Welcome to Spring 2020! Hoo-boy, it’s already a doozy, and it hasn’t even officially started. So far we’ve had fires, floods, and rising tides (to the point of causing houses to fall in here along the Great Lakes). Not to mention political strife (plenty!) and economic upheaval (a veritable rollercoaster!).

I suppose I’d better start with a confession. It’s a big one. Ready? Here goes…

Until fairly recently, I didn’t care about readers.

Wait, did I really say that? Reading it back, I can hardly believe it myself. My position was never really that straightforward. Or imprudent (impudent?). The more nuanced version might be something like:

Well, it’s that time of the year again. Outside my office window as I write this, it’s not even dinnertime but it’s already getting dark. The temperature is plunging, the skies are gunship gray, there’s fluffy snow floating down, and through leaf-bare trees Christmas lights wink in the distance. But I’d like to set the holidays aside for a moment and focus on the winter season itself. Because, let’s face it, for many of us it’s going to be around a lot longer than the holiday lights and carols.

At the time of writing this essay, I’m less than a week from having attended the third WU UnConference in Salem, MA. If you click on the UnConference button in the header above, you’ll find an apt description of what it’s all about, ending with this:

I recently finished reading The Time Traveler’s Wife for the first time. I know, I know—it’s about time, right? It only came out sixteen years ago! If only I could go back and read it sooner (heh). The nudge to finally act came from a thread in a writers’ forum, asking which books writers have read more than once. TTTW came up quite a few times, and made the all-time favorite list of quite a few writers. I now see why (it left me floating in a puddle for the rest of the day that I finished).

I was recently discussing a novel’s ending with a writer friend. We agreed that, while not perfect, the author had pretty much nailed the ending. We felt satisfied. Its character arcs felt complete. We both found the ending moving and multidimensional, and it obviously left us thinking, hence the conversation.

The past few weeks have been the perfect storm. It started with Memorial Day. Then came the D-Day commemorations, and a slew of articles and remembrances. Then came Fathers’ Day.

Did you hear it? That epic sigh of relief, coming from the southern end of the Lake Michigan shore? Yeah, that was me. Sorry if I interrupted anything important.

It’s just that I finally finished a draft of my WIP. This one is book three of a trilogy, so it feels particularly epic. No seriously, I hope I’m on my way to completing an actual epic story.

Does your WIP have an antagonist? Just one? Are you sure?

My question is asked only partly in jest. Not to be antagonistic, but I’m guessing that many if not most of you have several layers of antagonism in your work, whether you’ve created them consciously or not.

Are you already wondering what I mean by “the veil”? Whether you’ve read my essays before or not, you likely have a suspicion. Do I have a ghost of a chance at keeping you reading if I admit that the answer is a bit metaphysical? At least till I’ve made my case? That’s the spirit!

It’s the holiday season! And regardless of how you celebrate, it’s a great time of year for taking stock. You know, the short days, the long, often cold nights, the fires in the hearth. And around here, the blissful silence of a snowy walk.

I’ve always loved maps. My earliest memories of map-reading are from family car-trips. My dad would reach into the (gigantic!) glove compartment of our ’68 Chevy Bel Air, and hand back the newest neatly folded roadmap of Michigan from his (gigantic!) pile of maps to my sister and me (hey, anything that quiets backseat rowdiness). He religiously picked up the AAA’s latest version from his insurance agent, whose office was a stone’s throw from his barbershop. (In his defense, those were days of growth for American infrastructure.)

Please forgive me in advance, but this is going to be an unusual post. Writing-life-wise, I’ve been feeling a bit out of sorts, you see. And it seems to have had an effect on my WU essay routine.

I’m currently rereading an old favorite: Last of the Amazons, by Steven Pressfield. I’ve always known the book is seminal to my own work, but oddly I haven’t revisited it in many years. I’m starting to feel like the lengthy interim has been serendipitous. Experiencing the book again after all of these years is revealing much about my own evolution as a writer.

I’m certain all of us have asked the question. Why am I doing this?

Some more often than others, I’m sure. As in, “Why am I putting myself through this?” Particularly when stuck, or while collecting noes during submissions. Or after a daunting critique. I mean, there have got to be easier gigs than this one, am I right?

These feel like turbulent times, don’t they? Wait–haven’t I asked that question here before? (I have.) Maybe I should say, these feel like transformative times. And some days it feels more like upheaval than transformation. But I suspect transformation requires an aspect of upheaval. Just as action evokes reaction, reform invites traditionalism, and repression incites rebellion. The more vigorous the stir, the greater the current.

Do you enjoy dark stories? Five years ago, I would’ve answered the question with an unreserved yes. Today… well, I’d have to have a bit of clarification first.

I mean, what does dark mean anymore? Stories that feature danger and violence? Battle and war? Gritty realism? Evil? Death?

Yesterday morning I cried over a book’s ending. I’m talking wet cheeks, sobs that were more like gasps for breath, and needing to blow my nose. Crying ugly, as it’s aptly called.

It’s the holiday season! And I know what you’re thinking. “So he’s bringing us yet another article about pantsing?” Well, in a way, yes. But one of my fondest Christmas wishes is that—whether you lean to plotting or pantsing—this essay will seem like a present, from me to you.

Geeks are rejoicing! In fact, a weeklong epic fantasy geek-gasm is ongoing even as I type this essay. But if you’re not one of us, you probably haven’t noticed. That’s because we epic fantasy geeks aren’t really the party-in-the-streets sort of revelers. Instead, we’re the disappear-in-our-caves-and-read-the-newest-big-fat-book types. And the big fat book that instigated this round of rejoicing is no ordinary epic. We’ll be in our caves for some time.