On Persistence

Last month, I attended MisCon. I love MisCon. Hard not to when you're a speculative fiction writer. Community, writing advice (on the craft and the business), and inspiration are measured there by the bucketloads. Yum! That’s chum for my starving appetite and standard fare for most science and fantasy conventions. But as far as cons go, this one is special: A con that Goldilocks could dig. It’s not so big that it can swallow an introvert whole. No nibbling either. So I still got all my bits and pieces.

All the attendees—the organizers, the pros, and the fans—are engaged, passionate, and approachable. Illustrators sling their illustrations. Writers sling their books. Cosplay vendors sling their cosplay accessories. There’s a great writing workshop. Great panels. Great people. All together, enough greats to get Tony the Tiger twitching.

While MisCon is delightful, a plug for the convention isn’t the focus of this post. Rather, it’s a launchpad for me to discuss persistence. How did I get from MisCon to persistence? Easy-Peasy. I discussed the matter on a MisCon panel.

Since I proposed the panel to MisCon, I was grateful and a tad relieved that it attracted an audience. As the sole panelist, I was responsible for filling the fifty minutes of programming. All fine and dandy if given the task via a different medium. Say via an essay. But public speaking? Eaak! I’m a writer, dammit. And a nervy one in front of people at that. But persist I did—Sorry. Low-hanging fruit—and if I did my job well (fingers-crossed), the audience left inspired and better equipped to stay in the submission trenches.

In today’s Dopamine’s Delight, I share a few thoughts on persistence, include a write-up (with pictures!) of a stunning bike ride, and recommend a creepy as all get out short story.

On Persistence

A unique phenomenon exists within and around the writing craft. Instant success is expected. I could write numerous posts about the subjectivity and malleability of success in writing fiction. The topic deserves it. But for brevity and clarity, this essay’s conceit defines success as getting your stories published.

That expectation isn’t all bad. It can serve a purpose as it did at first for me. That dream of publishing my first novel—which I ultimately trunked—became the fuel that kept me writing until I finished it. But rare, perhaps mythical, is the writer who publishes their first written story. Don’t get me wrong. You’ll see plenty of debut best-selling authors. Editors love discovering them. The bean counters in the publishing houses even more. After all, creating an expectation of servant-like talent is great marketing. Who wouldn’t want to read a story and its insights from a born genius? 

But behind most debut authors are years of toil, learning, and a callused rear end from hours in the writing chair. This craft isn’t unique in this regard. Great effort is needed to become good at anything worthwhile. However, for some reason, writing is treated differently.

Inevitably, when an unpublished writer airs their dirty secret that they write stories, the response is often where can I read them. Gulp. Instant shame hits and doubt descends onto the unpublished writer. Nowhere. Yet.

Worse is when that avocation slips out to a person who lacks tact or empathy. Don’t quit your day job, they say to the unpublished writer. Chuckle. Chuckle. Or something of that nasty sort. 

And so, often, regardless of why the writer began writing, that writer begins to equate success solely with selling their stories. End stop. All good until the rejections start rolling in. And roll in, they will, for a written story is equal part art and craft. Art divides opinion. Craft requires skill. Not everyone will like a well-crafted story. A lot of stories aren’t crafted well. That dichotomy equals a lot of rejections for the developing writer.

Those rejections sap the confidence. They can become conflated with failure, the fear of which, more than anything else, has the knack to stop the writer from writing. Oh, no! The not-writing writer says. The muse. It’s gone mute. I’ve caught the dreaded case of writer's block. Not really, I’m arguing. The actual diagnosis is that they are scared of failing. 

Fear of failure has killed more stories than all the editors have since time immemorial. Send that bastard to The Hague. Send the quiet muses there, too. That beast (mine’s a slimy beast) is a fickle creature and as reliable as Lucy holding a football.

Charlie Brown, Lucy, and the football video clip.

Perhaps I’ve become too punitive when it comes to the muse. i.e. Inspiration. But be wary of inspiration. When it strikes, seize it and write with a flurry. When it doesn’t strike, write nonetheless. But don’t solely take my word for it:

Persistence. That’s the key. Keep at the craft, at learning. That comes from writing. Submitting, too, if you want your story published. While it’s out at market, write another story. And another. And so forth. When the rejections come in, you haven’t failed. Quite the opposite. You’re heading in the right direction, following a well-worn path through the publishing jungle. The snakes and vines and quick sand that take the form of rejections won’t stop you. Nope. Because you will persist until an editor likes what you wrote. So much, in fact, that editor is going to PayPal you money. 

Has my pep talk motivated you? Not quite.

That’s fine. I once felt the same. At an intellectual level, I understood that persistence was required. Hell. At the emotional level, too. It became my motto, my plan.

But the incoming rejections battered me. My ego. My confidence. They became my self-worth. 

But simply willing myself to be persistent isn’t a plan, is it? Or at least it lacks the needed robustness to withstand Tyson’s haymaker. So what’s a writer to do? Turn persistence into a system that can be followed even if the ego gets knocked down and out. Lucky for me and you, a system for publishing persistence exists: Heinlein’s Rules.

1. You must write.

2. You must finish what you start.

3. You must refrain from rewriting except to editorial order.

4. You must put it on the market.

5. You must keep it on the market until sold.

Yep. That Heinlein. About sharing his recipe for success, Robert A. Heinlein wrote, “They are amazingly hard to follow – which is why there are so few professional writers and so many aspirants, and which is why I am not afraid to give away the racket!…”

Robert J. Sawyer adds a sixth rule:

6. Start working on something else.

I suggest copying and pasting the six rules. Then print and post the rules in a conspicuous place near where you write. But don’t stop there because these aren’t up as writing decorations. Do your best to follow them. I did.

