As a writer, some days I am a machine. I mean words just pour right out of me. I’ve done stretches that begin early in the morning (cause I wake up EXCITED to write) and I’ve stayed up well into the evening with only the owls to keep me company as I hammer away at the keyboard.

Truly, I’ve had days (many, in fact) when I’ve been able to crank out well over 2,800 words. (BTW, that’s 11 or 12 pages of usable novel material… an output that, for me, is spectacular.)

However, on Saturday I just spent about 5 hours in a knife fight with my latest book with the grand word production total for the day being 340.

When I was a younger writer, days like this would really aggravate me. Truly, I’d get steamed at myself.

“You suck. You gotta do more. You are never going to hit your goals if this is all your able to produce.” Stuff like that. The critical voice which live(d) inside my head would just have a field day berating me.

But you’ll notice that I said live(d) instead of lives. The reason is that after years of doing this I’ve learned that some days are just gonna be that way. Some patches of my books are just going to pour right out of me and some are gonna be bare-knuckle, down-n-dirty back alley brawls.

It’s just the nature of the beast.

However, nowadays, instead of allowing my own inner critic to run roughshod all over my own inner world (btw, yes, I have voices in my head and they are in constant conversation — I have a feeling though that this is actually quite normal. And until they start telling to do things like “eat the neighbor’s door knocker then take off your pants”, I try to give them the latitude they need to express themselves.) I have learned to go with the flow.

The writing of each book is its own journey and to try and put preconceived notions about productivity and output on every day’s efforts, well… for me, it can prove detrimental.

In great part though, this is because I have already cultivated the muscle of self-discipline. See, some writers are, as they describe themselves, lazy. They’ll do anything they can to procrastinate. Me, I am the opposite. Give me a full day and I will seize it. This is why my own inner critic doesn’t crush me as much as it used to any more… because I know that even if today was tough sledding, I’ll be back at it tomorrow and the next day and the next and, like trekking in an adventure-filled country, I know that some days will be open road with sun and easy terrain and others will see me climbing uphill through mud in a downpour.

Obviously, the more days of sun the better — but without the tough days, I am not sure that my books will ever be any good. If they are too easy, it means I am taking on too much of the obvious — and I need to look deeper at character (i.e. making them richer), plot (i.e. crafting it in a more complex and emotionally fulfilling manner) and so on.

Okay, Saturday was tough and hardly what I would call “voluminous” (by my own standards). But I made it to safe harbor, I definitely “worked hard at my book” and even if I have to go back and re-write or toss all the work I just did, it’s all just part of the journey towards completing a novel.

And, best of all, I greatly enjoy the work. Even when writing is really hard and really frustrating and really aggravating — heck, TORTUOUS… it’s better than not writing.

Not writing is death.

BTW, this post took me about 20 minutes to write. Word count: 636 Oh, the irony. The Gods of Writing must be laughing their butts off.

And me, too.

There’s an entire industry out there promising to “teach you how to write”. And you know what? None of them can deliver.

Now sure, they can help. How much? Whose to say? But can they “teach you how to write”? Nah.

Of course, I learned this through firsthand experience. I have spent lots of time, effort and energy exploring all sorts of stuff. (And money, too — let’s not forget that.)

From writing retreats to college classes to books on the craft of writing to writer’s groups and on and on, I’ve spent years and years and years as a student of writing.

And the only person that has taught me “how to write” is… drumroll please… me.

Don’t believe the hype. (Or the advertisements in the back of Writer Magazine for MFA’s and the such.) Only you can fashion yourself into a writer.

This is because writing, in a way, is a lot like cave diving (a.k.a. spelunking). Until you get down in there and start exploring, you have no idea what you are going to discover about both the cave and about yourself.

People can describe it to you. People can sell you the gear. People can offer guidance, insight, inspiration, tools and maps but until you’ve strapped it up and spelunked you are not a spelunker. And once you become a splelunker, it’s natural to want to help others spelunk… but in your heart you know that until they actually do spelunk they will not be a spelunker.

And as we all know, you can’t make anyone spelunk.

(Gosh, what a fun word!)

Of course, by taking the classes, reading the books, surfing the websites, attending the conferences and wearing the special glittery underwear essential to the craft (hey, whatever works, right?) I’ve picked up critical bits and pieces all along the way.

And it’s the accumulation of all those bits and pieces that make for the writer’s education. But they don’t come from any one source and they certainly don’t exist in any “buy this one fantastic product now” type of package.

So yes, buy the books, take the classes, subscribe to the RSS feeds and sport the hot pink, lace writing thong… but also know that you will never be able to buy the act of being a spelunker.

