Please Excuse Our Appearance During This Time of Transition

The difference between Paris and Sheboygan

My reasons for turning to novels and fiction are many and varied, not the least of which is the fact that I have been writing non-fiction pretty consistently for the past five years. I mean really consistently.

When I first began with Elephant Journal in 2017, the awards were monthly and based on the number of articles and the number of reads, with a small bonus section for comments and audience participation. There was a horoscope writer, Alex Myles, who won every month and then the rest of the proceeds would generally get split between the runners up. For the most part, Alex Myles, Elyane Youssef, myself and a few others would turn in about ten 1000 word articles every thirty days. You needed at least eight to even qualify for a cash prize.

It was a couple of years later that this all changed, Alex got pissed off at Waylon Lewis and left, and prizes were smaller and given out weekly. Writers were encouraged to write less volume and with more quality. This also took a lot of weight off the editors who were spread way too thin and expected to get impossible amounts of work done every day.

Emphasis was removed from the amount of people who read your article and placed squarely on how much audience participation a writer was able to conjure up. This was called the “ecosystem” and I think it is still being used presently, although the amount of prize money has dwindled exponentially. Sad to say, but everything associated with Elephant has dwindled exponentially. When I started, they had about a dozen full-time editors. Now, they have two. First prize every week began at $300, now it is $108…and so on.

However, being a publication based chiefly on Buddhist philosophy, it should surprise no one that an era has come to an end. All of life is suffering, as the Noble Truths say, and wishing for the good old days back, only exacerbates that suffering.

Boy, that was a mouthful.

I was able to earn consistent writing income from 2017-2022 with Elephant, and that was nothing short of a dream come true, but the biggest prize of all was how it changed me as a writer. I landed an agent and a non-fiction book deal with a reputable publisher.

As fabulous as that was, that wasn’t even the best part of the whole experience. When I signed my deal, my agent Linda told me that I’d receive a third of my advance up front, another third when the publisher accepted the manuscript and, finally, the last third upon release. She said I should prepare myself for a long, drawn out slog before they officially accepted the manuscript and cut the second check.

So imagine my surprise when Linda called me up two weeks after I handed in my work to tell me that she received the second check. Even she was shocked. She told me that she’d been doing this for 25 years and that was the first time a publisher accepted a manuscript without, at least, three or four go rounds between the author and the copy editor.

I am imagining that my position with Elephant Journal gave me a very unique edge. Writing 2000 words of non-fiction every week for years was practically the equivalent to a band being on tour for the same amount of time. If you’ve ever witnessed that, you know they’re usually tighter than any bar band could possibly be. The difference between getting a six pack and rehearsing once a week and playing live every night is the difference between Paris and Sheboygan. 

That being said, my fiction chops were virtually nonexistent. I haven’t read a lot of fiction in the past few years, and, to paraphrase Stephen King, if you’re not constantly reading, you have no business writing. 

So, I was lucky enough to be hit with a confluence of ideas in bed about a week ago. I turned the recording function on in my phone and made a verbal note so I didn’t forget. 

As I worked this week, delivering freight for 13 hours a day in the wet snow, I re-listened to Stephen King’s “On Writing” and I took MasterClass lessons with Neil Gaimen. When I would get home, I’d try to begin, but if I got 75-100 words out, it was a good day. 

However, last night I was blessed with the breakthrough. I realized I was trying to begin the book in a place that was boring as hell and decided to start it in the more exciting and suspenseful spot. Before I forced myself into bed at midnight, I had 1500 words down for the first chapter. Progress!

Non-fiction is a very satisfying medium for a writer, but long fiction and novels is where the artistry lives. I believe it was Matt Taibbi who brought up the fact that even the reading of fiction requires a voluminous amount of brain power. You are required to invent pictures in your head if you want to enjoy it. Eventually, you’ll need to create an entire planet before you’re finished. 

So, yes, not all that easy but as anyone who has ever enjoyed a great novel knows, worth all the effort. 

I want to dedicate the rest of my life (however long that is) to this craft and I’ve set out to do just that. I spent a pile of dough to do a workshop with Cheryl Strayed, I’ve listened intently to all the advice Stephen King had to offer and I continue to take MasterClasses. I have a paperback by my bed and two audiobooks I’m listening to presently. It’s like an immersion class. 

Chuck Jones was quoted as saying, “Every artist has thousands of bad drawings in them and the only way to get rid of them is draw them out.”

I’m guessing I have a similar number of bad stories inside of me, so now is the time to get them out; because the silent part of that sentence is “underneath all of that is the Mona Lisa, The Great Gatsby and Tangled Up In Blue.