going to get or not and there’s not much you can do to help them. All the clues are here and they’re in perfect order. I’m really not sure what to suggest and I desperately want to see this again should it go through a rewrite.]]

[[“We can have children there.”: ECHO ECHO ECHO! Tell me you did this intentionally. I want to have your children.]]

[[My body provides the map. “We can store the matrices and we can store the genetic codes, even correct the errors environmental pollutants have made. What we can’t store is the raw material. We don’t know how that might survive.”: All this needs is a “They told me…” before the statement. That would clarify this greatly. Me thinks.]]

[[My body dissolves as the dog’s computers tear me apart to see how sequences are made, his legs go deep into the earth to find the organics necessary to synthesize.: Oh, wow.]] [[This earth the materials of man, his computers the equations for a race, my body the templates of our salvation on a world with a warming sun, a sky still high, and waters you drink and do not breathe; a sanctuary from our own disgrace.: Poetry, man, poetry.]]

[[My wife reaches for me. “We’ll have children there,” but there’s nothing left to hold.: Oh, f?ck you! Sideways and six ways from Sunday. “We’ll have children there” is the intersection of the choruses. Oh, you evil prick bastard. Beautiful. Crazy Beautiful and Nicely Done!]]

-end-

[[I could tell you that this is brilliant and you already know that. Incredible writing, incredible imagery, this almost reads like a tone poem rather than a flash fiction piece.
There are some truly minor nits as noted. Unfortunately, those truly minor nits are going to make or break a piece this short.
I don’t want to see this get any longer through rewrites. Much of its power comes from its tightness, its brevity (it really is a palm of the hand story. Good work and congrats on that. Nicely done!) but I do think one more pass focusing on the truly few, truly minor nits is necessary.
And can I see it again when you’re done? I may have caught my breath by then.

This changes everything
That was one of most refreshing, enlightening and rewarding exercises I’ve ever given myself. I suggest it to others. Separate yourself from your work and analyze your work as if it’s a stranger’s. Most of you probably already do this. It’s something new for me and I’m going to go wild with it, a “drunk with power” kind of thing.

Example: I’ve read Julio Cortazar’s Blow-Up and Other Stories about five times this year. Last night I started Xolotl again and, as I opened the book, I wondered if this new found superpower would make things different. My internal editor often kicks in when the writing, editing, storytelling, storycrafting, … is below par, substandard, sucks, … but what if I were to use this new found skill intentionally on something I recognize is good but (as yet) don’t understand what makes it good?

I reread the first paragraph and realized Cortazar gave you everything you needed to enjoy/understand/appreciate the story:
[[There was a time: We’re going to descend into the mythic]] when [[I thought a great deal: This story is going to take place in the narrator’s head]] about the [[axolotls. I went to see them in the aquarium at the Jardin des Plantes: and be about feeling out of place, trapped, not being part of society]] and [[stayed for hours watching them, observing: Ditto the narrator’s head]] [[their immobility, their faint movements: The story will be of subtleties.]] [[Now I am an axolotl.: The subtleties will deal with personal transformation.]]

It may not seem like much to you and it opens new worlds of understanding to me. Do I think people need to do this in order to enjoy what they’re reading?

Hell No!

But as someone practicing their craft, wanting to improve, learning from recognized masters? Priceless.

I am a man without mother or father.
I have become my own mother and father.

 
(amusing notes:

  • I’ve been asked to do an audio version of the rewrite. Just shows to go ya, I guess…
  • One of my first readers told me he had to read it twice to figure it out and when he did, he was blown away by it. I offered that the need for a second read bothered me. He said it wasn’t for lack of storytelling, it was because there’s so much in the 900 words he wanted to be sure he got it. It still bothers me and I’m open to suggestions for removing that “second read need”.
    This same first reader asked if Sanctuary was the prologue to something else, the intro to a novel perhaps. I’ve been with this story for so long that it never occurred to me. Now I have the after-story running through my head.
  • I started editing several weeks after I did the critique. It was hard, vexsome and pissed me off.
    But it was worth it.

)

Three Books I Won’t Be Reviewing on Goodreads

Nods to Goodreads’ Trike and Allison Hurd. And oh, the learning!

Ever notice there are some people whose opinions matter? Two such people for me are Allison Hurd and Trike on Goodreads.

Why do their opinions matter to me?

 
Nutshell response: I don’t know.

I could figure it out. Things like kindness, graciousness, wit, intelligence, writing skills, comments they’ve made, nature of their responses to other people, things we disagree on and how we disagree, … all sorts of things like that come to mind.

