I can’t believe people keep getting surprised by Facebook. They use your personal information to make money. They have no financial interest in your privacy but a huge one in eroding it. It’s been like that since forever.
I saw a guy post that he was “continuously shocked” by Facebook’s privacy invasions. How can you be continuously shocked? At some point, don’t you realize this is simply the way it is?
Anyway. I didn’t mean to write about Facebook. I meant to write about technology. I’m allowed to do more geeky blogs this year, because I have a book coming out about cyborgs. So check this out. This is Amazon’s AuthorCentral Metrics. It shows how many of my books are being sold and where:
This is a free service to authors. There’s also a history:
Last time I had a book published, I had to wait ten months for a royalty statement to find out whether anyone bought it. Machine Man I’ll be able to follow in almost-real-time. I’m not sure whether that’s useful for anything, other than satisfying impatience. But still.
Here’s what I really want. The screenshot below is from YouTube. A while back I uploaded a video of
my daughter being incredibly cute. YouTube tracks whether people watch all the way to the end, and, if not, where they give up, to create a graph of “attention.”
I want this for books. I would kill for it. I want to know at which point people are putting my books down, or giving up on them, so I can write better ones next time. I want to know which parts they re-read. It’s got to be possible now, with e-readers. Get on that, Amazon.
Look
at me! I’m clinging to life here. I’ve been so sick I couldn’t even reach the razor. That was for the first few days. Then I started to like it. I have about twelve hours of this Man Grizzly look left before Jen realizes it’s voluntary.
Copyedits off to Vintage today. I pity the fool who has to typeset this mess. I went nuts. And I don’t even know what most copyediting symbols mean. I had to guess.
It’s 2011 and publishers still print out manuscripts, manually scribble on them, and type the whole thing in again.
Every year I get asked what I think about
NaNoWriMo, and I don’t
know how to answer, because I don’t want to say, “I think it makes
you write a bad novel.”
This is kind of the point. You’re supposed to churn out 50,000 words
in one month, and by the end you have a goddamn novel, one you wouldn’t
have otherwise. If it’s not Shakespeare, it’s still a goddamn novel.
The NaNoWriMo FAQ
says: “Aiming low is the best way to succeed,”
where “succeed” means “write a goddamn novel.”
I find it hard to write a goddamn novel. I can do it, but it’s not very
fun. The end product is not much fun to read, either. I have
different techniques. I thought I should
wait until the end of November, when a few alternatives
might be of interest to those people who, like me, found it really
hard to write a goddamn novel, and those people who found it worked
for them could happily ignore me.
Some of these methods I use a lot, some only when
I’m stuck. Some I never use, but maybe they’ll work for you. If there were
a single method of writing great books, we’d all be doing it.
The Word Target
What: You don’t let yourself leave the keyboard
each day until you’ve hit 2,000
words.
Why: It gets you started. You stop fretting over whether your words
are perfect, which you shouldn’t be doing in a first draft. It
captures your initial burst of creative energy. It gets you to the end
of a first draft in only two or three months. If you can consistently
hit your daily target, you feel awesome and motivated.
Why Not: It can leave you too exhausted to spend any non-writing
time thinking about your story. It encourages you to pounce
on adequate ideas rather than give them time to turn
into great ones. It encourages you to use many words instead of few.
If you take a wrong turn, you can go a long way before you
realize it. It can make you feel like a failure as a writer when the problem is
that you’re trying to animate a corpse. It can make you dread writing.
The Word Ceiling
What: You write no more than 500 words per day.
Why: You force yourself to finish before you really want to, which makes
you spend the rest of the day thinking about getting back to the story, which
often produces good new ideas. You feel good about yourself even if you only
produced a few hundred words that day. You don’t beat yourself up about
one or two bad writing days. You give yourself time to turn good ideas
into great ones. Writing feels less like hard work.
(More on this.)
Why Not: It takes longer (six months or more). It can be difficult to work on the same
idea for a very long time. It may take so long that you give up.
The Coffee Shop
What: You take your laptop, order a coffee, and compose your
masterpiece in public.
Why: It gets you out of the house, which may help to break a funk.
You’re less likely to goof off if people are watching. It feels kind of cool.
Why Not: It’s extremely distracting. You look like a dick. You lose a deceptively large
amount of time to non-writing activities (getting there, setting up, ordering
coffees, considering bagels…).
The Quiet Place
What: You go to your own particular writing place and close the door on
the world.
Why: It removes distractions. It can feel like a special, magical
retreat, where you compose great fictions (particularly if it’s somewhere you
only use for writing, not checking email, doing your taxes, and leveling
your Warlock).
