Anyone ever call you a fanboy or fangirl? It’s supposed to be an insult, an implication of slack-jawed devotion to a TV show, movie, anime or band.  Fanboys and girls are stereotyped as obsessive geeks, wearing t-shirts emblazoned with their drug of choice, whether it be Star Wars, Star Trek, LOST, Radiohead, or The Dark Knight.  I admit to a modest collection of movie t-shirts myself, including Harry Potter and Watchmen (yes, Virginia, I read the graphic novel).

Do writers have fans? Yes, they do. I can tell you I’m a total Stephen King fangirl.  I used to send him a Christmas card every year.  No, really.  I don’t do it now because I stopped sending cards out altogether.  At the moment, I’m enamored of Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child.  Their series of co-written thrillers starring cultured FBI agent and master of disguise Aloysius Pendergast absolutely rocks.  I sent an email to them via their website regarding leaked information about the plot of Cemetery Dance and Lincoln Child sent me a gracious email back. That was a thrill for a fan, let me tell you.

How do people handle having fans? I can’t say how I would, since I don’t have any yet.  It’s something worth thinking about if you’re pursuing a career where your work will stand in the public eye.  Even companies that produce a product, such as sneakers, have fans, or rather, happy customers who will unofficially endorse said product at the drop of a hat.

If I do end up with a group of fans, whether it’s ten or ten million, I would do well to remember that they are the ones who are buying my product, my books.  I’ve worked in customer service for a long time and I know that rude behavior will drive them away, perhaps into a competitor’s arms.  Since I have my own slavish preferences in literature, film, music and TV, I can count myself among them.  It would be the height of arrogance to look down on them.

Just for fun, here are types of fans I’ve observed:

• Gary Geek – He may or may not have started a fan club or belong to one, but there’s no denying he is the most devoted member of all Fandom.  This is the person who might be labeled a fanboy.  He can wax endlessly on the minutiae of whatever show, book series or film he is enamored with.  Unless you share this obsession, it’s best just to back away slowly or you will be sucked into an endless discussion of why Peter Jackson left Tom Bombadil out of his film adaptation of The Lord of the Rings, or the rules of the Dr. Who universe. He loves all aspects of his chosen obsession and is open to new interpretations, so long as they make sense.  He’s not above making fun of posers or wanna-bes who haven’t achieved his level of devotion, but express a true interest and he he will happily induct you into his world.  The word geek used to be an insult too, but now it’s a label Gary wears proudly.

• Debbie Dabbler – She doesn’t care that much about Star Trek; she only thinks Chris Pine is cute. She may wear fangear, but only as a fashion statement and not a lifestyle. A true fangirl would wear it all the time, not just until the franchise has run its course.  Debbie is a hanger-on at first but may become a true fan later, or just move on to the next fad.  Either way, she will enjoy it.

• Susie Sneer – She makes fun of fans, but is secretly a fan herself.  She says she wouldn’t be caught dead actually watching Twilight, but she’ll have read the books.  Perhaps she has clandestine comics under her bed, or hiding in the closet.  Whatever her passion, she keeps it under wraps, whether to avoid teasing or simply to enjoy it on her own.  She might read fanfiction or even write her own.  If you discover her, don’t out her. Let her emerge on her own.

• Arnie Academic – Like Gary the Geek, Arnie is a serious fan, but in an intellectual, literary sort of way.  He’s most likely to be a book fan and not a movie one, perhaps involved in studying the languages of Tolkien or serious, socially relevant science fiction.  Arnie is the fan most likely to be labeled elitist, because he thinks his interest in certain material is loftier than yours.  He is also most likely to be a purist who chafes at adaptations that don’t stay absolutely true to the material.  Arnie can be grating if he is a snob.  If he is gracious, seek him out, because he’ll be the one to help you come up with a way to sneak pop culture into a scholarly school paper.

Whoever your fans are, remember to thank them. We’ve all seen the phenomenon of snobby writers, arrogant athletes and jerky musicians who, upon attaining their dream, seem to ooze contempt for the people who paid their hard-earned money to see their work.  Once you reach a Stephen King level of fame, it becomes nearly impossible to mix and mingle with them directly, but if you get the chance, be nice to them.  They will remember their encounter with you the same way they remember the bully or the nice girl in high school.

These are your customers.  Treat them right.

…but it would be more fun if I showed you.

Show vs. tell is one of the more frustrating aspects of writing for me. I struggled like hell to master it and I’m not even sure that now I have it right, so bear with me as I work it out with you.

