Ray Bradbury suggests in Zen and the Art of Writing, to let a writer’s mind list “random” words (he listed nouns) to help fuel their imagination. From the list, he suggests one might glean insight into where your passions lie and where your next story might be hidden. He writes,
These lists were the provocations, finally, that caused my better stuff to surface. I was feeling my way toward something honest, hidden under the trapdoor on the top of my skull.
The lists ran something like this:
THE LAKE. THE NIGHT. THE CRICKETS. THE RAVINE. THE ATTIC. THE BASEMENT. THE TRAPDOOR. THE BABY. THE CROWD. THE NIGHT TRAIN. THE FOG HORN. THE SCYTHE. THE CARNIVAL. THE CAROUSEL. THE DWARF. THE MIRROR MAZE. THE SKELETON.
I was beginning to see a pattern in the list, in these words that I had simply flung forth on paper, trusting my subconscious to give bread, as it were, to the birds. Glancing over the list, I discovered my old love and fright having to do with circuses and carnivals. I remembered, and then forgot, and then remembered again, how terrified I had been when my mother took me for my first ride on a merry-go-round. With the calliope screaming and the world spinning and the terrible horses leaping, I added my shrieks to the din. I did not go near the carousel again for years. When I really did, decades later, it rode me into the midst of Something Wicked This Way Comes.
Brain Pickings even wrote a great article about Bradbury’s list-making and how it fosters creativity.
While easing back into writing from the crazy land that has been my life for the last six months, my girlfriend suggested I read Bradbury’s book and within the first few pages, he outlines this technique. I decided to take a break and try it out myself (adding verbs, adjective, and other phrases beyond just nouns). It’s supposed to be off-the-cuff, word association style, with little to no thought so your subconscious can run with it, so here we go.
The last place you’d expect to find writing advice is in the Institute of Electrical and Electronics Engineers’ journal Transactions on Professional Communications. Yet, there it was.
In the 1980 issue, Kurt Vonnegut dispatches advice on “how to put your style and personality into everything you write.” What’s even more interesting, is that he does it in an ad, part of a series from the International Paper Company called “The Power of the Printed Word.” It was a ploy, a decree, or call to arms urging all of us to “read better, write better, and communicate better.”
Below you will find that advice, as well as other snippets about writing from the prologues of his novels, interviews, and his memoir of essays, A Man Without a Country.
How to Write with Style: An ad
1. Find a subject you care about Find a subject you care about and which you in your heart feel others should care about. It is this genuine caring, and not your games with language, which will be the most compelling and seductive element in your style.
I am not urging you to write a novel, by the way—although I would not be sorry if you wrote one, provided you genuinely cared about something. A petition to the mayor about a pothole in front of your house or a love letter to the girl next door will do.
“Being stuck on one [project] is an opportunity to work on something else.”
Recently, this Ted Talk gave a name to something I’ve been thinking about for months: slow motion multi-tasking.
It’s the reason why my upload speed on my major projects has slowed. It’s the reason why I trashed or logged out of my social media accounts. It’s why I can’t respond to comments for days, weeks, months.
I am working on three major bodies of written work: each fiction, each varying styles, and each developing at different rates.
To be a better writer, we are told to write in any way, shape, or form but also to read. Everything and anything. Consume the written word and it will flow through us.
So when I am stuck, I work on expanding my library of knowledge by reading collections of short stories, my favorite novels, modern classics, Oscar Wilde …
The inspiration comes easier now as I spread my attention between these things, not at the same time, but giving each one my fullest attention in turn.
No Tumblr notifications, no AO3 hit counts to see, no Twitter twitting in the background. Just me and Scrivener, or my headphones and Kindle, and a hot cup of tea.
Yesterday I wrote 3000 words for Charm City. Today, I opened my Unhitched file for the first time in months and edited it. Last week I finished two books, Ishmael by Daniel Quinn and Trigger Warnings by Neil Gaiman. Next week, I will begin two more, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas and the new edition of American Gods when they are both released as audiobooks on Scribd.
When I cannot do any of that – listen to a droning narrator, or write for one of my many versions of the same men in hostile, bloody, or psychologically strained environments – I work on my new novel in the style of J.M. Barrie. It is light. It’s refreshing. It’s resetting to me and I listen to classical music while I do it.