But that’s not what this post is about so let’s move on except to note that Trike and Allison are the impetus for this post.

The Books
I won’t be reviewing Autonomous, Wit’s End or The Fifth Season on Goodreads. I read them pretty much simultaneously.

The Fifth Season I may yet review, I’m not sure. I may yet review them all. Again, I’m not sure. Let me deal with the other two first.

Wit’s End
Karen Joy Fowler’s Wit’s End had such an interesting teaser to me; “What happens when your readers steal your characters?” Okay, that premise wasn’t as interesting to me as the one my lexdyksia created for me; “What happens when your characters steal your readers?”

I mean, just park it at a red light and walk home, right? I’ve got to write me that kind of story someday, where your characters steal your readers, right while they’re sitting comfortably at home, reading and sipping a nice wine. Or listening or reading during some commute? There they are in a crowded train heading into the city and then they’re not.

Enoch walked with God and then was not. – Gen 5:24

 
Talk about an Enoch moment!

I got about one-third through Witt’s End and put it down. Bored, frustrated. I wanted to like it. I wanted to revel in it. I studied under Karen Joy Fowler years ago (I doubt she remembers my writing although she told me I should not rename a story, Cicatrix, even though everybody else in the class said they couldn’t understand the story because they didn’t know what the title meant. She did and thought it was perfect for the story.
Neener neener neener, everybody.
Or she might remember the night I made chili for the entire class. It was a bonding exercise that failed. Everybody liked the chili. One guy even told me he knew why I was making chili for everybody. He appreciated the effort, although he didn’t think anybody else would understand.
I wonder what became of him?
He was correct, by the way. It didn’t work as a bonding exercise. So it goes) and was a good teacher. I still have the exercises she gave us to do and bring them out to brush up from time to time.

Wit’s End read like just about everything I’ve read by Karen Joy Fowler.

I never really liked anything I’ve read by Karen Joy Fowler. Even when I was her student (and enjoyed her as a teacher!) I didn’t understand why people were blown away by her writing. It seemed so Meh!

But I figured I was older now, smarter, wiser, more mature, wouldn’t try any bonding exercises with people who didn’t know what “cicatrix” meant, that kind of thing.

Nope. Her writing still bored me.

But she’s won all those awards! What gives?

 
Autonomous
Annalee Newitz’s Autonomous also had an interesting premise to me. And Annalee Newitz’s background is…Whoa! She’s got some chops! And, reading Autonomous, I totally get that she really has those chops, she’s earned them, she’s knowledgeable, she definitely writes well (so does Karen Joy, for that matter), …

And again, about one-quarter to one-third of the way through, blech, mindfart, brainpoo, somebody wake me up or kill me and put me out of my misery.

But she’s got such chops! And she’s won some awards, too!
(at least I think she has. I’m not going back to look right now. I’m on a roll!)

 

The Fifth Season
I picked up N.K. Jemison’s The Fifth Season because Allison Hurd and Trike liked it. A lot.

And they’re good people.

Whom I love, respect and admire.

And I still do!

Because here’s what I learned…

The exchange that caused revelations
<From Goodreads>
Allison wrote: “Haha! I hope you get to it and love it as much as I do! …”
Well…I didn’t. I had such an adverse reaction to it that based on your intense joy in it, Trike’s review of it and the fact that I have great respect for both of your opinions, I’m concluding that I need to give it another read, this time keeping watch on myself to learn what (if anything still) is causing me such troubles.
I mean, I noted that the writing was quite good (I often put books down because the storycrafting isn’t there or the editor was just getting off a ten-day bender…) so it wasn’t the writing. Often when I have such adverse reactions to books it’s more to do with me than the book. A great opportunity for learning, maturing, evolving, that.
So another go it is!
</From Goodreads>

I tend to read several books simultaneously, going from one to another for lots of reasons. This time I was simultaneously reading two other books I enjoyed; The Western Star and A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court.

So many voices seeking my attention! And they’re all in my head!

 
Meanwhile, and because nothing ever happens in isolation (someday, if you’re really bored, I’ll explain the quantum, behavioral, classical and meta physics of this), Annie Neugebauer’s The Differences Between Commercial and Literary Fiction, Chuck Wendig’s 25 REASONS WHY I STOPPED READING YOUR BOOK and yours truly’s Why I don’t read in my genres any more were in my mind, working their way around, looking for a comfortable place to sit, maybe have a drink or two (I strongly recommend the first two posts. They’re wonderful, entertaining, educational and did I mention wonderful? Mine’s pretty good, too, but I’m still working on that self-promotion thing, so…).