Have you ever read a novel in which the author explains everything to you? Imagine something like this:

The Hulk moved toward Lisa.  He was very big and she shrank back.  His face distorted in a snarl as he batted aside the rapist.  The man flew into a park bench and was knocked unconscious. The Hulk touched Lisa’s face gently and disappeared into the night.

Okay, so it’s a superhero thing, but I’m trying to focus on the technique and not the deathless prose.  I hope Marvel Comics doesn’t come after me for using it, but it’s illustrative.  That passage tells you what happened, but it’s not very interesting, is it? In fact, it’s kind of sterile.  Plodding.  Wouldn’t this be better?

Lisa’s eyes were riveted on the rapist’s knife.  Her heart thumped in her throat, a thick lump cutting off her scream.  Her arms were limp noodles, her legs stone.  Leaves rustled behind the man and her gaze shifted as a massive form rose from the hedge. A bolt of shock shot through her.

The Hulk appeared, gargantuan muscles outlined in silver from the moon’s pale glow. He moved toward them, and she shrank back. The rapist’s lip curled but he didn’t turn.

The Hulk paused, looking at them.  His face distorted in a silent snarl, and a massive hand shot forward and batted the rapist aside like a bug.  The man’s body hit the nearby park bench with a loud crunch, and he was still.

Lisa held her breath. Every muscle in her body stayed locked. The Hulk’s fingers stretched toward her face and her eyes clamped shut.  She could hear him breathing , a steam engine with legs, and felt a slight pressure as he touched her face.  The tip of his finger slid gently across her cheek.  Then a thud of footsteps, shaking the ground under her feet, and she popped open her eyes just in time to see him loping off into the darkness.

“Thank you,” she whispered.  A shout from the street broke her paralysis and she fumbled for her cell phone and called 911.

Is that better? I think so.  I tried not to get too purple with it, but now you have a better sense of what Lisa is thinking and feeling when the rapist is holding a knife on her and the Hulk appears to save the day.  It takes more time to say it, but it’s more interesting.  At least I hope it is!

Telling instead of showing has its place; since the showing takes longer, a book written completely in this manner would be a thousand pages long.  Lisa’s story could continue thus until we get to the next important happening:

She dutifully filled out the police report. By the time she had finished giving her statement, exhaustion had overtaken her.  She called a cab, rode home in befuddled silence and fell into bed, not pausing to undress.  The merciful tranquilizer of sleep stole over her.

Here you can move Lisa quickly from the police station to her apartment without boring the crap out of your reader.  They won’t care about the details of the police report, her cab ride, etc. Your next chapter or scene will drive the plot, perhaps a conversation with her boss, the intrepid newspaper editor (“But J.P., I saw it! It’s real! I’m telling you, there’s a story out there and I mean to get it!”), or a sleuthing scene where she gets to the bottom of the Hulk’s mysterious appearance.

Showing brings your characters to life. It gives them a chance to do the things you want them to do, rather than sitting idly by while you tell your reader about it.  I’m still working on it.

For a great cinematic example of show don’t tell, see THX 1138, a 1971 science fiction film by George Lucas, featuring Robert Duvall and Donald Pleasance.  If you have any good examples or tips to share about this topic, please post them in the comments.

I don’t have an agenda today; just some thoughts to share with you.

Today I sent a story to a magazine that gives submitting writers the first line. It can’t be altered in any way.  The story must spring from it.

I thought and thought. What to do with it? Was my idea trite? Would there be other submissions like it? I told myself to focus. Don’t worry about what others are doing.  How could I make it my own? Eventually I got in the groove and came up with something pretty neat. I hope they like it. I certainly enjoyed the process.

That’s the nature of a challenge. When life gives you something, whether difficult or not, you must own it.  You’re only accountable for your own response and following that, your actions, or inactions.

Many times we don’t try something because we’re afraid of the outcome. Writers write, but then don’t submit.  Artists abandon their work for personal reasons and then never go back. People eye each other across a crowded room, but never take the plunge and miss out on what could possibly be a galvanic connection, personal or professional, that could make their lives better.  Why do we do this? Because we’re afraid of humiliation? Or maybe, because we just don’t think we can do it?

I have a few challenges in my life right now, which are sorely testing me. I’m trying to look on them as opportunities, for some of them have the potential to enrich my life greatly. It’s the promise of a great payoff that keeps me plugging away, despite obstacles my secret Anxiety Demon tells me are insurmountable.  The uncertainty of working so hard for something that I want without knowing if I’m going to have it damn near kills me, especially when writing doesn’t go well. And some things are out of my control and in the hands of others.  But I have to trust that they will turn out all right.