This blog is my collection of cardboard boxes, keeping my inspiration organized and my tasks filed away.
So, thank you, Tim Harford, for helping me justify bouncing between pages and books without publishing my work in a timely manner. It’s opened my eyes to what I have already accomplished and how my process of creativity is not scattering my brain or being used as some sort of avoidance tactic, but rather allowing me to slow down and move past blocks while still maintaining creative productivity.
While cleaning out my Google Docs, I found my original chapter one of Unhitched. It was in a file called trucker!Hannibal and titled Rest Stop, and was a whopping 712 word. It was created on Mar 1, 2017, whereas chapter one of Unhitched was published on August 6 of that same year after I had about eight chapters written and lined up in the queue.
If you want to see how someone’s writing ability and style can vastly change over a couple months (and then years), read on. I warn you, though. It’s rough – so rough. I left every error for posterity, but I think it makes me even prouder of what Unhitched is turning into.
“Excuse me, ma’am! Hey!” he snapped, gritting his teeth. The waitress tensed her shoulders, slowly turning to stare down at the middle-aged mustached man in the booth. “Um, these eggs,” he said, pointing at his plate, “are they supposed to be ice cold?”
Her face reflected each regretful minute of the twelve hours she’d been at the diner. “Yes, sir. Ice cold,” she barked. “Says so on the menu.”
He hesitated, his voice growing soft as he stared back at her blank expression, “Okay then. Uh, thank you.” He averted his eyes from the woman as he scanned his area of the diner for any potential eavesdroppers. Satisfied that his exchange went unnoticed he began cutting up his cold fried eggs. The waitress had meandered away and now stood behind the bar, rolling her eyes at the crazy man in her section. Will, of course, noticed this, but returned his attention to his slimy eggs.
“Ice cold,” he mumbled to himself. “Supposed to be ice cold. Menu says so,” he mocked. “Why bother to cook them at all then?” His agitated voice was elevating as he spoke. “Should have just given me a couple eggs right out of the damn refrigerator!” he emphasized with a scream. Several other diners looked up from their breakfasts and gawked at the man clearly losing his mind.
“What are you looking at?!” he angrily questioned, his eyes darting around the restaurant. Women were whispering and glancing away and a few men were simply ignoring his outburst – save one. Will glared at the bearded man at the far end of the bar. The man’s piercing eyes bore holes through his skull. Will’s gaze aggressively locked on him until his mind finally buckled under the pressure, his eyes returning to his rubbery breakfast.
“Ice cold,” he whispered, keeping his voice low. “Tastes like shit,” he sneered throwing his fork down. He violently pushed away his plate and cradled his face in his hands, sighing deeply as his anxiety began percolating behind his eyes.
He was suddenly no longer alone. He dropped his hands and stared at the face across from him at the table. The bearded man had invaded his booth and was now intensely eyeing him. The man leaned on his fist and continued to stare at Will.
Will incredulously stared back, unappreciative of this blatant disregard for his privacy. The man across from him pulled a toothpick out of nowhere and slowly worked it between his teeth as his gaze remained fixed on Will.
“Can I help you?” Will finally snapped.
The man pointed at him with the toothpick, “You’re a rude little man,” he mumbled matter-of-factly. His voice was low and gruff and accented in a way that one couldn’t quite place his origin or discern his level of education.
Will scoffed, his face contorting with disgust at the insult. “Is it not also rude to be served shitty eggs?” His voice was tense and emphatic. “I’m paying money for warm eggs, just like everyone else.”
The gruff man smiled and sat back in the booth. “You’re twitchy,” he snickered.
“And you’re dirty,” he retorted, unsure as to why he was resorting to name calling. This was all ridiculous. “And who-who’s rude now? Calling me twitchy …” He scoffed again and leaned back, crossing his arms.
“Where’re you headed?” asked the mysterious man.
Will’s voice remained agitated. “Yeah, I’m not discussing anything with you,” he hissed. His eyes darted around the room, searching for his waitress to refill his now ice cold coffee.
“Why not?” the man wondered. He was quiet and placid, not even particularly threatening.
