The Journal of Michael Merriam

Sometimes life and fiction are a little odd. In my novel Last Car to Annwn Station there is a scene where Mae is in Uptown and runs into Jill. Mae wants to walk over to Dunn Brothers Coffee, but Jill convinces her to go to Muddy Paws instead for both coffee and cheesecake. This scene, which includes them being chased by the Cwn Annwn, is the one I read to audiences.

Muddy Paws closed before the novel came out, and I wrestled with maybe moving the location, but after some discussion with first readers and other writers, left it in as a sort of "Ah!" thing for locals who remember Muddy Paws with fondness. The shop has been sat empty for years.

Well, things come full circle. Last Saturday while riding the bus to the first production meeting for the Minnesota Fringe Festival show I'm going to be in, I saw that Dunn Brothers is moving into the space Muddy Paws vacated. In honor of the new location and with a nod to the ways fiction and life intersect, I thought I'd post that except here. If you are interested, you can pick up Last Car in ebook format at Carina Press, Barnes & Noble, Amazon, and in audio format at Audible.

( Last Car to Annwn Except Behind This Cut )

2013. Yeah. That was a thing that happened.

On some levels it was a tough year. My raw writing metrics were the lowest since about 2005. I had the lowest raw word count for the year since I got serious about writing in 2002. On some levels it was a down year for writing.

The numbers, however, tell a tale of a great year as a writer and storyteller:

I was Guest of Honor at CoreCon V. Blog reports here:
Friday
Saturday
Sunday

Sold 2 novels and 4 reprint short stories for publication. Published 1 novel, 1 short story collection, and 4 short stories (all in anthologies.)

Gave 7 public literary readings. Gave 3 writing-related interviews. Participated on 11 panels at conventions and gave 6 presentations for various organizations. Did a little publishing consulting. Appeared at 9 conventions and festivals.

Appeared in 2 music videos. Competed in Story Slam MN! Grand Slam and told multiple times at local story slam events. Hosted the Ghost Stories track and told 3 stories as part of Storyfest Minnesota. Performed 3 stories for KFAI radio.

Helped judge the Geek Partnership Society Writing Contest. Participated in photo shoots for Tim Cooper's War for the Oaks Reader's Series. Was active in the Minnesota Speculative Fiction Writers, Volunteered for MN Fringe Festival, and was active in my Writers Group.

The thing I'm the most proud of is getting my process as an artist smoothed out and working again. I'd been struggling for the last year or so, and in the last 6 months of 2013 I felt like I found my footing. I finished the first draft of a couple of things I'm pretty pleased with, especially since some of the stuff from earlier in the year as Not Up To Standards.

I wrote sparingly and sporadically in my blog this year, focusing more on steering the fiction writing back on track while working on improving as a storyteller. I did make a post about the changing writing process, which I'm pretty pleased with, An Ever Evolving Process and a post about finding my way back to being the writer I want to be in The Power of Story

What's in store for 2014? I'm not sure. I'm working on a scriptwriting project for a local theatre company. I've got more novellas in my Gaslight and Grimoires series ready to go. I'm working on a one-man show for either Minnesota Fringe Festival or to produce myself. I have finished novels to polish and market. I've got a long list of ideas and partial works-in-progress. I'm trying to pick the next novel project, with an eye toward something that might get me back into the Big Publishing Houses as an author.

What are your plans for 2014?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Originally posted at michaelmerriam.net. You can comment here or there.

"What are you doing?"

This is an important question; one Beloved Spouse will at times pose to me, usually when she catches me staring off into space, apparently doing nothing. Sometimes, rarely, my answer is "Nothing" or perhaps "Wool gathering," in which case she is totally within her rights to poke me into doing something useful, like say take out the trash.

But usually when she asks what I'm doing, and blink and give her a quick "Writing" or "Working" and get back to staring at nothing in particular.

Now, obviously I am not physically writing at these times. Physically, I am sitting in a chair, moving very little. But in my head, I'm writing, working, thinking about my current work-in-progress, considering story, characters, themes, and tone. I might be rehearsing a scene in my mind or untangling a snarl in the plot or prose. I am thinking about the work, planning, considering. My body is still, my eyes might even be a glazed, as if I'd had about 5 too many, but the brain is working furiously.

I'm lucky that I have an understanding spouse. If I say I'm writing or working, she leaves me alone to mull over whatever bit of story I'm dealing with. She doesn’t assume I'm doing nothing. She asks, and respects that at times I need to be quiet and let my imagination run.

