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Richard Tyler Jordan

PRO TIP: HOW NOT TO WRITE A BOOK



You say that you want to write a book. That’s terrific! No kidding. I’m really happy for you. I am! Are you merely thinking about writing, or have you actually typed the first sentence? The first paragraph? The first page? First chapter? Whatever. It’s all good.



Here’s what I know about writing a book: It’s damn fucking hard. North Korean labor camp hard—only completely different, of course. Stephen King and James Patterson make it look easy because they’re as fertile as field mice. But for we ordinary layabouts, it’s no picnic in Central Park—unless you actually like your Central Park picnics swarming with horse flies, fire ants, wasps, and rabid squirrels. To quote Dorothy Parker, “I hate writing, I love having written.” Yep! That’s me. And probably how you’ll feel too. The process can seem staggeringly insurmountable at the beginning. And in the middle. And maybe right up to the very end. Every writer feels this way at some point. But they find a way to keep that terrifying beast at bay. Drugs and alcohol only help in the short term; they’re definitely not a remedy. However—the euphoria you’ll experience when you finally type “The End” is as indescribably delicious as your first wet kiss from Santa Claus. It makes striving to be a good boy or girl all year long so worth the sacrifices and effort! I promise!


So, here’s my best advice for how NOT to write a book:


First of all, don’t boast, “I’m writing a book!” to anyone. As the Nike™ ads say, “Just do it.” Seriously. Talking about your WIP (work-in-progress) diminishes all the teensy-weensy invisible creative energy molecules that go into your sorcerer’s magical recipe. Plus, it’s nobody else’s damn business. This is your baby and birthing process. As excruciating as they may be, the labor pains can’t be shared with anyone else.


Also, sorry, but nobody really gives a flying fig if you write a book—or if you don’t write a book. They may say otherwise, but they're lying. That’s the really and truly, honest-to-God, very sad and ugly reality. Your mother doesn’t care (although she’ll still love you). You’ll be lucky to get an insincere, “That’s lovely, dear.” And then she’ll never mention it again. Your friends will roll their eyes (maybe behind your back, but they're rolling anyway) and say, “You’ll have to self-publish on Amazon” (which may be true, but don't think about it now). Your significant other will offer a distant, “Hmm. That’s nice. Don’t forget to mow the lawn.” The only exception to this universal law of nobody caring is if you’re actually under contract to write a book. In that case, your agent cares, and your publisher cares. But trust me, nobody else cares. You have to go on this writing journey all by your onesies. This is a universal, no-getting-away-from-it cosmic truth. Even if you have a mentor or a writer's group, you’re still all alone in the woods, baby.


Bonus Pro Tip: Your mother will nearly drop dead when you present her with a signed copy of your published book. Be sure to give her an arrogant grin that says, “How do you like them apples, lady?”


But that said, you’re also the only one who gets to take all the credit when you’re finished! (Although you might consider throwing a bone to your mother/friends/significant other/lovers/writers group/etc. and graciously write a dedication that says you couldn’t have done it without their patience, love, support, and respect. Even though you totally could have.)


Secondly, don’t look at the overall big picture. It’s brutally overwhelming when you’re staring at a blank computer screen, and all of your doubts crash into your already sadly insecure Life Force. You know that you’ve got to sit there like you didn’t eat your peas at dinner, day after day, for maybe eternity, and type a minimum of 80,000 words (about two hundred fifty double-spaced pages). And those words have to depict interesting characters. And dialogue that’s fresh and sparkly. And a plot that’s unique and absorbing. In a voice that’s original and distinctly yours. So seriously. Don’t look down that long, muddy, pothole-rutted road. It’ll just make you Google “Lobotomy and where to get one.” Also, don’t think about the fact that it’s probably going to take 6 months (at a minimum) to a year (if you’re lucky) before you’ll even have a decent first draft.

Thirdly, don’t show your WIP to anyone who isn’t a writer (that’s what writing workshops are for). We all want validation … someone to tell us how amazing our work is and how brilliant and squeezably yummy we are and to give us the love and attention that mommy or daddy never did. But don't fall for that trap. Treat your project like the fuck-buddy you have on the side—secretively. It’s bad form (not to mention potentially fatal) to brag about how many times you’ve banged the mechanic down at the repair shop. It’s equally hazardous to let others give their opinions about your work while it’s still basically a fetus in the womb. Your family and friends (and the hot mechanic) can pass judgment (and they will) after publication. Non-writers don’t know anything about the process and what you’re going through! Only another writer can even vaguely empathize. And be careful of them, too. You must protect yourself—and your work!


Depressed yet? I get it. Now, get over it. If you want to write a book, you’ll write a book. I am so supremely confident of that. And, after you think you’ve finished writing your book … you thought wrong. Sorry, again. You are still multiple rewrites away from querying an agent (which is another nightmare Twilight Zone journey into another hot hell dimension all its own. I’ll save that horrifying birds and the bees/facts of life talk for another blog).


In summation, you will love the process of writing your book. And you will hate the process of writing your book. You will want to quit. You will think you can’t go on because, well, who would want to read this rubbish? You may cry (rivers). You may have a nervous breakdown (or three). You may lose friends because you're working, and they’ll tire of you turning down invitations to join them for a lazy day at the beach. You may resent those same friends because they seem to have a life, and you realize that your so-called life is all in your head and in a word document named (INSERT BOOK TITLE HERE) on your MacBook Pro. Boo-hoo.


But, to anyone who actually gets far enough to type “The End,” I say BRAVO/BRAVA! You are a GOD to me!



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