“Do I seem interested in talking to you?”
“Not particularly.”
Will shook his head in disgust, “They why are you continuing to bother me?”
“Curious.” The man continued to chew his toothpick, occasionally clicking his tongue.
Will furrowed his brows. “Curious about what? About me?” He glared at him. “Buddy, I’m not into whatever you’re looking for, so move on.”
The man chuckled at Will’s assumption. “I think you’re exactly what I’m looking for.”
“Oh … wonderful,” he mocked. “And what the hell would that be?”
The man slowly leaned on the table, a menacing smile creeping across his face, “A man with nothing to lose.”
Notice how it’s in third person and past tense? I think that was the first thing to go on draft two. If you want to compare, here’s chapter one of the final version. It’s 2742 words, if you’re curious.
Oh, the magic and majesty of a little patience and a lot of practice.
I wanted to talk about the authors’ feedback and how important it is for the reader either. It is often discussed how crucial are comments for the author and their desire to invest their effort into their new works. But authors’ replies to the readers’ comments are also important and they influence readers’ commitment and willingness to leave comments. Dear authors,please don’t ignore,please acknowledge us and our comments on your works with replies,bc it goes both ways. Please and thank you!
ao3commentoftheday left a fairly standard response stating that “everyone has reasons why they do/don’t leave comments and do/don’t reply to comments,” but it opened up that age-old discussion as to what readers feel owed when they comment and what writers are obligated to do if and when comments start rolling in.
There is one camp of that states, “I wrote the fic and charitably gave it to my fandom. If I am expected to respond to the gratitude my readers have for my gift, is it really gratitude they are sharing with me or just attention-seeking bait?” It does end up being more work for authors in addition to the laborious task of writing.
The other camp is, “Of course I will show my gratitude to readers by responding to every comment!” And those authors take time out of writing to reply.
Unhitched has over 800 comments.
If 1-10 or so comments are left per reader, assuming they comment on multiple chapters (most do not), that leaves 400 comments to be written by me, which is, of course, in addition to the (current) 171,852 words of the actual fic. That’s a lot of writing!
I’m not complaining. I’m just stating that expecting a reply is sometimes not physically possible, especially if the author has multiple fics in a very active fandom, and I’m not sure I like the idea that readers will only comment if they think they will get a reply. I have heard that elsewhere and it rubs me the wrong way. Refusing to acknowledge the fact that you consumed something the author produced simply because you don’t get the added bonus of being thrilled when the author responds, seems a little greedy … or maybe a lot greedy.
If readers knew how much time goes into the free entertainment they so quickly and happily consume, they would never again ask for a reply. It is a hellish amount of work to keep up with.
That said, I applied all these thoughts I was mulling over to Hannigram, of course, because it makes for a fun writing challenge.
Hannibal Lecter invites you to dinner and serves a delicious human leg all done up nicely with assorted fruits and nuts. You partake of the leg and find it unquestionably rich – divine – your mouth has never tasted anything so decedent. Without hesitation, you thank him for the invitation to dinner.
Being a man with ample time, skill, and a love of both compliments and fine dining, Hannibal Lecter would probably serve you dessert for your politeness. Sanguinaccio dolce. You could consider it a “thank you” for joining him and fawning over his leg.
Will Graham, by contrast, is nervous around new people, but he doesn’t want to appear standoffish, so he invites you fishing one afternoon. The stream is beautiful, the sun-dappled ground peaceful, and Will shares anecdotes about the flora and fauna. You are enraptured. After a few hours, you sit by a fire along the bank of the quiet stream and he plates some pan-fried trout caught by his own rod and reel. The fish flakes like nothing else. It’s light and fresh and melts in your mouth. You thank him, which he wholeheartedly appreciated, but given his demeanor, doesn’t even nod in reply.
Will didn’t bring dessert, unless you count the smashed granola bar under the seat of his car. He brought a tackle box and wants to get back to fishing. You are free to sit on the shore and watch, but if you only went fishing with Will Graham so that he would serve you pudding, then you had no business agreeing to join him. Will Graham is not Hannibal Lecter.
One man is about the sharing of a meal – the give and take – watching you eat human flesh while you give praise and adoration of his efforts; the other is about sharing a single experience that means something profound to him and that is all.
