Priceless.

So one of my resolutions for 2010 is to try and update my site here at least once per week. I pretty much did it last year, but it was scattered with multiple posts one week and no posts for multiple months. I am going to do what I can to stick with this, not for my readers (because there are none), but just to show myself that I give a crap enough.

Some Resolutions for 2010:

1. Be a fantastic husband to my new wife
2. Redesign HouseofCopy.com and gain at least 5 new clients
3. Publish a short story
4. Get at least one rejection letter for my novel
5. Publish a non-fiction article
6. Get 500 Visits per month on WineWelfare.com
7. Review at least 2 wines per week on WineWelfare.com
8. Lose 15 pounds
9. Go to visit the wife’s family in Italy
10. Learn (some) Italian

If I can think of any more I’m going to update this because it’s making me really think ahead and plan goals.

What are your resolutions for 2010? Or, if you don’t like that word, what are your goals for 2010? Let me know in the comments!

Cheers!

(Thanks to Liesl Barrell for bringing it to my attention)

I have purchased only one new car thus far in my life, but I was not the one who did the haggling. I left that to my mother’s husband, who is an expert at grinding out great deals (not to mention he had already purchased multiple cars from the dealer we went to). That said, remembering how he operated and now watching this video, I have realized that I think I will be able to haggle for my own car next time.

However the biggest hurdle is going to be not caring about how much of an asshole you’re being to the dealer.

Happy Holidays!

Brian Thomas Clark

Even the best writers, the ones we might refer to as “The Masters” or “genius” are still learning. There is not a writer alive who does not struggle and flail when putting together a piece. It’s the nature of the beast. William Faulkner said “the most important thing for a writer to be is never satisfied.” The learning, the trying, the failing, the trying again, the failing again, until finally some semblance of success is found, is the whole purpose of writing in the first place. To quote a cliche, “It’s the journey, not the destination.” In the case of writing, there is no destination. Ever.

Taking on the challenge of the NaNoWriMo (National November Novel Writing Month) taught me quite a few things about what kind of a fiction writer I am trying to be. While I only made it 6400 words (the goal is to have 50k by November 30th), I learned more than I ever thought possible, and more than I probably would have simply sitting down to write something. Though writing is completely under the writer’s control, deadlines do help. Now, some people might say, “A deadline is just another version of a goal, which is another version of a destination,” but it’s not. To have a deadline or a goal helps a writer maintain that control. Some don’t need one, others do. I am of the latter persuasion. If I don’t set deadlines for myself, I will either stop the writing and forget about it, or write on and on and on to the chagrin of the few readers I have.

I have written one novel thus far, and it has taken me years to get it to the point where I felt it might be worth sending out to agents. When I read it today I know it needs more work, but there is part of me that wants to leave it and see what happens through sending it out. I have already spent nearly six years working on it, ignoring it, leaving it by the wayside, or generally being extremely lazy. I set one deadline during this whole process, and it was in the very beginning: First draft in 6 months, and I did it. I prepared as much as I thought necessary, and I was able to have a mass of words at the end of those six months. Since then it has been a constant back and forth of rewriting and laziness. Flurries of work mixed with months of absolute nothing.

When I began the first re-write of the novel, I did not set any deadlines for myself. Sure I said things like, “I’d like to have this ready to send out within a year or so,” but I was not firm. Thus, we have years go by and I haven’t felt finished with it. I had begun to feel that deadlines were arbitrary and useless, but more than anything else, I started to feel like they were stifling. I was young, going to graduate school, thinking I was honing my brilliance as a struggling artiste. I would rip out paragraphs and throw in replacements willy-nilly, with no thought towards what it was doing to the story, the rhythm, the theme, or the flow. I didn’t want to follow any rules. Writing has no rules! How dare the mass of other successful writers suggest follow any rules, much less set up my own!

Thus, the book became a burden. Just a huge pain in the ass. This gave fuel to the negativity; what I call the “Little Piece of Shit In Your Head.” He’s the one who pops up quite often and in your most difficult moments of struggle and tells you things like,

“Your story sucks.”

“Who the hell would want to read this?”

“What is this crap about?”

“Boooooooring.”

“Nobody cares what you have to say.”

For most writers, hearing those words in your head is almost akin to death. Of course, it’s much worse if an actual person says them to you, but personally, I’d rather hear this from fifty people who have read my work than have to listen to that nagging little Piece of Shit.

But he has a purpose. He is integral to that journey and that learning I spoke of before. He forces you to change things up, to try new methods, to fight back. Graycie Harmon said “Being a writer is like being in charge of your own personal insane asylum,” and she’s right. When step back and look at what you have to go through if you want to write (I won’t even get trying to gain some monetary success in the publishing world), you would have to be insane to want to do it. Yet there are writers out there who suffer from severe depression, whose “Little Piece of Shit” is nowhere near little. Some writers have a freaking Brontosaurus in their heads, telling them how awful they are. And they go on. They fight back, they learn, they adapt. They learn their limits and try to do as many different things and grow within them.