On the other hand, I must always be honest with her when she asks what I'm doing. I can't and won't use writing as an excuse to just sit and do nothing. I can't because it's just not in my nature and I won't because I refuse to break the trust Beloved Spouse places in me and my process. I need that time to sit and think, and she gives it to me without complaint. I have to respect that.

Sitting and thinking--mulling over all the bits and pieces--is an important part of my writing process. I need this time to look out a window and think about what I am working on, to deal with knots and trouble, to find the right path of the story, to let the imagination play unfettered and ablaze as the body dwells in stillness. Writing isn't always about fingers furiously flying over a keyboard, or pouring over books and websites researching, sometimes it is about finding quiet and processing.

Though it is important to make sure the garbage gets taken out, because after a few days it will start to stink. Remember that as well.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Originally posted at michaelmerriam.net. You can comment here or there. 

The results of my recent poll are in and I thought you would all be curious about the results. It was really close, but in truth, I'm not all that surprised with the results.

9 votes - Rural Fantasy (Novelette or novella): Haunted abandoned school. Small town secrets going back two or three generations. Class reunion. Ghosts. Lost loves.

8 votes - YA space opera (probably a novella): Reluctant young heroine. Grizzled veteran spacer. Robbery. Murder. Grand sweeping galactic plotline. A mystery and coming-of-age story.

7 votes - Steampunk Heist Caper (Novella): Large cast of characters. Lots of conflicting interests. A mystical or mechanical McGuffin. A train robbery on the European continent. Double crosses and shifting loyalties. The next Arkady Bloom novella and probably the return of Tresa Wilhelm.

6 votes - The long-delayed Spear of Destiny Novel: Evil antiquarians. Spear of Destiny. Blind Longinus, the time lost Saint. Mystical magical Minneapolis and St. Paul. Roman witches.

1 vote - Last Car to Annwn Station Sequel

1 vote – Sequel to my novelette "Memory" which appears in Whispers in Space.

Of these above, I'm probably the most excited about the rural ghost story piece. I actually have about three pages of notes and the ghost of an outline. I think this a project that has some heat and will be something I work on before the year is out.

That said, the reason the above will have to wait is that I've found a project I'm even more excited about: I really want to write a story featuring former U.S. Marshal Jefferson Stottlemyre (who is currently a sergeant in the San Francisco police in the time line) and Deputy Marshal William Blenchey (plus Blenchy's fiancee, Lady Priscilla Talbot) from The Horror at Cold Springs. I really want to write a Weird West / Lovecraftian / Buddy Cops piece set in late nineteenth century Oklahoma Territory sometime after the land run. I was chatting about this in the car with Beloved Spouse and realized just how excited I was to write this. I even have a few lines of dialogue.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Blenchey: "It had to be a snake."
Priscilla: "A snake god."
Blenchey: "Alright then, a terrible big snake."
Stottlemyre: "Good to see you still have a sense of humor, Bill."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Stottlemyre: "At least you get to bring your woman along on this disaster."
Blenchey: "My woman turns into a giant black wolf."
Stottlemyre: "Well, there is that."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Originally posted at michaelmerriam.net. You can comment here or there. 

This is a story about becoming lost, and finding your way back home.

#

I climbed aboard the #21 bus after another long shift at the day job auditing loan applications for the stupidly wealthy to bring in more money for the insanely rich shareholders of the banking concern I work for, in the faint hope that they will toss me enough spare change to pay my mortgage, which my employer holds. You know, working for the company store and all that.

So.

I'm sitting on the bus in the first front facing seat, desperate to avoid the gimp seats again, though I don't even know why. Maybe my anger and frustration at what I am and what I'm becoming is spilling over. Anyway, I'm on one of the new hybrid buses, so when it stops and puts down the ramp for a wheelchair, because of the seat configuration I don't need to move. I sit there thinking about how tired I am. Thinking about all the things I need to do when I get home, none of which are writing or even writing/storytelling career related.

Thinking about how I'm not really a writer anymore. Writers write, after all. And I haven't been writing -- really writing -- for a long time.

You know, useless thoughts about self and all that.

As the wheelchair ramp returns to the top of its journey, I look up. My white cane is open and we chipped up gimps tend to acknowledge each other in the language of sidelong glances, slow nods, subtle smiles.

And two of my characters get on the bus. Zoe and Robert from Rainfall.

Go ahead and read it. I'll wait.

I watch as they settle, my breaths coming hard, head pounding, eyes stinging as they fill with tears. For one wild moment I think about fleeing out the backdoor of the bus.