Hannibal appreciates thank-you notes, fine wine, and long-winded conversation where he can preen. He will gladly play that game; he has the time, the patience, and the desire to do so.
Will Graham will give you what he can, but that’s it. The trip was what he offered, nothing more than a nice view, a tin plate with fish, and a thermos of coffee.
Some authors can offer a five-course meal with all the trappings, including replies to comments.
Others pour their time into the fic itself and are drained by the end of it, unable to scrounge up even a granola bar.
In the end, authors range in their abilities to cook, fish, and socialize. Some look at writing as a smorgasbord – a buffet of delight – and reply to all comments without question. Other’s took you fishing and shared a warm afternoon with you, and that is where the lovely day ended.
In the end, writers are all adorable cannibalistic murderers, but since a reader can never tell which kind, it is best not to expect things. A simple “thank you” after a nice day out or a fine meal is all that is needed. To expect anything else might just be considered rude, and rudeness is not looked at favorably by certain someones.
Books I would like to read or reread this year for personal reasons or because of upcoming writing challenges. I’m not following this list of 100 Modern Must-Read Classics, but I am pulling a few titles from it.
Books I’ve Finished:
January
Peter Pan by J. M. Barrie – 1/15
Bagombo Snuff Box* by Kurt Vonnegut – 1/22
Alices Adventures in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll – 1/28
Ishmael by Daniel Quinn – 1/29
February
Trigger Warnings* by Neil Gaiman – 2/6
The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde – 2/10
Armageddon in Retrospect* by Kurt Vonnegut – 2/18
A Clockwork Orange by Anthony Burgess – 2/19
Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas by Hunter S. Thompson – 2/21
1984 by George Orwell – 2/26
A Man Without a Country by Kurt Vonnegut – 2/27
March
To Kill a Mocking Bird by Harper Lee – 3/1
Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury – 3/4
Brave New World by Aldous Huxley – 3/6
The Curious Case of Benjamin Button & Other Stories* by F. Scott Fitzgerald – 3/8
Minority Report and Other Short Stories* by Philip K Dick – 3/12
Naked Lunch by William S. Burroughs – 3/19
Slaughter-house Five by Kurt Vonnegut – 3/27
The War of the Worlds by H. G. Wells – 3/30
The Old Man and the Sea by Ernest Hemingway – 3/30
April
The Country of the Blind* by H. G. Wells – 4/1
On the Road by Jack Kerouac – 4/3
The Island of Dr. Moreau by H. G. Wells – 4/5
The Remarkable Case of Davidson’s Eyes* by H. G. Wells – 4/6
Tales from Edgar Allan Poe Vol 1* (L&LA) – 4/7
Tales from Edgar Allan Poe: Vol 2* (L&LA) – 4/7
I am Legend by Richard Matheson – 4/9
The Metamorphosis* by Franz Kafka – 4/12
The Time Machine by H. G. Wells – 4/15
The Dark Worlds of H. P. Lovecraft Vol 4* – 4/18
Anthem by Ayn Rand – 4/19
Welcome to the Monkey House* by Kurt Vonnegut – 4/27
The Road Virus Heads North* by Stephen King – 4/27
The Curious Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde by Robert Louis Stevenson – 4/27
The Most Dangerous Game by Richard Connell – 4/27
Squirrel Seeks Chipmunk* by David Sedaris – 4/28
May
Frankenstein by Mary Shelley – 5/3
The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams – 5/7
The Little Mermaid by Hans Christian Andersen – 5/9
Mr. Spaceship* by Philip K. Dick – 5/11
Lord of the Flies by William Golding – 5/13
The Shadow Over Innsmouth by H. P. Lovecraft – 5/16
The Wind in the Willows by Kenneth Grahame – 5/19
Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov – 5/21
Cat’s Cradle by Kurt Vonnegut – 5/22
The Dunwich Horror* by H. P. Lovecraft – 5/23
Around the World in 80 Days by Jules Verne – 5/25
June
Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck – 6/7
Brokeback Mountain by Annie Proulx – 6/11
