Some of the best advice on writing (to me, anyway, but you can put yours in the comments) is :

1.) Read a lot.
2.) Write every day.
Neither of which I do.

Yep, I’m a baaaad writer.
But I have another life. (Two of them. Maybe three. And looking for fourth. Call me schizoid. I won’t deny it.) I do read, but it isn’t quite what the writing-rule requires. The writing-rule is suggesting that I read a lot of books and short stories in my genre, books that will show me market trends, written by writers with far better skills and more devices in their tool boxes than I have. The idea is to feed my mind and my skills while reading for pleasure.

I don’t follow the spirit or letter of writing-rule number one. I ignore it regularly. Instead, I usually spend my reading time on other things—nonfiction for the lab field, manuscripts and partials for the 3 or 4 writers I am mentoring (pushing, prodding, abusing, critiquing,) at this time, the manuscripts I am asked to blurb, and the books I edit for a small publishing house. So yes, I read lot, but it isn’t for pleasure and education. Not at all.

I only have time to read two books a month that fall under the Read-A-Lot writing-rule category. This month, those two books are Kim Harrison’s Black Magic Sanction, and AJ Hartley’s Mask of Atreus. Kim’s book blew my away. Her skills as a writer have grown richer, mellowed, and deepened in flavor, like really good red wine. Her ability to weave multiple plot lines into one whole, to make a rich, full bodied reading experience has gotten better over the years. A lot of writers with the intense deadline schedule she has, show a decrease in skills and attention to craft. Not Kim. She makes sure her fans have a wonderful experience, and I have no doubt that, when she moves from the Hollows series to something else, she will bring this depth of skill and passion for craft into the new projects. I finished Kim’s book on Sunday, and I recommend you read her Hollows series from start to finish to see how a skilled writer weaves a series arc, and develops a character into a multilayered whole. I’ll start AJ’s book tonight, if the lab is quiet. This will be my very first AJ book. (Like I said. I’m a bad writer. I should have read him long ago, but I admit to having a fear of reading AJ. No. I haven’t told him this. {Waves to AJ.} But his ability to skip between genres is daunting. I know full well that I’ll have writer’s envy {she says with a laugh}. And I hate about myself. Well, sorta.)

Nor is writing every day possible. I am half asleep today, up from my day-sleep (which makes me sound very vampish) with the beginnings of a head cold. RL is getting in the way of my writing life. Again, I am not following the rules. I admit to being obstinate and contrary, by the way, so no need to point that out.

However, even when I finish the rest of the day’s sleep, (to which I am heading momentarily) I will be editing a manuscript and rewriting my AKA’s (and her co-writer’s) outline. (I do detest outlines when they reach the point of tinkering rather than the creative stage, which can be fun.) RL needs me to pay attention to other’s creative endeavors rather than my own. Well, rather than Faith’s own. Gwen is another part of my schizoid self and lately she is a demanding, taxing, stress-inducing entity.

No, I’m not!

Yes you are. This is my blog. Hush. Go take a nap.

You won’t get back in bed!

Sigh… See what I mean? Yes, we all have RL. Some of us have more than one.

So, what personal writing rules do you have? And how often do they get kicked in the tush by RL?
Faith
FaithHunter.Net
GwenHunter.Com

In the interests of full disclosure, let me begin by saying that 40 is a rapidly receding speck in my cosmic rear-view mirror, and I’m starting to see road signs for 50.  I wouldn’t say that I’m getting old, but let’s just say that I see my father in the mirror a lot more than I used to, and I get called “Sir” by people who really don’t seem like they’re that much younger than I am.  Last week I received an email inviting me to my 25th college reunion and I just knew that had to be a mistake.  Until I realized that my older daughter will be starting college in a little more than three years.