#

Here's the thing; I haven't been writing much in the last year. Very little, in fact. This has me thinking hard about my career as a writer and artist. I've been studying the arc of the thing. I was contemplating stopping, putting away the words. I would finish rewriting and polishing the completed works I had on file, find homes for my unsold pieces, meet my remaining deadlines, and fulfill any outstanding contracts.

And then be done. Set it down, put it away, buy some sensible shoes, and shirts, and trousers, get a sensible job like a good sensible American worker-citizen. God Bless the Apple Pie.

#

So Beloved Spouse has been watching Bull Durham. There is this scene where Susan Sarandon's character Annie realizes that Kevin Costner's character Crash Davis is about to break the minor league home run record. She wants to make a big deal of it and call the Sporting News, seeing it as a milestone. He doesn't. He considers being the All-Time Minor League Home Run King a dubious honor.

I completely understand. Everyone who plays wants to go to The Show—whether that show is Major League Baseball or Big Time Publishing in New York or London.

I've been a hell of a minor league author for a long time. A small-press / semi-pro All-Star. Like Crash Davis, I've even spent a little time in The Show, but I didn't stay there and I've never been able to duplicate it. I told someone once – to keep using the baseball analogy – not everyone gets to be Hank Aaron. Some of us have to be Roger Metzger.

Or the fictional Crash Davis.

And after more than a decade, I wasn't sure I wanted to keep slogging away in the small press.

#

I'm going to stop here for a moment and engage in a small digression, okay?

I am not denigrating or disparaging small press book publishers and semi-pro magazines. All of my small press publishers have been fantastic and Very Good To Me as a writer. And most small press publishers are in the business because they love books and the written word. I would NEVER give up my experiences in the small press. But any writer worth his pen and word processor wants to reach the widest range of readers possible, and the Big Publishers have the money and clout to make this happen. For a small press author, I sell really well, but to reach a national audience, you need the power of the big publishers. I learned this during my time with Harlequin's Carina Press imprint, when I got my taste of the Big Leagues. End of digression.

#

One of the problems with being an author, unless maybe you are a big-name N.Y. Times Bestseller, is that you really don’t get much in the way of audience/reader feedback. You have to take it on faith that you are reaching an audience. I've been working on the stage as a spoken word performer and storyteller, and you get immediate audience feedback. You know right away if the audience likes what you're doing. If you know you've reached the audience, if you know they care, if you feel like you've reached them…

I talked all this out with my wife and she pointed out that I've been changing my focus as an artist – more stage work – storytelling and play writing. She's right, and I have found some success on the local stage as a storyteller. But my primary identity is as a prose fiction writer. I was getting some good writing done on those occasions when we were traveling or at conventions. In fact, most of my writing was being done in hotel rooms and not much of anywhere else. I'd get good momentum coming out the conventions, feel good about my writing, but I couldn't sustain it.

Writing was about to become just one more damned thing I had failed at.

I've been a musician; a bassist in a rock-a-billy band. It was fun for a while, but I got tired of being paid poorly to play in crappy bars and third-rate night clubs. I stopped playing, except at the hobbyist level.

I've been an actor, mostly under and sometimes unpaid in small theatre. And sometimes community theatre. I stopped doing that as well.

There are other perfectly good reasons why I left those pursuits behind. And I mourned them a little, but mostly when I drop those as career pursuits, I felt relief.

The thought that I would no longer be a working writer made me sad and sick. The idea that I had failed as writer left me feeling -- well, I was in a bad place. Other, wiser peers tried to remind me that I had accomplished a lot, things other writers could well be envious of and aspiring to. I'd published two novels, three single-title novellas, ninety pieces of short fiction and poetry. My first novel was a top pick for Readings in Lesbian & Bisexual Women's Fiction and one of my novellas was long-listed for the Nebula. I had been Author Guest at a major regional science fiction convention and an invited participant at two others. When regarded from the outside, my career looked pretty freaking fabulous and other writers would love to be in the position I'm in. I can acknowledge that.

But I wasn't writing. And when I was, I wasn't even making barista pay. I had convinced myself that being a writer was a lovely dream, but it was obvious that I was never going to reach a point where I could make the minimal money I needed to make for writing to be viable. And the less I was writing, the harder it became to get back to it and the more critical I was of what little work I was getting done. I wasn't writing up to the level I felt –knew – I should be.