Also topmost in my mind was something my writing coach, Rich Marcello, shared with me about energy levels in stories and scenes, something I’m actively working on in my Ritchie and Phyl series plus some things that have been banging around in my head since I read Jill Nelson’s Rivet Your Readers with Deep Point of View.

I like stories where the energy levels change(!!!) in a scene, in a chapter, on the page (this only applies to fiction so far that I’ve noticed).

I mean, shabang shaboomie. Revelations like steamrollers smacking the forehead wow.

How come I didn’t like Barbara Kingsolver’s The Poisonwood Bible but loved her The Bean Trees? How come I couldn’t get enough of Charles Frazier’s Nightwoods but was less enthusiastic about his Thirteen Moons?

How come this book was great but that book sucked? How come I can’t get enough of this author and would rather have a root canal than read that author? How come some of my Goodreads reviews come down to “Great writing, but I was screaming ‘Will somebody please do something?'”

Because I like changes in energy levels in the stories(!!!) and the longer I have to wait for some kind of energy shift the less I’m going to like the story.

Me and my toolbox
da dat de dah de dat de dah dah
Straighter than your ox
(okay, I’m not Nilsson)

 
This is so important because…
…it’s another tool in my toolbox. I can go back to all those books that I recognized were beautifully written but sucked, pick them up…

…and throw them in the trash forever!

Bwa-ha-ha-ha! (bear with me, folks. I’m drunk with power. I get that way when I figure something out. Especially if it’s something about myself)

It’s all about me!

 

But when isn’t it?

 
I never have to wonder if it’s me or them anymore! I know it’s me! It’s not that I’m stupid or don’t get it or aren’t sophisticated enough to understand the subtleties inherent in their structure,

It’s that they suck!

To me!

But now I know why!

And that means I can fix it!

Especially in my own writing!

Because I don’t want someone to read something of mine and wish they’d opted for a root canal instead!

And now there’s lots more books I can enjoy because I’ll understand why I think they suck and the understanding brings a joy all its own!

Masochist me!

So again, thanks to Allison Hurd and Trike for helping me through this.

PS) I’m having fun learning about callouts. Can you tell?

 

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Butchers, Bakers and Candlestick Makers

Oh, it’s cruel to be kind

Tough lessons last week.

Long ago (in internet time) I had my own company. It did well enough to keep us going for 20+ years. One of the things I learned during that time was how amazingly easy it was to piss people off.

For the most incredible, unbelievable reasons.

We worked in marketing mostly. Most people had no idea of how marketing worked, hence couldn’t defend their marketing decisions, therefore any time we made a suggestion they read it as a direct challenge to them, not to what they were working on (if you can’t separate yourself from your product, get out of the game. Now. And you probably don’t have what it takes to be an author. You can be a writer, sure, but an author, no), and the insults and yelling would start. Often in boardrooms, if you can believe it.

Amazing, when I think back on it.

And when we brought in science (which was our job and why companies hired us)? Experimental evidence? Fact based research? Duplicatable results? Scientific reasoning?

“Bah! We don’t need no stinking science.”

One of my favorite anecdotes from the early days was when a CEO looked me in the eye and said, “What do I care what my customers think?” (we pioneered and patented several marketing neurotools, that’s why that line still cracks me up)

I empathized with wisewomen during the Witch Trials.

People asked why we kept at it.

One reason was because we knew that what we offered would catch on (it did). We also know that people crucify the heretic then accept the heresies. We developed a strategy of staying small because we’d studied lots of evolutionary theory and learned from the survivor species of the last global extinction: I couldn’t be big so I had to be clever.

Part of that cleverness was recognizing something; If the butchers, the bakers and the candlestick makers think you’re an idiot, you’re an idiot. If the butchers and the bakers think you’re okay and the candlestick makers think you’re an idiot, the problem is with the candlestick makers, not with you.

My finger or where I’m pointing. Your choice
I’ve mentioned that I attend a few different writers groups. What I’m learning is best summed up in the following image:

Surround yourself with those on the same mission as you

 
There’s a lot to this. The above is the condensed version, the gist of it.

I’m learning about individual desires, goals, and how they work when individuals form groups. I’m learning that my kind of critique can piss people off (they’re not prepared for it emotionally) and/or confuse them (they’re not psychologically able to use it) or, in the rare case, benefit them (professionally. One person told me my critique of her work was priceless).