That is my biggest challenge. I’m a worrywart, a pessimist.  I crave reassurance. I don’t know if all artists are this way.  I can only speak for myself.  I have to learn not to talk myself out of things, whether a story problem, a pile of work on my desk at the day job or the next query after a lovely Reply O’ Doom.  It’s just a matter of sitting down and calming myself and not thinking catastrophically or giving up and walking away from what I want just because a little uncertainty happens to creep in.

Some days are harder than others. Lately, it’s been tough to get back into that groove, but look what I accomplished with just one line.  There’s no telling what wonderful things may be just around the corner.

If you have a particular strategy you use to help yourself face personal and professional challenges, please share in the comments.

In the Era of Man, which compared to geological time is merely a nanosecond, is there any doubt that early humans would have envied each other? Jealousy is as old as time.

Watching an excellently-written film this evening (Doubt), I had my own doubts about my material.  I felt mediocre, trite.  Who wants to read my dreck when there is quality like this out there? Granted, Doubt was a play, not a novel, but hey. It had to be written first.  A friend said my ability to see how to improve my own writing is my ticket to a career.  Is it? The truth is, writing is awesome, but moments like this suck.  People, you think you want to do this? Think again.

To listen to exquisitely-rendered dialogue gives me something to aspire to.  That’s what I keep telling myself.  In the meantime, I want to rip out my brand-new flattering haircut, set it on fire and roast weenies over it.  Or, failing that, baldly schlep on up to the corner gas station, buy a pack of Doral Menthol Light 100s and smoke ‘em ‘til I puke.  Never mind that I’ve been smoke-free for nearly two years.  Whaddya think of that, you perverted, fickle Muse? No wonder so many writers, actors and artists are substance abusers.  I could shred my book and drown myself in the River of Despair.  No one but another creative mind could understand.

Now that I’ve gotten that off my chest, how does a person deal with jealousy? In skating, often two skaters at the same rink will end up competing in the same level, sometimes directly against each other.  This doesn’t make for congenial relations, I can tell you.

Once two young skaters came separately to me and complained about this very thing. The two skaters were both very talented, but it was apples and oranges.  One had a very light and airy presence on the ice, like a butterfly flitting about.  The other was as elegant as a lady in a ball gown descending a staircase.  Anyone watching one after the other wouldn’t think “Oh, Hortense is better than Agatha.” They were just completely different.

I told them to stop worrying about what the other skater was doing; they had no control over that.  I said, “Don’t waste your energy on her. Concentrate on what you yourself need to improve.”

Should I be taking my own advice? Well, yes.

A long time ago, someone told me that envy was when someone had something and you wanted it too.  Jealousy was when you wanted it instead.  A fine distinction, but an important one.  There’s nothing wrong with desire; it can motivate you to create and to better your craft.  But wanting to take it away from the one who has it is only destructive.  Should you keep it inside and not mention it, swallow your seemingly petty thoughts and remarks for the sake of peace, they will fester inside you.

When I put plastic on my old single-paned windows this year, I made the unpleasant discovery that a piece of glass stop that had been hidden behind the curtain on the front window for most of the year was black with rot.  The window is doomed.  That’s what happens when you nurture jealousy and resentment.  It becomes as black and slimy as the little piece of wood on that window frame.  In the dark, in the cold of that inner place where we all store our unpleasant feelings because they’re not polite, the mold eats that little stack of thoughts, leaving nothing but garbage behind.

Someone else told me once that people don’t make you jealous, you make yourself jealous.  That’s very true, but what to do when you’re suffused with it and you can’t think of anything else?

For me, if I’m to vanquish any unpleasant or painful feeling, first I must experience it.  I can’t thrust it away; it has to run its course.  If it doesn’t, it will simply resurface later, that mold creeping up and blackening everything else I try to do.  The curtain won’t hide it.

You have to feel it to discharge it.  While you’re at it, make note of how you feel.  What parts of your body harbor sensation with this feeling? Is your stomach in knots? Is your head aching?  Do your teeth clench? Use your own emotions as material. Step outside yourself and clinically study your reaction.  Since your feeling is authentic and real, so too will be your description of it.  Write it down if you have to, or tuck it away for later.  But don’t sit on it, or shove it behind the curtain.  Better out than in, as Shrek says.

When you’ve allowed yourself the feeling, let it go.  You don’t need it.  So someone got what you wanted.  You can get it too.  If the good-looking person you had your eye on just started dating your fellow nerd in the back of the class, great.  Means a good-looking person could fall for you too.  Or the new writer who just got a book deal could be you next.