Like Crash Davis, I had a good set of skills and a love of what I was doing, but not enough skill or talent to make the permanent leap into the Big Leagues. I got there for a time, but couldn't make it stick. I could nurture it in others, helping mentor other emerging writers as they made their first big-time pro sales and moved on to the major publishers—like I now knew I never would. And I found I wasn't jealous of them, or even angry that they were making the sales I could not. I was just sad and tired; resigned that for me, as a writer, this was as good as it was going to get.

Resignation quickly became exhaustion. I'd made a good run, had some successes, but I wasn't writing anymore. I was a cog in a giant corporation, nothing more. Between that full-time job and the part-time job of being disabled, I didn't have the energy to carry on as an artist. Like I said earlier, it seemed like it was time to put it away, hang on to my a sensible cog-job like a good sensible American worker with a mortgage and bills all that other American Dream stuff. God Bless the Liberty Bell.

I was done.

I was done, until two of my characters climbed and wheeled onto my bus.

#

The man was almost an exact duplicate of how I pictured Robert to be. Dark hair, slight build, missing his legs below the knees. He was in an old-style wheelchair. The woman pushing him was tiny, probably little more than 4'10", if that. She was also slight of build; slender and willowy. Her hair was dyed the color of autumn leaves; red and orange and yellow. She settled him into the proper spot and set the restraints that hold the wheelchair in place with practiced ease. I caught her eye for a moment and she smiled before settling in his lap, arms around his neck. They leaned into each other, exchanging smiles, quiet laughs, and subtle touches as the bus rolled away from the curb and continued on its route.

I was unprepared for the wave of emotions. I actually bit through the inside of my lip so that I did not burst into tears. I couldn't stop looking at them even though I was pretty sure I was about to have a full blown panic attack. It physically hurt to see these two strangers who might have been my characters in another life/world/dimension. When the bus reached Uptown Station -- its final stop -- I exited out the back and fled. I couldn't face them. But there was no point in trying to get away, because it wasn't this young couple, or even Robert and Zoe, I was trying to get away from.

I couldn't face myself.

#

Charles de Lint once said, "We are all made of stories," and I sincerely believe what he said is true. We are all made of stories. We all have our own story. Life is nothing more than one big story, and I believe—I have to believe—in the power of story. This is why movies like Big Fish, Stranger Than Fiction, and Ink resonate with me so much when so little visual entertainment does; they are all at their core about the power of story.

I had forgotten that. Or at least had let it be drowned out by the less important things. I had lost my way, become too caught up in the numbers game, worrying about money, about conforming to societal expectation concerning what is really worthwhile work, about my imaginary position in an imaginary hierarchy of writers, about marketing and blogging and being public, and about not ever being able to break through to the big-time despite being fairly well-respected by my peers. About wanting to be SFWA qualified even though I never ever plan to join SFWA. I got too involved in the Internet Noise Machine: Fiction Writers Edition. It wasn't so much impostor syndrome as it was just a feeling of general failure, of not being good enough. Of being barely minor league with no chance of ever being more.

I lost faith in the power of story.

And so the Story came to find me. It climbed onto a creaky, battered city bus and settled in front of me. Presented itself in unambiguous terms. Without speaking it said, "Michael, don't forget me." It made me remember.

It made me remember why I write. It made me remember the Power of Story. What I do isn't about publishing, and sales figures and money {And for those of you who sneer at this statement: fuck you. Sure, I want to get paid and I need to get paid and I understand the business of writing, but that is not what being a writer is about in the end, and if you think it is, you've lost a little piece of your soul}.

I write because at the end of the day, I'm a storyteller and an entertainer and I don't know how to be anything else. I write for the tired worker who comes home and wants to be transported to another world. I write for the kid who needs those words worse than water as they try to figure out their place in the world. I write for the desperate and depressed and battered and forgotten and lost who need a respite and an escape, even it is for a few bare minutes.

I write for people just like you. And just like me. Because I've been all of those things above, and I can tell you, brothers and sisters, the written word saved my life more than once. Some author whom I never meet wrote a story and the power of it carried me through, got me from one day to the next -- from one story to the next -- helped me become the person I am today. If I can do the same for someone else, then it’s all worth it. I may never know if I have touched a reader, made their day brighter, helped them in some small way, but I have to have faith that I will. That I have.

That I do.

#

Thank you, young couple who were the literal living incarnations of Robert and Zoe; thank you for letting your story intersect with mine, even if you can never be aware of the impact it had on me. Thank you for helping me get back on track, for helping me find what I had lost, for reminding me of what I am in a way I could not ignore.