I’m rambling (see what I mean about deadlines?), but the point is, by doing this dumb little month-long activity, I was able to learn and grow as a writer. There was no light at the end of the tunnel, no epiphany. I just discovered. Whereas I used to be in 100% agreement with the school of thought that says, if you have an idea for a story, throw it all up and sort it out later, I am now only about 75% in agreement. For example, I’ve learned that planning, preparing and outlining is essential. I’ve learned how crucial research is to the process. This is not to say that I plan to spend months and months outlining and preparing before sitting down and typing out a word, but even if I did, where’s the harm? I’m testing out new methods, which will lead to new techniques. The tools are all there, I just have to pick one up and try it out.

The hard part is actually writing something, but I’m now more excited than ever. And it only took 6400 words to teach me that.

Update 11/23/2009 – The odds are stacked against me, I know, but I wanted to let everyone know that, if for some reason I do not make it to 50K words by Sunday, November 30th, I am going to continue with the novel, because I’m enjoying it quite a bit. Besides, who writes a novel to 50K words, doesn’t feel like it’s finished, and gives up?

Actually, I am planning (if I don’t make it) to do my own personal version of the NaNoWriMo and see if I can get to 50K words by December 15th.

If I make that and I still don’t think it’s finished, I am going to continue on even past that. Those who know me know I ramble when I talk, and I write a lot when I write, so to have an entire novel encompassed in 50K words is ridiculous to me. I’ve tried my hand at short stories, and I still will, but I can never encapsulate a story into 3K words easily.

So there you have it. Onward and onward.

You don’t even need to have a coherent story, structure, theme, etc. Just write 50000 new words by midnight on November 30th, and you win…

Nothing! (Well, you get the satisfaction of having a bulky file to save, and if you’re really good, you might actually be able to do something with those 50000 words.

As you can see by the ticker to the right, I started quite late. I’m very behind. In fact, I’m too behind. To be fair, I was on my honeymoon during the beginning of this month, and since then I’ve been consistently enjoying married life. Crapping out a novel in 30 days was not top priority.

So is it possible for me to crank out about 45000 words in under 2 weeks?

Keep checking back to find out!

(Note: There will be no posts for 2 weeks)

my wife is wacko.
yes
and?
that’s right…take the big pile of cookies and walk away
now she boogies
in underwear
with finger pointing
looking at me with wary eyes
“laundry has been in there for a long time”
“stinks” she says
no duh
mold.

My wife is absolutely insane. This is a phrase I’m sure uttered by many a husband, so it is nothing new, really. I don’t feel like I am isolated in feeling this way, or that I have witnessed some new and exciting form of insanity in my wife. I just simply feel that she is utterly fucking nuts.

Each day my wife achieves new heights of insanity. She climbs the mountain of ill mental health, whose top is obscured by clouds. Already she has reached thousands and thousands of feet above ground, but the clouds force her to stop.

There are two types of insane women: The type who see the clouds and assume they can go no further, and the kind who know that the clouds are simply obscuring the even greater heights they could achieve; for these women, the clouds are taunting, a dare of sorts. In essence, there are those who are insane and simply stay insane, and those who say to themselves, “This isn’t over. That son of a bitch goes at least another few hundred feet, and I’ll be dammed if I’m just going to stop at crying maniacally over a burnt batch of cookies.”

My wife is of the latter persuasion. Each day I think she has gone as far as she can go. Having seen the cloudy roof wrapped around her insanity mountain, she has stopped. Then, the alarm goes off and someone hands her a brand new pickax and another length of rope. No patch of fog is going to keep her from the summit. Though she cannot see the actual peak of this frightening monstrosity, she weathers on, knowing that someday, somehow, she will achieve her dream of peak insanity.

At that moment she will jump and cheer, her body aching from years of agonizing climbing, the equivalent of climbing Everest, ten steps at time, morning, noon and night. After celebrating, she will pull out her flag (which features a cross-eyed face doing the “loop-de-loop” motion to the right of it’s ear, signifying craziness) and plant it squarely into the mad ground. She will have achieved her goal, her dream, her one true expression of just how hard she has worked in this life.

But that’s just fine by me, you see, because I always have a wide grin on my face these days, knowing that she is by my side, that she is mine, that we had found one another and were smart enough to know that when it’s right, it’s right. I will feel this way for as long as I live: during arguments, tough times, while raising children, no matter what. I may forget on the surface at times, but deep in my heart I will always know it is right.

Even when she murders me in my sleep.