The Legend of Sleepy Hollow by Washington Irving – 6/15
Blink: The Power of Thinking Without Thinking by Malcolm Gladwell – 6/16
The Left Hand of Darkness by Ursula K. Le Guin – 6/20
The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry – 6/21
The Ocean At the End of the Lane by Neil Gaiman – 6/22
July
The Giver by Lois Lowry – 7/16
More than Two: A Practical Guide to Ethical Polyamory by Eve Rickert and Franklin Veaux – 7/18
Zen & the Art of Writing by Ray Bradbury – 7/19
August
Animal Farm by George Orwell – 8/27
The Nameless City* by H. P. Lovecraft – 8/31
September
Men, Women, and Worthiness by Brené Brown – 9/10
Let’s All Kill Constance by Ray Bradbury – 9/12
Junky by William S. Burroughs – 9/20
October
Dandelion Wine by Ray Bradbury – 10/1
Everything is F*cked: A Book About Hope by Mark Manson – 10/4
Fortunately, The Milk by Neil Gaiman – 10/7
Long Way Down by Jason Reynolds – 10/7
The Grownup by Gillian Flynn – 10/7
The Prophet by Kahil Gibran – 10/8
The Death of Ivan Ilyich by Leo Tolstoy – 10/10
Unfu*k Yourself: Get Out of Your Head and Into Your Life by Gary John Bishop – 10/12
The Breast by Philip Roth – 10/14
Futuria Fantasia, spring 1940 (Bradbury’s fanzine) – 10/18
The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck by Mark Manson – 10/20
Conscious: A Brief Guide to the Fundamental Mystery of the Mind by Annaka Harris – 10/22
November
Seedfolks by Paul Fleischman – 11/1
How to Think More About Sex by Alain de Botton – 11/29
December
The Nose by Nikolai Gogol – 12/5
The End We Start From by Megan Hunter – 12/10
The Invention of Hugo Cabret by Brian Selznick – 12/17
Currently Reading:
Zen & the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance by Robert M. Pirsig
Not So Much, Said the Cat by Michael Swanwick
George by Alex Gino
The Chronology of Water by Lidia Yuknavitch
Current Audiobook Podcasts:
The Brothers Grimm Lunch Break – Unfortunately, this podcast does not read all 250 original Grimm fairytales (he stops at chapter 116 of The Complete Fairy Tales of the Brothers Grimm published by Bantam), but I enjoy the man’s voice, so after I complete his podcast I’ll probably borrow the book and finish it on my own.
Books suggested to me:
The Diving Bell and the Butterfly by Jean-Dominique Bauby
Something Wicked Comes This Way by Ray Bradbury
Howl and Other Poems* by Allen Ginsberg
The Dark Worlds of H. P. Lovecraft Vol 1*
The Dark Worlds of H. P. Lovecraft Vol 3*
Dracula by Bram Stoker
In Cold Blood by Truman Capote
The Wonderful Visit by H. G. Wells
Catcher in the Rye by J. D. Salinger
Human Cuisine by Albala & Allen
American Gods (the 10-year revised edition) by Neil Gaiman
Catch-22 by Joseph Heller
The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald
Snow Crash by Neal Stephenson
Foundation by Isaac Asimov
The Beginning Place by Ursula K. Le Guin
The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins
A Wrinkle In Time by Madeleine L’Engle
Beloved or The Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison
Sherlock Holmes by Arthur Conan Doyle
A Prayer for Owen Meany by John Irving
Invisible Man by Ralph Ellison
Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides
Dune by Frank Herbert
The Road by Cormac McCarthy
Carrie by Stephen King
IT by Stephen King
The Folk of the Air by Peter S. Beagle
The Inkeepers Song by Peter S. Beagle
Small Gods by Terry Pratchett
The Martian Chronicles by Ray Bradbury
2001: A Space Odyssey by Arthur C Clarke
Everything’s Eventual* by Stephen King
Mother Night by Kurt Vonnegut
The Frogs by Aristophanes
Journey to the Center of the Earth by Jules Verne
One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest by Ken Kesey
The Swiss Family Robinson by Johann David Wyss
I Thought It Was Just Me (but It Isn’t) by Brené Brown
Sometimes, I’m at a loss for words when my kind readers reach out to me. Whether in public comments, private messages, or through liking and reblogging, it means the world to me.