Professionally speaking, I should be in my prime.  And, in a way, I think I am.  I’m as busy right now as I have ever been in my career:  A new book out last month; the Robin Hood novelization coming out in late April; two more books under contract, one due April 1, the other due December 1; a short story coming out in an anthology in May; another short story due April 16; and yet another novel completed and looking for a home.  I don’t know what I’ll be doing after I finish that book due in December, but for now at least, things are pretty good.  And last year at this time, I felt pretty much the same way.  In between, though, I had a year much like the one A.J. describes in his post.  Contract negotiations that I thought would happen quickly and with ease, didn’t happen that way at all.  Opportunities that I thought were waiting for me proved illusory.  Book sales proved as subject to the vagaries of a sick economy as everything else.  Things seemed bleak.  Last summer I was looking at job listings and contemplating a future as something other than a professional writer.

If I had followed my original career path, I would now be a history professor at a major research institution in Colorado.  I’d have tenure; probably a full professorship.  I’d be earning a good deal more than I make now.  (Trust me on this — I just did taxes for a fantasy writer and a Professor of Biology.  It’s not a pretty comparison….)  If I’d followed my father’s advice many, many years ago, I’d be a lawyer, and I’d be making WAY more money than either a writer or a college professor.

Yes, I know.  I cannot (and do not) measure my success or my happiness by my annual income.  Writing offers rewards that have nothing to do with money, and everything to do with being creative, fulfilling lifelong dreams, following my heart, and pursuing a career that allows me time to devote myself to my family and friends.  But as A.J. pointed out the other day, there is something deeply unsettling about having no job security.  Professors get tenure.  Lawyers make partner.  Doctors establish a practice.  Writers’ careers are only as secure as the sales of their most recent release.  Bad numbers on one book can make publishers think twice about contracting your next.  Downward trends on the sales numbers for two consecutive books and you might be done.

You’ve heard all of this before; you don’t need me to repeat it.  To be honest, I don’t want this post to be a “The-Market-Is-Crap-and-This-Is-A-Difficult-Way-To-Make-a-Living” post.  You get those enough.  I do have to say, though, that this really isn’t any way for a grown-up to make a living.  And maybe that’s the point of all this.  I’m at an age where guys typically buy their red Porsches and do something stupid to muck up their marriages.  Seeking personal reinvention, they spend their money and fool around and make themselves miserable.

I refuse to have a midlife crisis.  I like my life far too much.  But while I have no interest in German sports cars or any woman other than my wife, I have every intention of remaking myself professionally as many times as it takes to keep doing this crazy thing I do.  I don’t feel old, and I think that’s because, in addition to having a family I love, I also have a career that brings me joy, that encourages me to think and act like a kid.  I make up stories for a living! How nuts is that?  Okay, so I’m paid like a cross between a paperboy and a camp counsellor.  I do, in fact, get paid.  And when I get bored, or I find that I’ve reached a professional cul-de-sac, I can reinvent myself.  Not with the sports car, but with a new kind of story.  I used to write epic fantasy.  Now I write an alloy of historical fantasy, urban fantasy, and mystery.  Next, maybe, I’ll try YA, or contemporary, or steampunk, or something I haven’t even heard of yet.

We live in a society that fetishizes youth.  You want to look young and act young and dress young and drive the car that young people drive.  And if the pursuit of Ponce de Leon’s folly makes you exercise more or eat better, good on you.  For me, though, youth kind of sucked.  I didn’t know what I wanted to be or who I really was.  I lacked direction and confidence.  I lacked wisdom.  I don’t want to be young.  I’m perfectly happy being middle-aged, just as long as that doesn’t mean I have to do all the things that society expects of a middle-aged guy.

So what does it mean to be a professional writer at age 47?  It means that I don’t have to wear a suit to work.  It means that I can take a day off to care for a sick kid, or play with a healthy one.  It means that I can mine the ever-expanding lodes of experience to write stories I couldn’t possibly have imagined ten or fifteen or twenty years ago.  And, if it also means that the bottom line on my 1040 isn’t all that impressive . . .  Well, that’s really a small price to pay for being happy.