Thank you for renewing my faith in the Power of Story. I won't forget again.

I promise to go forward and -- to the best of my ability -- create awesome stories.

Originally posted at michaelmerriam.net. You can comment here or there. 

I have been tagged by the ever delightful Catherine Lundoff to participate in "The Next Big Thing Blog Hop." Before I start, you can read Catherine's entry!

Okay, on with the questions.
************************************************************
What is the working title of your next book?

I have the title for this one pretty much set in stone at this point. It is the A Study in Violet.

Where did the idea come from for the book?

I've written and published two stories that featured the character Arkady Bloom, The Horror at Cold Springs, a steampunk & weird west tale and The Curious Case of the Jeweled Alicorn, a steampunk spy-thriller novella focused on Bloom in Her Majesty's Secret Supernatural Service. My publisher, Sam's Dot Publishing, has been pretty pleased with the performance of the other two books, and we wanted to keep the series going as long as people are interested in reading it. My wife and I had been reading the Sherlock Holmes stories—including A Study in Scarlett--and we had both recently read Neil Gaimen's homage to both Conan Doyle and Lovecraft, A Study in Emerald. My wife (who actually created the Bloom character and handed him to me to play with) pointed out that we had established that elf-blood (Bloom is a half-blood) was violet. We were both excited to create our own steampunk homage to Sherlock Holmes tales and yet put a unique twist on the genre.

What genre does your book fall under?

Steampunk/Fantasy/Science Fantasy/Victoriana/Detective

What is the synopsis or blurb for this book?

When a minor lord who is arranging marriages between the sons of prominent English nobles and the daughters of the elven court is murdered, Arkady Bloom—a half-blood poet and agent of Her Majesty's Paranormal Services—is ordered to assist the investigation. Bloom is quickly plunged into intrigue and possible treason against the crown, even as his own loyalties are called into question.

What actors would you choose to play your characters in a movie rendition?

Arkady Bloom: My wife and I have both always pictured this character as looking a lot like Orlando Bloom in tails and top hat.

Mr. Chillblood: Give Idris Elba scars and Victorian clothes and he'd be great as the silent, brooding bodyguard of Bloom.

Katarina: Bloom's elven changeling ward is physically based on a friend of mine, but could easily be played by Dakota Fanning.

Theodora: Katarina's automaton creation is physically based on urban fantasy author Caitlin Kittredge and I really can't see her any other way. Caitlin was an extra in a movie once, so she totally counts. By the way, Caitlin is also doing "The Next Big Thing Blog Hop." Reader her post here!

Inspector Highmore: Richard Leaf really has that tired, world-weary look, coupled with striking blue eyes.

Will your book be self-published or represented by an agency?

I'm hoping my publisher of the previous books will like this one enough to buy it, but I don't have a contract. If they don't buy it, I'll have to consider other options.

How long did it take you to write the first draft of your manuscript?

About three months. I'm hoping to have it ready to deliver in March or April of 2013.

Who or what inspired you to write this book?

I think I answered that above. A Study in Violet is a steampunk detective story homage to both Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's A Study in Scarlett and Neil Gaimen's A Study in Emerald. From a technical craft aspect, I took on the challenge of writing a story completely from the point of view of a character who doesn't speak (Chillblood).

What other books would you compare this story to within your genre?

The whole series has some League of Extraordinary Gentleman in it. Mostly I would compare it to Sherlock Holmes, Dracula, and Jekyll and Hyde.

What else about your book might pique the reader’s interest?

If you are a fan of steampunk, Victoriana, Holemsian detective stories, and chaotic action sequences, this is for you!
*************************************************************
And there is my contribution to the Blog Hop! I will now tag five terrific writers to share what they're up to next.

Because I asked and she said, "Yes!"
Dana Baird

Because I asked and they didn't say, "No!"
Lyda Morehouse
Kelly Barnhill
Scott Lynch

Because I meant to ask, forgot, and decided to tag her anyway:
Rae Carson


Originally posted at michaelmerriam.net. You can comment here or there.

Michael's Tremendously Simple And Mostly But Not Entirely Optional Not Really Rules More Like Guidelines For Writing and Writers.

1. You must write. You must polish it. You should find a workshop or writers group or trusted people to give you critiques. You should rewrite and polish again. You must complete the story. You must submit the story, or it will never be published. And then you must start a new story.

2. You have no control over anything except the writing, be it a short story, a novel, a query letter, or a synopsis. All the other stuff--sales, agents, contracts, awards--those come from the one thing you control, which is the writing. Focus on writing. Understand and do the stuff on the business end, but don't obsess about the stuff you don't control.