Do I slip up sometimes? Sure. I find rule number three the most difficult to follow. But I also consider the revision process as part of finishing what I started. But once the story is out to market, I try not to meddle with it. That story is what it is. Any urge to perfect it, whatever that means, is a symptom of my fear of failure. After all, an editor or slush reader can’t reject the story while I’m revising it.

A few writers, Dean Wesley Smith first comes to mind, are one-draft-and-done writers. They amaze me. However, the more stories I write, the less I revise. No surprises there. With each written story, the elements of good craft and style become more ingrained and intuitive. Additionally—and this is important—you can revise the original sparkle out of a story. I’ve done it. It’s best to send that story out to market and write another.

Did following these rules keep my self-doubt away? Ha! Nope. But following them kept me persistent when the rejections came rolling in. After over two hundred rejections, I sold my first story. I’ve sold more since. I’m confident I’ll sell many more. Why? Persistence.

A Stunning Bicycle Ride

Montana is never short of stunning scenery. Point and move your body in any direction, and you’ll be rewarded for the effort. That quality was what first drew my wife and me to the state. Having met in Colorado, we wanted to raise our kiddo in a western mountain town. Missoula is that. Most towns in Montana are that.*

*Eastern Montana has its prairie (A beautiful landscape in its own right), and wherever you look up in Montana, the sky is big, often blue, and the reason for the state’s nickname: Big Sky Country.

But the mountains came a-calling. Hollering really. The wife and I answered. When the dust and the exhaust fumes settled, we found ourselves unloading a Penske truck in Missoula. That was nearly eight years ago. 

Surrounded by natural beauty, there’s one place in Montana I hold above all others: Glacier National Park.

What’s to love? The park sports over 700 miles of hiking trails that traverse glacier-carved mountains, alpine valleys, and glacier-fed lakes. So that’s cool. Yep. A glacier joke.

Then add how America’s more charismatic wildlife call it home: Mountain lions and mountain goats and grizzlies. Oh my! Still not convinced. Really? Dang. Don’t forget the aptly named Going-to-the-Sun road. It cuts the park from east to west, crossing the continental divide. Be advised: the road skirts steep rock faces and becomes narrow in places. If you have a fear of driving near cliffs, it might raise the hair on your flesh and give you second thoughts before you shift the gear into drive. But fear not. You can jump on one of the park’s many free shuttles. But fear not. You can jump on one of the park’s many free shuttles.

Glacier National Park is a bucket-list destination for many and only a three-hour drive away for us. We visit every year. Often camping. Always hiking. When the timing is right, we bike on the Going-to-the-Sun road. What’s timing got to do with it? Snow. Lots and lots of snow. During the winter. Of course. But all that snow needs to be plowed. That takes time. Hell. Snow depths can reach 80 feet in one spot.

Every spring, plows rev their engines on both the eastern and western termini of the road and do their plow thing until they meet in the middle, sometime in early to mid-June. Yep. It takes that long. While they plow, they close the road to cars. But not to bikes. Yippee!

This summer, my parents, who live in Georgia, visited us for a full month. Talk about a delight! And the kiddo had a soccer tourney in the area. These two facts coincided with the Going-to-the-Sun road being closed to cars. But not to bikes. Yippee! 

You best believe we put a trip to the park on the agenda. The fam was all smiles, too, since the kiddo’s team won their division. Go Missoula Surf!

The day of the ride, we parked at the Avalanche Creek picnic area and had a goal of reaching the switchback called, The Loop, before turning around.

Out and back, that’s about an eighteen-mile ride with a thousand feet of elevation gain. The grade isn’t too steep. 7% to 10% in spurts at its steepest. For most of the ride, it’s a steady eddy 3% to 4%. Whatever your fitness, don’t let that grade intimidate you from taking in the scenery on two wheels. Many people rent e-bikes for the ride.

This was the kiddo’s first time biking the road by himself. We took the ride slow and stopped for many pictures. The kiddo did great and earned himself ice cream for his effort and good attitude. The biggest reward for him was riding down what he had ridden up. He peppered the descent with a lot of Woots! and Yippees!  I added to them. 

No picture ever does the park justice. At least none do with my equipment (a phone) and my capabilities (I aim and rapidly shoot). Here are a few I took.

In the two hours of riding, we saw a bunch of deer and five black bears (Two mamas and three cubs). All my pictures of them were poor because they and we kept our agreed-upon safe distance. I did get a video of me wobblily riding by this deer:

Habituated to bikers and people, the deer gave me the side eye as I rode on by and gone. I’m surprised I didn’t crash. I’m known to trip and fall while simultaneously chewing gum and walking.

Currently July, the road is open to cars again. Bikes are permitted on it in the morning and evening. Personally, I wouldn’t want to share the narrow road with vehicles. Especially RVs. To a cyclist, they are scarier than bears. I’ll return on two wheels next spring. 

“Male of the Species” by Tom Vandermolen

I’m stoked to point you to the creepy short story, “Male of the Species,” by Tom Vandermolen. It’s about a boy and a spider and a hungry love that grows and is never fully satiated. The dread sneaks in, slowly builds, and horrifically wallops you at the end. Dark. Twisted. Delightfully macabre storytelling that'll get you squirming with the heebie jeebies. So my kind of read. 

Here’s the link. Enjoy!

Until next Dopamine’s Delight…