You can’t copy the other person; you have to concentrate on your strengths and your ideas.  What is successful today is not what will be tomorrow.  Trends change.  Focus shifts.  What you are working on now may or may not be the next big thing, but it’s certain you’ll be left far behind if you try to jump on someone else’s bandwagon.  You might start your own trend if you can focus your energy where it belongs, on your writing.

Did I just lecture myself? I think so.  My most pedantic English teacher would be proud.

The title comes from a funny error someone in my chat room made; now “poaste” is a favorite word.  There is humor in mistakes, and we should laugh at ourselves, before someone else does!

We’re looking at a white Christmas, but first must endure flash flooding.  In January there is usually a warm-up accompanied by tornadoes, at least the last few years.  I always dread this time of year for the weather.  Since a terrible ice storm in 2007, I’m pretty much done with winter.  Summer used to be a downer for me, since I don’t do well in hot weather.  But a stand-up pool helped considerably. Now I’m chomping at the bit for warm weather again so I can power walk and throw my steaming body into the pool afterward.

The lovely Christmas snow will cheer it up a bit, I wager.

This post (or poaste) doesn’t have much to say except that I wish everyone and theirs a very happy holiday, be it Christmas, Solstice (already over), Festivus, Hanukah, Kwaanza, etc.  The Toasties are the holiday cheer brought by friends and family (if you get along with them, that is; I know many who don’t) and the sheer joy of lazing around the house on those precious days off.  I’m not going to the fam this year, but staying home to prepare for a guest, work a little, and watch “A Christmas Story” in my flannel snowman footie pajamas.  I wish for everyone and for myself continued health and success in whatever endeavors you passionately pursue!

HAPPY HOLIDAYS EVERYONE!

I’m currently reworking the old blog.  After only three posts (which I actually like), I’m looking at the layout and thinking it’s not really me.  It’s very Rachel Dawes classy and I’m more flamboyantly Jokerish.  Can you tell what my favorite film is?  :)

Keep checking back for a new title as soon as I think of it.

UPDATE:

Graphomania (n) a passion or urge to write.  I think it fits me. :)

Until I began to put my completed novel out for consideration, I couldn’t see any reason why I should have a blog.  One geared toward other writers and artists making the long climb to the top of the slush pile made sense.  A personal blog? No one would be interested in my day-to-day doings; hell, even I wasn’t interested.  Buy a train ticket to Boringtown instead; it would be more exciting.

The process of writing seems to fascinate people, however.  Nearly everyone I know, when I tell them I’m a writer, or they ask how something is going, or when they see me set up my computer at lunchtime, gives me that bird-on-a-wire bright stare, the appraising glance that says “She’s writing.  What is she writing? A book?  Is it any good? Anyone can write, can’t they?”

Well, no, they can’t. So many people tell me “I thought about writing a book, but I never had the time.”  Every writer on earth has heard this at least once.  Maybe they have something inside them worth sharing; maybe it should stay there.  It’s certain that it won’t come out if they don’t plant their behinds in the chair and write.  And that’s where so many people fall down on that dream.  They simply don’t do it.  Those who do soon find out that it is work and hard work at that.  I like to describe it like this: during those times when the words are flowing effortlessly, faster than you can get them down, it’s almost better than sex.  Other times, it’s more like homework.  In the class you hate the most.

Even on homework days, you must write.  Everyone has time; you just have to find those bits here and there that offer themselves to you.  I’m working on my lunch hour as we speak.  The guys in the manufacturing plant where I work at my receptionist day job are used to me setting up my laptop in the lunchroom.  They even sometimes move to give me my preferred seat (near the plug, out of the glare of the window, but close to it).  They know about the book; they know the basic plot.  They’re a great bunch of people.  They tease me, but they also encourage me.  When I tell them I’ve been rejected again, they say “Keep trying! We know you’ll make it someday!”

Maybe no one will ever agree to represent me based on this first novel alone, but as writers we need that kind of encouragement.  It keeps us going in the face of one of the most dauntingly competitive fields out there.  That’s the key, to keep going.  For example, I figure skate on weekends.  I’m not great at it, but I’m making progress.  Because of that, and because of the encouragement of my club’s small group of fans who come to see us skate, I keep going. And besides, I love it.

I love writing too.  I’ve been doing it in one form or another since I was a child, but never more seriously than now.  I want to share it with you.  I want you to feel what I feel when I write it, as you read it.  That’s my challenge, and a big part of my reward.

The word “ephemera,” the title of this blog, is defined as something designed to only be useful for a short period of time, like that  train ticket.  It’s a perfect description of blog entries.  I hope you can take something for yourself from my journey that will stay with you.  Let’s go together, shall we?