3. There will be all kinds of books, websites, and individual authors who will offer you all kinds of advice. Me, for example. There is a lot of information out there, and you are going to have to learn to sort out what is useful to you. There is no One True Way, and if some tells you there is, they're full of shit. Every writer is different and there is no one-size-fits-all way of doing this. No matter how good the advice from no matter how good a writer/editor/publisher giving it, your mileage may vary. Figure out what resonates with you, and use it. If it doesn't work, cast it aside.

4. Follow submission guidelines to the letter. I cannot emphasize this enough. If you are a new writer, you must do everything right, and this is a big one. Learn the standard manuscript format. Most magazines--print and electronic--still use this format, so it's a good place to start and a good way to have your manuscripts set up. Then, once again, read the submission guidelines, and adjust your manuscript accordingly. Seriously. Follow the submission guidelines.

5. You are going to receive rejections. This is a fact of the business and you will end up with lots and lots of rejection letters, if you have the nerve and thick skin to keep at it. This is not about you as person: It's about the story, and it is business, nothing more. For whatever reasons, that story did not work for that editor on that day. The very best thing you can do about rejection is to send the story back out. Once you've sold the story, none of the previous rejection matters anymore. If you want to succeed as writer you have to be tough, you have to keep going and writing and believing in yourself.

6. Editors are your friends. They want you to succeed. They want good stories. They spend hours slogging through slush hoping for that one little gem of a story. They will give you money. If you think receiving critical feedback from an editor is an attack, you are probably in the wrong business. Learn to take criticism and to rewrite to an editor's request. And just as important, learn when to ignore suggestions and criticism. You will probably have to learn this by trial and error, but most of the learning process in this business is by trial and error anyway.

7. Money flows to the writer. Period.

8. Reach. Grasp. Fail. Fall. Get Up. Dust Off. Try Again.

Originally posted at michaelmerriam.net. You can comment here or there.

In my quest to broaden my artistic horizons, I've started a new—career is too strong a word—artistic pursuit: spoken-word performer.

Now, once upon a time, many many many years ago, I was an actor. I know this probably messes with your perception of quiet, introverted Michael, but there it is. But that was many many many years ago, so when I first started talking about the idea of maybe considering the possibility of taking up spoken-word performing and stage storytelling at some point in a nebulous future, it was kind of terrifying. The kind of terrifying that leaves you quivering behind the couch under a heavy quilt, hugging your confused cat and muttering fevered prayers. Or gibber unintelligibly. Whichever.

The year is 2008. Undaunted by the task of dragging me from behind the couch, and having way more belief in me than I have in myself, Beloved Spouse gave me the birthday gift of Nancy Donoval's Storytelling Workshop (because Beloved Spouse only buys the best. For my birthday the first year we were married she bought me tickets to go see storyteller and harpist Patrick Ball. I think this is where the seeds of pursuing spoken-word performing were planted). I had a great time at the workshop. Nancy is a fabulous teacher and I learned tons about story and story construction, things I took and used in my career as a writer of fictions. But I never tried to do anything with the skills I learned about performing on stage in front of a live audience. Terrified, I did put in for the MN Fringe Festival in 2010. I don't get in. I remember being kind of relieved.

Move forward to 2011. I finally suck it up and decide to just do it. Of course, I couldn't get into spoken-word performing the normal way. You know, do a bunch of workshops, take acting and vocal classes, and perform at open mics for months (or years) to fine-tune your material and delivery. No, I jumped in feet first and off the deep end. I put in for MN Fringe Festival again. The ping-pong ball gods dismissed me, but a show dropped out five days before the festival opened, and I took the slot.

Despite the fact that I was a nervous wreck and actually got a little ill the day before opening the show, it went pretty well. I'd done public readings of my fiction for a number of years, so I wasn't freaked out being in front of an audience. I knew there was no way I'd be off book in five days, so I didn't worry about it. I did a quasi-dramatic reading of three original fantasy stories to mostly positive reviews. We finished the run without any disasters and even made a little money.

Next, I lose my mind and audition for Tellebration! 2011, a major storytelling festival held that year at Open Book in downtown Minneapolis. I didn't really think I was going to get in, but I received an email letting me know I'd been picked for the personal stories track. I rewrote a script I had planned to use for a future MN Fringe Festival, cutting 20 minutes of material. The day before the festival I tell Beloved Spouse to please email them and let them now I can't do this. I plan to buy a bus ticket to Iowa, change my name, and take up raising llamas.