The other day I wrote about the importance of dealing with rejection as a writer. Every writer I know or have ever read about (and that’s lots) has faced it.

Rejection is simply a realistic component of a writer’s professional life.

However, there’s a flip side to this as well. As a very reputable writer puts it…

You have to know how to accept rejection and reject acceptance.
~ Ray Brabury

Bradbury is so spot on about this aspect of being an author. While the rejection is brutal, acceptance can be insidious.

It’s not always insidious but it certainly can be.

All authors want approval. And experience tells me that the ones who most loudly say that they don’t want it are the ones who, deep down, want it the most.

It’s basic human nature. We work hard and pour out our hearts and would love to be positively acknowledged for our brilliance and genius and awe-inspiring literary ways.

But deep down we all also know, that it could be better. It can always be better. If I could have a conversation with Shakespeare, I’d love to chat with him about his own take on the work he produced for I have a feeling, he wouldn’t gush as much as the rest of us do about what he was able to accomplish but rather see what most writers see when they reflect back on their works… that “oh, if only I would have done this and added that and cut this, then the piece would have REALLY shined!”

We all think like that. As the poet Paul Valery once famously quipped, “A poem is never finished, only abandoned.”

I don’t know if abandoned is the right word — a project has to end at some point — but he makes a good point.

We can always re-write and always try to make it better. Alas, it’s never perfect.

That’s why rejecting acceptance is so dangerous. It breeds complacency and a false sense of accomplishment.

On the feedback front, rejection hurts but if it comes with thoughtful reasons, I can learn, improve and grow. (Writing groups struggle with this because sometimes egos get involved and they offer criticism just to hear their own voice in the room.)

Acceptance is good because, well, it’s acceptance. And I want that. But when my mom tells me how great she finds my latest book, I have to ask myself, “Is she really helping me right now?”

Carol Jago said the other day that: write and find a way to receive feedback from a critical friend.

My response to this was…
A friend is key because you need someone who doesn’t have an agenda to prove how smart they are by tearing down your efforts. Some readers are critical just to be critical. Friends do not do that. We all have weaknesses and the writing gets better when we get to see them (because writing is re-writing).

On the other hand, a friend who is not critical is not doing you any favors. Someone who just says “I love it!” no matter what you put in front of them isn’t really helping you either. They are making you feel good… but how is that going to improve the re-writing?

Because writing is re-writing.

Have faith in your own work to move past the “me no likes” that’ll you’ll inevitably get but also have faith in yourself not to blindly trust the “me really loves” you also get as well.

It’s a fine balance which, btw, I still do not always have the most firm grip upon.

We’re all works in progress, right?

I think I’ve spoken before about how, as a writer, I spent years and years and years knocking out material only to be rejected and rejected and rejected.

I used to think, back then, that it was a sign of my own weakness, my moral shortcomings, my inability to be articulate and disciplined and witty and engaging and a good storyteller and so on. Essentially, I used to think that being rejected as a writer was a negative.

These days I realize how wrong I was.

Yes, being rejected hurts. Being rejected humiliates. Being rejected stings in a deep way that only someone who really lays it all on the line and then hears “Sorry Charlie, no thanks,” can understand. The “owch-factor” is brutal.

Matter of fact, the owch-factor is probably why so few people actually ever really attempt to reach for their dreams in this world… cause coming up short can be way more painful than not ever having tried at all because then you can always tell yourself, “I could have if I tried.” Which is Bullshit! btw.)

Of course, these days I am much more philosophical about rejection. Sure, it helps that I am now under contract for my tenth published book aside from having captained an immense curriculum project that represents the best teaching I have ever done. Plus, nowadays all kinds of major publishers are eager to work with me. Truly, I am one of the lucky ones. (And I work hard not to forget it.)

However, rejection is a giver of wisdom once you can learn to put your own feelings of having your ego bruised aside. Rejection teaches things. (BTW, I don’t know that success doesn’t teach things as well — I won’t go that far to say that the wisdom rejection offers is more profound than that of success because both, I’ve learned, are pretty profound if you are paying attention.)

But nowadays, I see more of a pattern to rejection. And it’s staring us all in the face if we pay attention.

For example, read this article.

Look at what Warren Buffet has to say about rejection in the piece.

“The truth is, everything that has happened in my life…that I thought was a crushing event at the time, has turned out for the better,” Mr. Buffett says. With the exception of health problems, he says, setbacks teach “lessons that carry you along. You learn that a temporary defeat is not a permanent one. In the end, it can be an opportunity.”