That said, a human being – a real living, breathing person – messaged me, quite politely on Tumblr, to say of Unhitched (ch 27):
At times I am reminded of Beckt’s Waiting for Godot where seemingly nothing happens but there’s an undercurrent of meaning. Chapt 27 was all poetry I believe. And well done too.
As I am one to consume any and all things and use them in my writing, I present a link to the two-hour play which is as hilarious as it is existential.
Waiting for Godot by Samuel Beckett
There is nothing left to say about this except everyone should watch it. It’s as Nietzsche-esque or Vonnegut-ian as it can get.
To find out that I reminded someone of such a famous and glorious piece of work is truly an honor.
With every second that ticks by, I feel like I’m disintegrating into the pages of a story that will never be bound, but rather left to fade with time, lining the bottom of a birdcage.
I will blog every day of 2019, I tell myself, a New Years resolution. Every day I’ll write a little something – nothing crazy, 200-300 words – and I’ll make sure to document it on my brand new blog.
It’s already January 2nd and I failed.
Day one.
Fail.
Why must I have such grandiose ideas about what the new year will bring? It’s not a magical time of the year when the veil thins and our willpower to succeed is suddenly heightened. It’s like any other day … filled with appointments, late dinners, dirty clothes, and if we’re lucky, a fresh pink gin.
If we wait until the new year to implement lifestyle changes, do we really care about them? Wouldn’t we start reading more as soon as the idea strikes rather than on some arbitrary date? Saying you’ll start that diet bright and early tomorrow is already setting you up to fail. If you were mentally ready for the change, you would start your new diet that second, not tomorrow, not after vacation, not when life “calms down.”
There are dear-sweet-god moments that motivate us: seeing a friend succeed, watching a loved one die, suddenly noticing the passing of time when your three-year-old scoffs and insists that growing up takes forever. They kick us and get us moving. Dates are not dear-sweet-god moments.
So what’s a resolution I will stick to?
There isn’t one.
I don’t want timers and schedules telling me that I’m a failure when I skip a day or life becomes too hectic. I don’t want to feel boxed and caged and unable to change my goal without feeling like I’m cheating.
So my resolution is simply to not regret wasted time in 2019.
My kids are older (off the breast and out of diapers) so I feel oxygen rejuvenating my pores again. I can stretch. I can leave. I can start to remember who I was before my son was born seven years ago.
I wrote last night – 800 or so words for Unhitched. Considering I haven’t written anything for Unhitched in two months, that’s not too bad.
Charm City is still stalled at 110k words, but hey, those 110k words are pretty choice as far as I’m concerned.
Yesterday wasn’t a waste. I wrote. I figured out how to make a cool new gallery on WordPress. I recategorized all my blog posts. I started reading a book. I made a few friends laugh when I ranted about my failed eBay purchase.
Today wasn’t a waste either. I blogged, damn it. I taught my son what The Great Wall of China is. I composted eight pounds of chocolate (okay, that was sort of a waste).
Do you know what a dimber–damber is? It refers to a clever rogue who excels his fellows or, I guess, the chief of a gang. As an adjective it means very pretty.
I learned that today.
I also learned that damber is the album name for California punk band dimber (pronounced like the switch). Their music is not my cup of tea, but boy howdy check out their website. Seeing a Spotify link in that mess almost ripped open a wormhole back to 1996.
I want to write.
I want to read.
I want to feel like a human, but not just the parts of a human that feel the guilt and pain and depression of not living to its full potential.
I want to check off boxes, send my friends gifts, and find a vintage egg cup to eat breakfast out of (a real egg cup this time).
I want porn back on Tumblr, but that’s not happening, so I will settle for spending less time on social media and more time on drabbles and reading obscure dictionaries.
I’m not going to finish Unhitched this year – I may not even finish Charm City – but I refuse to think of the time I do spend on fanfiction as a waste.
Happy January 2nd.
My Current Fixations
Pexels – a site for high-quality royalty-free stock images. I use these in photo manipulation and for blogs. I’m also going to start a visual inspiration log, similar to the gallery I’ve already set up here. Probably with drabbles attached in the captions.