I’m learning that when a writer defends their work or gets upset by your comments (even if they’re personal. If someone’s making personal comments they’re an idiot), it’s time to leave/move on/bid adieu. You’ve found yourself amongst candlestick makers.

Thou Shalt Not Muzzle the Ox and the Ass Together
That’s from Deuteronomy 22:10. I love that line. It’s inspired me to write lots of rotten poetry.

The idea applies to…everything. Be careful who you marry. Or even date. Choose your schools carefully. Make sure you get expert advice before signing a contract. Listen to people who are where you want to be.

Don’t get involved in writers’ groups unless they’re providing you something you want/need, unless they’re going in the same direction you are and hopefully to the same place. You probably already are. People tend to rest where they’re comfortable, where they feel safe.

I wrote in Writers’ Groups – Critiques that my core reason for joining any writers’ group “is to learn, improve, increase.” I don’t mind some discomfort if I’m learning in the process.

The Weight (aka “Some Background”)
This brings us to a realization I had that’s the source/inspiration for this post. I wrote The Weight, about a chance encounter with one of my guitar heros, Peter Frampton, long ago when I was hitchhiking The Dragon’s Spine.

In the story, Peter Frampton teaches me a few guitar licks.

Susan and I often have lunch at The Riverwalk, a wonderful little eatery in downtown Nashua, NH. There’s one picture on the wall that always saddens me; Robert Cray, Eric Clapton and Stevie Ray Vaughn, guitars all, smiling and chatting it up. I’m guessing it was taken at some blues festival.

It saddens me because Stevie Ray Vaughn is long gone. Damn.

But I also appreciate that the picture is of three guitar greats, relaxed and having fun with each other. You’re not going to see a picture of Robert Cray, Eric Clapton and me, guitars all, smiling and chatting it up. Frampton could be in that picture, sure. Not me. I might be in that picture if I was slicing up some of my homemade pizza and offering it to them (for those who don’t know, I’m known for my homemade-from-scratch (including the shells) pizzas from Ontario through Atlantic Canada and much of the US. Friends have described me as “an extraordinary pizza maker“).

Frampton taught me a few licks long ago and who knows why. He’d had a horrible accident, we met at a wa-a-ay out of the way place and there was nobody else around except the shopkeeper.

I didn’t recognize Frampton at first (this guy playing on a makeshift stage in a backwater town in a ditchwater cafe couldn’t have been Frampton) and, after he played a few songs, I offered that he did a hell of a Frampton impersonation.

He asked if I played. I demured. He had an extra guitar and held it out to me.

Like a fool, I accepted it.

But I’m sure Frampton could tell what kind of guitar player I was just by how I picked up the guitar. Do I need to state that I wasn’t at his level? Then or now?

Just like I can tell from an opening paragraph where a writer is in their career?

Robert Cray, Eric Clapton, Peter Frampton and I could have a great time so long as I’m cooking pizza and not picking up a guitar.

And that’s what I learned
Oxen and Asses, Butchers, Bakers and Candlestick Makers, great guitarists, surrounding yourself with those on the same mission, those going in your direction to the same place you’re going.

Peter Frampton is not going to ask me to help him improve his guitar playing. He may not ask Eric Clapton or Robert Cray, either. But put the three of them in a room together and you know they’ll pick up things from each other – things that you and I wouldn’t even notice, wouldn’t recognize if you had flashing lights and sirens drawing our attention to them – just by playing together and being in each others’ presence.

Put me in that mix and I hope they’d be polite enough not to laugh until I was gone. I’m sure they wouldn’t amuse themselves at my expense. People are that skill level don’t. Won’t. Or can’t. Not sure which.

Likewise, they may get a kick out of having some beers or wine and watching me make pizza. I may teach them a little about blending flavors, how to make one smell/taste combination stand out against the others.

I’ve been making homemade pizza regularly for 40+ years. Put me in a picture with two other long-time pizza makers and you’ve got something cooking (ugh. I couldn’t help myself).

But there’s not a lot of us 40+ year pizza makers around. There’s not a lot of guitarists at that level around.

And I’ve had to come to terms these past few weeks that there’s not a lot of writers at that level around, either.

I’m still looking. If you’re in a group and you’re getting something out of it, Good for you! I’m happy for you. Truly, honestly happy. You’re found your group! Hooray!

I’m still looking for mine.

Damn.

I so want to learn.