Mr. Buffett regards his rejection at age 19 by Harvard Business School as a pivotal episode in his life. Looking back, he says Harvard wouldn’t have been a good fit. But at the time, he “had this feeling of dread” after being rejected in an admissions interview in Chicago.

And the other night, I was burned out so I turned on the tv. (Rare for me.) Lo and behold the biography channel was showing an episode on Rodney Dangerfield. Literally, what I learned about the man amazed me.

Rodney Dangerfield was once Jack Roy, a comedian who never made it. For 12 years Jack Roy toiled. Finally, he got married and quit showbiz all together. For the next 11 years after that he sold aluminum siding. (Middle class successful, too.) But he kept writing and writing and writing jokes. Finally, he couldn’t stand his life anymore and hit the stage again… with a new name. (Yep, Rodney Dangerfield.)

He ended up on Ed Sullivan.
He ended up being one of Johnny Carson’s favorite guests. (25 million viewers a night at the time.)
He opened a comedy club, did a few movies (Caddyshack and Back to School being all time classics, IMHO) and basically, Rodney Dangerfield became the man we know today. (Or used to know – he passed a few years ago.)

As it turned out, Rodney was a writer’s writer as well. The guy made it look so easy, “I tell ya, I don’t get no respect…” but Rodeny didn’t even hit upon that tag line til he was in his fifties.

Over 30 years after he started in show business!

And all the pros in the comedy business talked about how Rodney was so precise and meticulate with his lines. How he’d re-write and re-write and re-write jokes.

In the tv piece, Rodney talked about how it would talk him 3 or 4 months to write 6 minutes worth of material for Johnny Carson.

Four months to write 6 minutes? Wow.

Rodney knew rejection.
Warren Buffet knew rejection.
It taught them success.

And if we can teach our students this, we will have taught them something of great value.

Don’t give up. There is an Outstanding Plus Side to Rejection.

With school on break for a couple of weeks I get a chance to wear but one hat and be a writer for a wee bit. I love it!

And with three books coming out for me in the next 18 months (2 of them already written, one due by the end of next summer to be released a year later) this is really the time to “get ahead while the gettin’s good”.

However, part of being an author is understanding that so much of the work you do will not see the light of day til well over a year after you actually write it. In some cases it’s closer to two years.

That’s just the way the world of book publishing works.

Between manufacturing, marketing, copy-editing, cover design, and so forth, there are scores of people that work for extremely long periods of time to get a book from my computer to the nation’s bookshelves… and the process ain’t a quick one.

This is one reason why I adore blogging: the immediacy. I write. People read. People respond. I respond back. Tomorrow is a new day and the blogging process begins anew. Just as actors talk about how much they love live theater performance over film and television because of the immediacy of the audience, so too do I find blogging to share the same benefit for me as a writer.

And funny enough, I was going to take a blogging break for the holidays. Just sort of shut it down and resume again in January once school is back in session.

But then I realized that I blog for the same reason I write books — I just love it. It’s not a chore to me. It’s not “work”. I don’t wake up and think, “Ah jeez, and today I have to blog.”

I mean my holiday should be spent doing the things I enjoy doing — the things that recharge my batteries and make me feel good about the world.

Family
Friends
Sleep
Exercise
Read
See movies
Laugh
… and write.

Yep, write. See, writing — both books and blogs — they “do it” for me. They fill my inner well. And as a teacher, I know that if I do not actively seek to fill my own inner well – especially during my breaks from class – my school will suck it dry… for no matter what I do as a teacher, it’s never enough. By that I mean there’s always more. Always more kids to help, parents to contact, fellow teachers to support and on and on and on.

We must be our own well-fillers. Thus I write — with great excitement that I get to do it while only wearing my favorite pair of neon green speedo undies, nipple tassles and pilot goggles.

What, you think I don’t have peccadilloes?

LOL!!

What do you do to fill your inner well? And whatever it is, make sure to do it these next few weeks. January will be here soon enough.

So I have been getting lots of notes and the such as of late asking me to let a few people backstage, behind the scenes, into the kitchen to see how books get written, vetted, sold, and published.

Yes, I am a regular ol’ high school English teacher working at Lynwood High in Los Angeles but I also moonlight as an author having published books with Disney, Scholastic, Recorded Books and, coming soon (I just inked a new contract for a new YA title), Penguin, as well.

I write books for teens. Or for people that work with teens. Right now, that’s “my thing”.

