Sometimes, It Takes a Village
To Defeat Writer’s Block
By Chuck Gould
During the
last couple of decades, I have been lucky enough to earn a living as a writer.
Over 1,000 magazine articles and feature under my own name, and a few humorous
pen names, appeared in recreational boating magazines in the Pacific Northwest.
Five, six, seven and more per month. Month after month, year after year, articles
and features sprang almost effortlessly from the keyboard.
I
discovered, as do a lot of writers, that I was far less productive when focused
on the recreational writing of a novel. Long lists of things that seemed to be
more urgent were constantly diverting time and energy from writing. I was
fairly comfortable and confident with non-fiction, but self-doubt regarding the
relative “quality” of my fiction proved to be an additional disincentive. I was
always planning to work on my novel “when I got around to it,” and often
secretly relieved when presented with a good excuse for putting off facing my
insecurities and anxieties.
Things
turned around, almost instantly, when I joined a writer’s group in Seattle. We
met in person, once a week to read aloud up to about 5 pages produced since the
previous meeting. As each member completed their work for the next session, we
circulated the manuscripts by email to allow other members time to carefully
evaluate and critique the work.
There are
any number of virtual critique groups that purport to fulfill the same function
on-line. I’ve tried a few of them, and continue to participate sometimes. Meeting
in person has a number of advantages. As a writer, you quickly develop a sense
of being accountable to the other individuals in the group. Old time magazine
writers, as well as news reporters, will appreciate the effective influence of
a weekly deadline.
Joining an
in-person writing group eliminates one of the more serious disadvantages of
on-line critique groups. Many people seem to feel it is far more blessed to
receive than to give: perhaps especially on line. When a group meets in person,
the price for receiving four or five weekly crits on a chapter is offering four
or five crits in return. There’s no chance, when meeting in person, that hours
spent reading and evaluating the work of other novelists won’t be reciprocated
in kind.
I discovered
there are both advantages and disadvantages to working with a small, fixed
group. An author, and the critique group, learn to communicate more effectively
as weeks go by. There is very little chance that a member of the group will
castigate a chapter out of spite or a perverse desire to be smart aleck. On the
other hand, I suspect there were instances where something I wrote was more
disappointing than one or two of my group members chose to communicate. While
it is never useful to be deliberately cruel, sparing an author’s feelings may
encourage tepid or ineffective technique.
Yes,
sometimes it takes a village to overcome writer’s block. Two novels published
since last September (“Summertime, Book One” and “Summertime, Book Two”) demonstrate that at
least for me, and no doubt for others as well, a weekly deadline and
accountability to other writers spurs productivity.
Summertime
Book One
Chuck Gould
Genre: metaphysical fantasy
Publisher: Starry Night Publishing
Date of Publication: September 28, 2014
ISBN: 9781502523174
Number of pages: 298
Word Count:
Cover Artist: Larry Dubia
Book Description:
Wesley Perkins, successful and privileged advertising executive, makes an apparently impromptu purchase in a pawn shop. Almost immediately, he becomes immersed in a new reality. Old values evaporate. The line between good and evil seems inconsistent. Wesley is challenged to accept profound change, all the while juggling choices of enormous consequence.
Summertime, Book One, is the first portion of a story that delves into a surreal realm of metaphysical fantasy. Situational moralities are juxtaposed with omnipresent supernatural forces. Where the boundaries of our mundane lives intersect cosmic intents, events, and conspiracies, we can become overwhelmed by involuntary transformation. We look for surrogate sacrifices, and a home in Summertime.
Excerpt
Book 1
Vanessa hated
the basement. Even during the daylight hours, she ventured only reluctantly
down the stair to do her laundry or occasionally retrieve something from
storage. She knew there were rats in the basement. She often swept up their
droppings, and it wasn’t unusual to hear something scraping against cardboard
boxes as it ran along the base of the wall. Oddly enough, Vanessa seldom saw a
rat. Infrequently, a sacrificial rat would appear- neck broken by the savage spring
of Vanessa’s 17th Century style trap. Vanessa used to pretend she had caught
“the” rat, and wouldn’t need to spend hundreds of dollars for an exterminator.
Over the years, she had accepted an unhappy truce with her resident rodents.
These days, she didn’t call an exterminator because there was always something
that seemed a more important use of the money.
Vanessa found
her flip flops and bathrobe, and headed for the stairway. Her open white
bathrobe hung from her shoulders, contrasting with her dark skin but failing to
provide any degree of modesty. She was reluctant to venture underground at
night, but the weird idea that there might be some unexplained connection
between Wesley Perkins and her probable grandfather, Judah Jones, couldn’t
molder until daylight. She flipped the light switch at the top of the stairs.
The loud snap of the switch initiated a series of electrical flashes, followed
by the muffled explosion of a failing light globe. “Shit. One lightbulb in the
whole damn basement, and it just burned out. Hell with it. I’m going down there
anyway. I’ve got to, got to, got to figure this out.”
Vanessa tied her
bathrobe across the front of her body, grabbed a fresh globe from a kitchen
cabinet next to the stairway door, and stepped slowly into the blackness. A
90-degree bend at the top of the stairs prevented any usable amount of light
from filtering in from the kitchen. Vanessa moved her feet slowly and
deliberately between wooden treads, feeling her way in the darkness with heel
and toe. A few steps from the bottom, she gasped at the sensation of something
with tiny paws ran across her bare foot tops, dragging what felt like a coarse
tail behind. She was sure she saw a pair of glowing eyes near the laundry sink.
There was definitely a rustle among the storage boxes. Vanessa considered
turning around and climbing back up the stairs. She wanted to act as though her
visit to the basement could wait until morning, but she was compelled to
conclude it could not.
About the Author:
Seattle native Chuck Gould is a writer and musician.
Formerly editor of Nor’westing Magazine and editor emeritus of Pacific Nor’West Boating, he has written over 1,000 articles for recreational boating magazines.
Chuck plays a variety of keyboard instruments, and enjoys the “exercise in humility” attempting to master the great highland bagpipe.
https://www.facebook.com/Novelwerks
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