Why Not: You may not have one. You may find it depressing
if you’ve had a tough time writing lately. You can end up fussing over making
your Writing Place perfect instead of writing.
The Burst
What: You write in patches of 30-60 minutes. When you feel your concentration
flag, you go do something else for 30 minutes, then return.
Why: It freshens you up. You find solutions to difficult story
problems pop into your head after a breather.
You can find time to write more easily, knowing you’re only sitting down for a
short while. When you’re “running out of time,” you can feel energized and
write very quickly.
Why Not: It’s more difficult to sink into the zone if you know another activity
is just around the corner. It can encourage you to look for excuses to stop writing.
It discourages more thoughtful writing.
The Immersion
What: You pull out the network cord, turn off the phone, and write
in blocks of four hours.
Why: It eliminates distractions. You can relax knowing that you
have plenty of time to write. It encourages thoughtful writing.
Why Not: You can wind up grinding. You can feel reluctant to start
writing, knowing that such a huge block of time awaits.
The Intoxicant
What: You consume alcohol, narcotic, or caffeine before writing.
Why: Dude, those words just gush.
Why Not: You may be part of the 99.9% of the population that writes self-indulgent
gibberish.
Sidenote: There is no case of writer’s block that can’t be cured with enough
caffeine.
The Headphones
What: You strap on headphones and crank up the volume.
Why: It’s inspiring. It can quickly put you in the right frame of mind for a scene.
It can block out other noise that would otherwise be distracting.
Why Not: You can’t think as clearly. You can be misled
into thinking you’re writing a powerful/exciting/tragic scene when in fact it’s
just the music.
The Break of Dawn
What: You wake, walk directly to your computer, and write.
Why: Your mind is at its clearest and most creative. You haven’t started
thinking about the real world yet. Your body is not fuzzing your mind
with digestion. If you write for a while, you develop a hunger dizziness that’s
mildly stimulating. (This can be combined with coffee.)
Why Not: You may not be a morning person. You may only be able to write
for a short while before becoming too hungry to continue. Your lifestyle
may not permit it.
The Dead of Night
What: You write at night, after everyone’s gone to sleep.
Why: It feels kind of cool. It’s often a reliable distraction-free time. You can
often be in a fairly clear, creative frame of mind.
Why Not: You may only be able to write for a short while before becoming too
tired to write coherently. You may be too tired to repeat the process regularly.
You may not be a night person.
The Jigsaw
What: You start writing the scenes (or pieces of scenes) that interest you the
most, and don’t worry about connecting them until later.
Why: You capture the initial energy of ideas. You can avoid becoming derailed
by detail. You make sure your novel revolves around your big ideas.
Why Not: It can be difficult to figure out how to connect the scenes after the fact.
You need to rewrite heavily in order to incorporate ideas you had later
for earlier sections. Your characters can be shakier because you wrote scenes
for them before you knew the journey they’d make to get there.
The End-to-End
What: You start at the beginning and write the entire thing in sequence.
Why: You see the story as a reader will. You feel more confident about your
characterizations, pacing, and logical progression of plot. It’s simpler.
Why Not: You can become bogged down in boring sections you think
are necessary to set-up good stuff (not realizing yet that you don’t need
those boring sections, or that they can be far shorter than you think). You
can wind up far from where you intended to go, never finding a place for those
initial ideas. (This may not be a bad thing.)
The Outline
What: You sketch out plot, characters, and turning points before you start
writing.
Why: You feel like you know what you’re doing. You can feel excited because you
know big stuff is coming. You tend to produce a better structure, with larger
character arcs and clearer plot twists.
Why Not: What seems like a brilliant idea for an ending on day 1 can seem trite
on day 150, when you understand the characters and story better. You feel pressure
to make your characters do implausible things in order to fit your outline.
You can close yourself off to better ideas. You can become bored because you
already know what’s going to happen.
The Journey
What: You start writing with no real idea of where you’ll wind up.
Why: It’s exciting. Discovering a story as you write it is one of life’s great joys.
Your characters have freedom to act more naturally and drive the story,
rather than be bumped around by plot.
Why Not: You can end up nowhere very interesting. You tend to write smaller,
more realistic stories, which may not be what you want.
The Restart
What: You abandon the story you’re working on, even though you know
it’s brilliant and the idea is perfect but GODDAMN it is driving you insane
for some reason
Why: It’s a bad idea. There might be a good idea inside it somewhere, but
you’ve surrounded it with bad characters or plot or setting or something
and the only way to salvage it is to let all that other stuff go.