I did none of these things, instead fulfilling my contract with the festival. I got up on stage, I took a deep breath, and…

Yeah. It went well. Not perfect, but pretty good for an amateur, I thought. That night after the festival closed, the sponsoring organization, NorthStar Storytelling League, hosted a story slam. Well, in for a pound…The competition was terrifying. Some of the biggest names in local spoken-word performing and storytelling signed up to compete. I decided early that my best hope was to not embarrass myself while getting some much needed experience. I was one of the last performers of the night. I stepped up to microphone, took a deep breath and launched into the story.

For three and a half minutes, I was on fire. I don't know where I vanished to, but the guy up on stage using my body to tell a story about encountering a ghost on Hennepin Avenue was hitting on all cylinders and in complete command of his performance. I came in second place, to my delight and utter bewilderment. I won a bunch of free tickets to a series of storytelling events around the Twin Cities.

And then I stopped and went back to hiding behind the couch clutching my befuddled feline. Whatever confidence I had built up vanished. Beloved Spouse kept poking at me to go to the monthly story slam at Kieran's, but I kept making excuses. We did see a bunch of storytelling over the next nine months. Mostly the Rockstar Storytellers, but some other great shows a well, especially at MN Fringe Festival 2012. I would watch these fabulous storytellers and think, "Man, I wish I was half as good as they are."

Finally, the gift certificates I had won for my second place finish were about to expire. Deciding I really needed to see if I could do this or not, I wrote a piece about the life a dollar bill for the MN Story Slam in September, finishing it the afternoon before the slam. I got up on the stage, took a deep and nervous breath, and let the story go. And I came in second place.

I went back this month with a tale about how cats are plotting our demise as a species. I didn't place, but still gave a strong performance. And I found that I loved listening to all the competing storytellers, learning by paying attention to how they told their own tales and delivered them to the audience.

I realized I'd been doing that all along. I'd been watching storytellers I admire— performers like Nancy Donoval, Phillip Andrew Bennett Low, Rob Callahan, John Dingley, Amy Salloway, Katie Knutson, Katherine Glover, Rik Reppe, and others too numerous to mention—and I was studying their style, their deliveries, how they constructed a tale, how they managed the stage and the audience. I was taking a Master's Class in storytelling by the simple virtue of being open to what each performer—whether an established professional or a nervous newcomer like me—had to teach with each performance.

There's no real moral or point to this tale, I just wanted to share this cool new thing I'm doing that brings me joy (and yeah, I know there will also be anger and tears in the future. Anything you feel passionate about in life will bring you frustration at some point) and stretches me as a performer and writer.

Maybe that's what this blog post is about: remembering to stretch as an artist; to strive and grasp and grow and take chances; to try new and scary things; to be willing to fail, but maybe succeed. To crawl from behind the couch, blink up into the bright light of the table lamp, set the exasperated cat down, and be brave in the face of fear and doubt.

Or maybe it's about how to stop annoying your cat.

Originally posted at michaelmerriam.net. You can comment here or there.

Sometimes the story you are writing does not turn out the way you planned. If you're smart, you learn to roll with it, to turn down the unplanned detours, to take a chance and go down the rabbit hole, because sometimes that were the true story is to be found.

Okay, maybe letting the story drag you down the rabbit hole isn't how you work. Right now I can picture several other professional writers shaking their heads and muttering about how they, not their characters, control the story, which is how it should be. There is nothing wrong with this style of working. Many writers prefer the control of knowing exactly where they are going before they ever touch fingers to keyboard or put pen to paper. The knowing—outlines, maps, sticky notes, spreadsheets and all that—allows them work quickly and confidently. That's fine, if that works for them (or you).

I'm not that guy. I tend to take a concept, begin to run with it, stop to flesh out what happens next, write toward that, let the end suggest itself, stop and figure out how to get to that ending, and then write toward that while being perfectly willing to go haring off down side plots and chase down errant themes as they present themselves. There is joy in discovering the story in this manner, I've found.

There can also be frustration. You can get side-tracked easily. You can go down a dead-end thematically. You can write whole sections of prose that then need to be cut later because they seems to be from a totally different story.

You can find that what you thought was nice little short story about phantom streetcars suddenly (for various values of suddenly) becomes Last Car to Annwn Station, your first published novel. Yeah, that was this guy, and I'm trying to learn from that experience.