The truth is, there are a great many similarities between student writing and professional writing. And there are scores and scores and scores of pages I can write about the process of becoming published. So going forward, I am going to start flavoring this blog with insights from the “other side” of literacy (i.e. the book writing side as opposed to the book reading side) and then work to make connections back to the kids, the classroom and so forth.

In a way, the writing/publishing process seems as if it’s kind of secretive to others. People ask me all the time, “How do you get a book published?”

Really, it’s not all that cryptic. Write a good book. Do that first and foremost.

Wait, let me re-phrase that, because we all know that there are lots and lots of books out there that are hunks-a-junk.

So what’s the rule?

Write a good book. Yes indeed.

See, I don’t really need to re-phrase the advice at all. Everyone is going to have an opinion on what is “good” and not everyone is going to like your stuff no matter who you are. (Just ask Stephanie Meyers who has some folks swearing she’s the cat’s meow and other folks complaining that if they read about one more “crooked smile” on the face of some sexed-up teen vampire hunk they are going to heave her Twilight tome into a furnace!)

You, as the writer, must believe in your own work. If you are not ready to stand up for your own effort, to declare that “Yes, this is worth reading!” then why-oh-why do you expect anyone else to waste their precious time investing what you yourself do not believe is really worth a hoot. Reading takes time, effort and mental energy and there are lots and lots of options out there for us all to digest.

So if you want to become published, write something you believe is worth reading. Write a good book! Human beings are hungry, starving for things that “speak” to them… and I have yet to meet anyone who has said, “Ya know, that’s enough for me. I’ve had my fill of hearing good stories, meeting great characters, vicariously experiencing new predicaments, settings, circumstances, triumphs and so forth.”

Look, for me there comes a point for me where I hate every book I am working on and think it’s the worst piece of crap that has ever been stroked on a keyboard. (Homeboyz one of my most successful and highly acclaimed books to date was, in my opinion, an absolute train wreck at times and I literally wanted to pull out the hair of my main character — as well as my own — because he was torturing me like you don’t even know. And yet, with time in the chair, my butt in the seat and a steely determination to “crack this nut” I finally broke through — stuff that no one really knows about this experience of writing what has become a real student favorite, particularly with reluctant reading kids.) Then again, if you are a writer, you have to know that by nature you are a dramatist and therefore, you can’t fall prey to the daily roller-coaster whims of “this is going to be the best piece of literature ever!” on Tuesday to ” I knew I should have become a CPA… why-oh-why did you ever think you become an author?” on Wednesday.

Neither extreme is true.

You put your butt in a chair and work day in and day out and give it your best — and then, after you string a few hundreds days in a row like that together, you have something. What do you have? Well, that’s up to you. But before you can be a writer you must do the work of a writer. You must learn your craft and the only way to do so is by applying your craft.

Writers write.

Like I tell my students, there is no magic pill I can give them to improve their reading ability or improve their writing ability. There are no literary steroids. What there is is true effort. Intellectual sweat. Mistake making, hard work and time — lots of it.

Really, I am not sure anyone becomes “good” without having travelled along the road of having been “poor”. Is there such a thing as talent? Sure, but talent will rarely reveal itself nor fulfill its own potential until work ethic plows its path.

You may not like Stephanie Meyers, you may love her, but one thing no one can dispute is that she sits her rear-end in a chair and cranks out 600 plus page books. That takes effort, discipline and endurance.

And those are the elements which real writers cultivate.

Writers write.

As for me, currently I am proofing a new book. The title is still under lock-n-key as I haven’t yet sold this book — my agent just finished it, really, really, liked it, and we are going to “go out with it” and try to sell it in the next few weeks. (I’ll keep ya posted.) But I will tell you this, it’s a comedy, it’s for YA readers and my wife thinks I am cuckoo because she hears me late at night typing away at my computer laughing out loud in a room where I am sitting all by myself. (In my own defense though, if I am not laughing, who will? — even if it does mean I might need to be fitted for a straight-jacket at some point going forward. I mean some things, like being published, are worth the price of admission, right?)

Now, I’ll circle back to the genesis of ideas (my students supply me with SO much material — all I do is work to be a listener and entire universes unfold), the process of actually writing (often late at night when others are sleeping — but you have to find the time no matter what), character, plot, motivation, antagonists and protagonists, setting and more — at a later date. Right now, if there’s a take-away today it’s this.

Writers write. It’s the only way to advance.

I’ll never forget the time I heard Neil Simon say,” The page is just as blank for me when I wake up in the morning as it is for you.” That stuck with me.

Writers write. He knows it. I know it. Now you know it.

Writers write.