Why Not: While loss of motivation is always, always, always because the story
isn’t good enough, and some part of you knows it, you rarely need to throw away the
whole thing. Often deleting the last sentence, paragraph, or scene is enough to
spark ideas about new directions. Sometimes you only need to give up a plan
for the future. Changing your mind about where you’re going can allow you to
write the story you really want.
(More on this.)
Some people think it must be cool to have a famous friend. You’re
imagining hanging with someone like, say, Keanu, and Keanu
telling you things he doesn’t tell anyone else, and you ragging on him
for sucking at PlayStation. That would be cool. But what it’s
actually like is one of your friends—your real friends, say your best
friend—and he’s exactly the same only everyone thinks he’s wonderful.
Do you see how annoying that is? Because, sure, he’s
a good guy, but he’s not perfect. He’s not God. But now everyone
fawns over him and tells you how lucky you are to know him. That’s
why they pay attention to you: because you might help them get closer
to him. And
whenever you spend time with him, just the two of you, you both know he could
be somewhere else, listening to people flatter him or take him cool
places for free or sleep with him, because he’s famous.
Being friends with a famous person is the worst. And that’s why when
the magazines come sniffing around, asking just off the record,
just for background, is he really happy, and does he drink or ever do
drugs, and did he really hit that girl, you tell them everything.
The
New Yorker
published
one of my short stories
in full without even asking. That’s
a gross copyright violation. I’m thinking of suing. Admittedly, the story is
only 25 words long. But still. They broke the ten percent rule. Two and a half words would
have been okay. “She walks i.” I’d have no problem with that.
So now The New Yorker has stolen my livelihood, there’s no reason for you to buy
the book it’s published in,
Hint Fiction.
Unless you would like to read 150 or so
stories by the other contributors. I guess that’s a good reason. The deal is they are all hints: 25
words or fewer, not self-contained stories but rather suggestions of larger tales. There are
some more examples, by which I mean copyright violations, in
The New Yorker article, and you can pick up the book, published today in the US
& Canada,
here
or
here.
If you are in Australia,
I’m on TV tonight, talking about Ayn Rand’s
Atlas Shrugged. Actually, I’m doing that no matter where you are. You can’t
affect it. I’m also discussing Freedom by Jonathan Franzen. I mention the
Rand book first because it’s the one people will send me emails about.
Here’s the thing with Atlas Shrugged. It’s eleven hundred pages of
brilliant, beautiful, go-getter industrialists talking to stupid, grasping, corrupt collectivists, set in a
world where only half the laws of economics apply. The character names change but nothing else.
Otherwise, it’s not bad. No, I lie. Even setting that aside, it’s terrible. I felt like Ayn Rand
cornered me at a party, and three minutes in I found my first objection to what she was saying,
but she kept talking without interruption for ten more days.
It’s not a novel so much as a manifesto, and, I think, impossible to enjoy unless you’re
at least a little on board for the philosophy, and it’s hard to be on board for the philosophy if
you understand economics or see a
moral problem with starving poor people.
I realize many believe fervently in the philosophy. They email me.
And I don’t think it’s one hundred percent bogus. But it demands that you choose between
no government or total government, and I think all such extremes have similarly extreme
problems.
Freedom is good, though.
You know how I feel about film deals. At first, sure, everyone’s excited.
It’s going to be the greatest movie ever made. You’ll be walking down
the red carpet in no time, Max. You’ll be doing blow off the naked backs
of strung-out starlets. But a few years later, and you know what? No
starlets. Not one.
Not that it’s all about the starlets. I’m happily married. I’m just
saying, it would be nice to be offered starlets. The point is, I have
discovered that there’s a lot that can derail a project between sign-on
and starlets. In fact, starlets seem to be the exception. Most of the time,
the movie never happens.
So
when the Machine Man deal happened,
I tried to steel myself. “Meh,” I told people. “Not as glamorous as it sounds.
Probably never go anywhere.” A few months ago, I heard Darren
Aronofsky was interested in directing. “Yeah, there’s always a big name who’s
interested,” I said. “Everyone’s always interested.”
Then he signed on. And today it’s public, being reported in
Hollywood Reporter and
Variety.
Now,
Aronofsky is possibly the greatest director in the world. By which I mean,
if you wrote a book or a screenplay, and you wanted someone to make it
into a film, you would choose him. Because many people can do
smart and unsettling and entertaining, but not usually all at once.
His newest film is
“Black Swan,”
which premieres in the US on December 3. It’s written by
Mark Heyman, who is also on board for Machine Man. So I’m
basically hoping Black Swan is the best movie of all time.
It is getting harder to stay cool about this.
By the way, Aronofsky was involved with the Robocop remake
before the studio imploded. So do you think he walked away with a head full
of unrealized ideas about bioaugmentation or what?