Back in June I started a story about two mages on a public transit bus engaged in low-level duel (there a metaphysical reason they can only duel on that route at that time of day) and the hapless third-party who gets caught in their crossfire. The story kept going and growing, and I was fine with that, even when it hit 15K, I was fine. I've written and sold plenty of novellas (well, four of them anyway) so I wasn't scared. But at the 26K mark, this story that had been cruising along so nicely and I loved to write, stalled out and began to sputter. I stopped and took stock, decided it had stalled because I didn't know what I was writing toward anymore, especially the end. I had gone as far as I could on nerve and the electric first blush of a great idea. Now was time to stop and do a little heavy-lifting brainstorming.

This led to my previous post about continuity, and needing to know how this piece fit in the greater overall setting. I wrote up five pages of notes, thoughts, and idea, finally deciding where I needed to head next. I sat down today and started writing toward goal.

And even though the whole thing stayed on the course I had set, it simultaneously took a hard turn to the left, began to gather speed, and started to morph. I could see where the story was going. I could easily see a story spooling out before me, building on what I had started here and using things I had established in the setting. It was all there.

And I slammed on the brakes. I didn't trust what was happening. My story was suddenly not a short or a novella. No, I could see another 60K words before me. All I had to do was point my prose at that long straightaway fading off into the distant horizon, set my fingers on the keyboard, and hit the gas. The idea of being in for another (unplanned) novel freaked me out.

And then I remembered those phantom streetcars, and what they became when I stopped trying to rein the story in, stopped trying to keep it stuffed in the little box I thought I should fit in. Back then, I finally bowed to the inevitable and let the story have the room to run that it demanded. It became something wonderful, something I am intensely proud to have written. It became my first published novel. The mages dueling on a bus story stalled because I was trying to hammer it into the shape I thought it should be instead of letting become the story that needs to be told.

Surprise and discovery is part of my process. It is a scary part of my process, but is also the most joyful, and if writing can't be an exercise in joy, then I don't want to do it.

Dear Mages Dueling on a Bus story (which became a novella),
I acquiesce to your wishes. You are indeed a novel. Let's do this, you and I!
Cheers,
Me

Originally posted at michaelmerriam.net. You can comment here or there.

It is a bear sometimes.

My "Mage Duel on a Bus" novella has ground to halt. Not only am I unsure of the ending, but I need to work out the continuity of not only the novella, but where it fits and how it affects and is affected by all the other pieces in this setting.

oof dah...

I suppose this is the danger of writing stories using the same setting. You build a mythology and continuity and you have to live with it once you've published a piece. Or several pieces that are part of a larger whole. I've been writing and selling stories in my Magical Twin Cities setting since 2005. I've sold 13 short stories and one novel using this setting. I've written three yet-to-be-sold novels, outlined three more novels, and now have this novella as part of the setting. I have a lot invested in this Magical Twin Cities setting (Beloved Spouse says I need to come up with an actual name for this setting, something unique, descriptive, and recognizable).

There is a lot of continuity to deal with.

What's worse, if the Oklahoma rural fantasies I'm writing are part of this setting (right now they don't have any published characters in common, but do share a magical system), then it adds another seven short stories and one novella to the whole mess.

Not that I'm complaining. This is a great problem to have. But it is a problem, because I have to keep everything consistent with everything else and there are stories all up and down the setting's timeline. I suppose I need to create some kind of spreadsheet or wiki or something to help me keep track of everything (characters, timeline of events, changes to the setting, rules for magic, rules for monsters, etc) going on in this setting.

And all the other settings I've been writing stories for. Besides the Magical Twin Cities setting, there is the Oklahoma Rural Fantasy setting (seven short stories, one novella, and touched on lightly in two of the MTC unsold novels), the Space Opera setting (12 short stories), the Sword and Sorcery world (The Dolenbyd Cycle, with five short stories and a yet-to-be-sold novel), the Post-Apocalyptic Science Fiction / Urban Fantasy setting (two novellas and three short stories) and the Gaslights and Grimoires Steampunk setting (two novellas).

As an aside: Yes, I count yet-to-be-sold novels, novellas, and other works as being part of the continuity. I am a firm believer that I will sell everything I write. Seriously. Yes, once I sell them they will come in for some serious rewrites which may change how they affect the overall continuity of the series, but rewrites after you've sold the novel are just part of the editorial process.

So, my fellow writers, readers, tech-geeks, and friends, how would you suggest I handle keeping track of…well…everything?

Originally posted at michaelmerriam.net. You can comment here or there.