A new story

here's something new I've written.

About life.  Lived every day.

Also, there's an escalator.

Mr. Barton Tanner

Sometimes as a writer I feel like Barton Tanner. The talented baritone of Dayton, Ohio. The cleaner who'd made his shop the best.

Mr. Tanner was a talented singer, no doubt.  His friends even told him so.  And so he finally spent his savings to prep for and hold a concert -- he went public with this private talent that had made him so happy. 

The result was not at all positive.  He'd lost his savings and the critics suggested he consider another endeavor. That is, he simply wasn't quite good enough to make a living from singing. 

That's how I feel about my writing.

I'm told by many that I'm a good writer.  Sometimes, a great writer.  In my most recent job, my boss told me I was definitely a "writer." She could tell, her husband is a writer and you can tell when someone has that talent, she said. 

I love to write.  I love to manipulate words and tell stories.  I have always recognized my abilities as a strong written communicator.  Sometimes, to my frustration as my ability to verbalize what comes so clearly in writing is somewhat lacking.

I also practice writing.  In one of my very first jobs, I wrote all day, every day.  I wrote press releases and speeches and articles.  I got frequent feedback.  All the while, I was pursuing a Ph.D., so I was writing paper after paper for class and then a dissertation.  And, I kept a blog where I wrote fiction.

So, after many years, my craft has been honed, so to speak. 

But, can I make a living doing it? In most of my professional work, my writing has either helped me land the job OR been a key reason I get to keep a job.  But what if I wrote all the time? Could I earn enough money simply writing to live like I do now?  And what if I took off, started writing, and didn't make it?

What if I don't get published or can't sell an e-book?

What if I did not know how well I wrote, but it just made me whole? 

I know you can't live in the what-if world -- but I also know you can't live on a hobby that makes you whole, either.

Oh, and in case you want to read what I wrote, you can read the "Row House" (a work in progress) here. 

*Bonus points to anyone in the comments who knows who Barton Tanner is and where (besides Dayton) he came from.

**And by bonus points, I mean I may include you in a story or post at some point.  Maybe.

The opening to Chapter 15

So, below is the start of the 15th Chapter of a book I'm working on ...

Four young men stand in the middle of a snowy nowhere.  A nine-year-old boy walks in the room.  Green carpet and a red brick fireplace host a couch, a chair, and the television showing the men singing.  “I will be with you again,” the man says.  A piano can be detected amidst the guitar and drums.  “With you again.”  Mesmerized, the boy stands, stops and watches.  He is not sure where his mother is or if she can hear him.  In just a few short years, he will purchase his first cassette tape and it will be an album by this band.  For now, he watches the footage on the screen.  He watches different scenes of the same four young men in the snow; walking, singing, the music penetrating his mind. 

A new chapter

My offline book got a new Chapter recently.  Like, two weeks ago recently.

This is the book that I'm spending some serious time on -- or, I have spent more time on it than my blog book...or, blovel?

The new chapter is simply a couple of sentences, a long paragraph.  But, it is words on paper.  And that's very important when you are allegedly a writer.  It is chapter 15 in this work.  And now, characters and scenes dance in my head again.

I see the insides of buildings.  I feel the touch of hands on a wall.  I see feet taking the stairs.  Sometimes ... many times ... I can feel the touch against my face, the whisper in my ear.  Getting lost in the books in my head is so real, so intense, so emotionally draining.  So much so that at times I cannot stand being actually touched.  The art of real conversation with another being becomes too much.  And then, I go further into my head, into my characters.

And then, they are out.  On the page.  Dancing. 

And then I need it.  To be touched.  To be held.  To talk to a REAL person.  And talk and talk and talk.  But not about the words I've written.  No. Never.  That's a totally separate part of my mind.  And if you ask me to go there, you'll lose my presence in the moment with you.  So don't. 

So

I just wrote Chapter 9 of my blog book, The Row House.

Chapter 8 I'm not very sure about.  But, for now, it is staying.

The words are coming today, because they haven't in so long. 

They are out there. 

After writing like that, even a short piece, I feel spent.  This post may be the last for a bit today, I can feel the energy leaving my fingertips and going into the keyboard, being transported to the few eyes that find it. 

But, the energy...the characters... the people... are leaving my head, causing less confusion there.

Why Can't I Write?

I can see the words.  They are right there.  Each little word.  Whole sentences.  Paragraphs, pages.  All there.  In a 10 minute walk I write 2, 5, 20 pages.  I see images, faces, action. 

Then, I take a seat.  In front of the computer.  And nothing.  The words don't get written down.  The last update to my blog book was in late July, I think. 

Why?

For one, my computer is connected to the Internet.  Of course it is, that's how I blog and tweet and all that.  BUT, that is fraught with problems, the most serious of which is distraction. 

I have read that serious writers should write with a computer NOT connected to the Internet, then save and copy their writing into online formats like blogs.  Of course, I remember being in college when the Internet was relatively "new" and wasn't all that great and I still found ways to get distracted.  Taking a walk... checking my text-based email ... just sitting there.  But, I also believe I got more WRITING done. 

Now, I write on a computer with Internet access and have my email account open, my twitter feed going, an iPhone sitting next to me. 

Of course, I'm distracted. 

But also frustrated.  If the words don't get out of my head, they stay there, trapped.  And then I get angry.  Or sullen. 

I walk and the words jumble together, less eloquent, less connected than they were two days ago.  I sit and I can't recreate the words, the pattern, the rhythm.  And nothing.  No words get written down and instead of a book blog with interested followers, I have a post and then a month of nothing.  I have nothing to submit for publication.  Ideas in my head don't get published. 

I'm entering a short story contest.  With content I created as part of a "traditional" novel attempt.  I'm interested in any reviews I may get.  Not sure at all that I'll be a finalist, but want to start getting words out there in front of people. 

that's what's next.

How to make writing your life

Ok, so this is NOT the definitive post about how you can become a full-time writer.

I'm not (yet) a full-time writer.  But, I do write every single day.  Well, Monday - Friday.  I treat it like a job. 

And yes, I have a regular job with an office where I go every week day. 

So, here are some tips from Megan Whalin on how to make full-time, freelance writing your life.

I think these are all very solid.  I write during the day, mostly.  And I set aside time for my writing.

In my dream world, I'd work from home and write as my primary source of income.  It's what I want to do. When I get there, I know I'll need solid strategies like the ones Megan has shared.