RIDING THE WRITERS' WAVE

A simple rule: Give each story the space it needs; no more. Some stories should be 55 Worders, some live comfortably in 2k, some need 5k and some need 80k to work through all the complexities, all the conflicts, all the themes, all the characters and all the style variations which authors hope will mark the literary scene much as my dog marks trees.

Novels hold a special place. With few modern day exceptions, they make authors into writers (difference: Writers get paid). They are what authors friends want them to write so they'll finally stop griping about not being read, which means not being appreciated which means not getting paid. Novels are admission tickets onto merry-go-rounds. Monetized novels (used to be "getting published," the internet now provides some alternatives) are the brass ring.

Aye, now for the rub, and, oh, how I wish there was just one. Novels are an enormous effort. My last novel consumed over a year's free time. Friend's reviews proved fruitless and wasted another year. Six edit passes: six months. And then there's the merry-go-round. No sane person writes a novel for just themselves and their close friends. Once finished, authors feel compelled to attempt publication. It has to be done. I retained copies of all my rejection letters. Not one rose above a form letter.

The reason I don't believe phoenixes rise from their ashes is because the story is all wrong. Ashes mix with liquid and become slush. A phoenix has as much chance of rising from a slush pile as a novel, so few "none" is statistically validated.

This month, millions scramble to pound 50k stories. Sure, Water For Elephants started out as a NaNoWriMo project, but the vast majority merely occupy disk space until it's hosting computer dies.

By looking at historical and sociologic evidence, meeting 500 potential mates ought to produce one relationship resembling long lasting love. The ratio of slush pile novels to rising phoenixes is close to a million to one (this subject and is ramification are covered in a half finished essay).

None of these concepts, illusions or arguments explain why I have embarked on another novel. It'll just break my heart. It isn't even a good story idea, not as good my last one, but every story needs sufficient space, and this one feels like a novel.