Saturday, December 29, 2012

The Writer's Toolbox: Critique.org

So I'm thinking about a post I recently composed, on my experiences with a Goodreads and LibraryThing giveaway, and wondering why I'm not feeling terribly compelled to post it, at least here (I'd already posted it in a private forum elsewhere).

Then it occurred to me that, if one of the reasons I'm doing this blog is in order to help other independent authors by sharing my personal experiences, publishing said post might be putting the cart before the horse.

So, to borrow a catch phrase from a well-known (and artificially-preserved) female comedian, "Can we talk?".

Here's the situation. The rise of ebooks has resulted in a literal, as well as virtual, tsunami of authors peddling their novels and short story collections, some of them quite good. Others, not so much.

Now, here's the query: How do we determine for ourselves whether or not our work is, to borrow a phrase, ready for prime time? Yes, we know we've written the next addition to the Everyman's Library, but there will always be those heathens bound and determined to obsess over minor and unimportant things like grammar, misspellings, other varied typos, lack of plot continuity, malapropous (Is that a word?) imagery, changing the main character's eye color, last name, gender, etc., midway through the story. . . . (You know how critics like to nitpick every little thing.)

Here's the deal, we writers get so close to our own work that we develop a serious case of myopia concerning its quality. Sure, we can hand over our latest masterpiece to our brother-in-law, hoping to catch him sober for once, for a case of serious (and inebriated) editorial feedback. But is there a better way?

To indulge in a brief moment of sanguine contemplation, one of the greatest positive influences on my storytelling skills was the Unknown Writer's Group. Later renamed Schrodinger's Petshop (after folks started getting published and the old moniker no longer seemed appropriate), we were a kindly little outfit offering restrained and gentle verbal nudges to those of our membership whose soon-to-be-timeless prose might have fallen just shy of the mark.

Well, that might be a bit of an exaggeration. Actually we fell upon one another's literary offerings like a school of rabid piranha, consuming and then vomiting the torn and shattered remnants in the author's general direction like bulimic wolverines.

But (and this is the key point here) it made us better writers.

Let's face it, a significant percentage of the independently-published work out there could use some serious vetting. There is no shame in this. While there are those writers who exit the womb, pen in hand, scribbling Ode to a Grecian Urn on their mother's now-deflated bellies, it's highly unlikely that we're one of them. Or at the very least, I wasn't (your mileage may vary).

So what are our options?

Good writing groups are about as rare as a bout of camera shyness in a Kardashian, though they do exist. (Good writing groups, that is. The jury's still out on the Kardashians.) If you do not belong to one, but are fortunate enough to live in an area where one exists, go forth and check them out. Yes, they might think a preposition is a concupiscent stance from the Kama Sutra, but you won't know till you give them a try.

And if you do, and they do? Are you then out of options?

Not quite.

There is a web site called Critique.org. Here (from their website) is a description of who and what they are:

Critique.org is for serious authors, artists, and creators in any field who wish to improve their craft — those who seek to gain professional stature within their field or increase it. Critique.org workshops focus on in-depth critiques of your works, a process which helps both the recipient and the reviewer to grow. In addition to depth of analysis, much of critique.org's secret is our emphasis on respectful and diplomatic critiques.

How it works: You get your work critiqued in exchange for critiquing the work of others, both of which are invaluable ways to improve your craft. The workshops are run by the Critter Captain, Dr. Andrew Burt (founder of the world's first Internet service provider and former vice-president of Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America, Inc.), along with his army of software minions. We also have forums to discuss your craft and the critiquing process, as well as many other useful and fun resources. Critique.org is free (except for the work of doing critiques!) and funded by donations; if you find the workshop useful, donations are appreciated.

As a participant myself, here is a brief summary of how Critters.org (the sf/f/h branch of the service) works. You sign up and agree to receive submissions of the work of other writers, subsequently composing a written critique of said work, which you then email back. By doing this, you become a member in good standing, which allows you to submit your own work in turn for critiquing. True, some of what one hears from one's fellow critiquers might demand a thick skin, and there is no guarantee that any given critiquer will be spot on in their criticism. But the alternative is to hear what's wrong with your novel/story/whatever from a reviewer after your work has been published. And take it from me, they tend to be less kindly with their remarks.

Below I have included a link to the Critters FAQ. Note, please, that Critique.org is not limited to genre fiction (there are workshops for most everything you can imagine, just go to Critique.org to view them).

Here is the Critters FAQ link: http://critique.org/c/faq.ht#Q4.

And as Dr. Burt is wont to say, Happy Crittering!

Wednesday, November 14, 2012

The Secret Room, Status Report II

Everyone has his or her own method of writing. Some folks set a daily quota. Me? It doesn't quite work that way.

Unless something is screaming into my ear (a grandchild, a political telemarketer, our cat Little Monster gently inquiring why his food dish is empty with the subtle grace of a puma being poked by a sharp stick), there is nothing I would rather do than write. This presumes, however, that my inner author knows what's coming next, even if I don't.

But sometimes he doesn't.

When that happens, forcing the words to come has any number of applicable metaphors, few of which are publishable. Suffice to say that when this happens, there's little point in forcing the issue, sort of like taking a cat out on a leash for a walk. You can do it after a fashion, but the results are unlikely to be pretty for anyone, least of all the cat.

In the past, writing has always been a difficult blend of hope mingled with despair for me, not unlike trying to hammer a nail with the tip of a screwdriver. It can be done, but if not performed both correctly and precisely, some bleeding will almost certainly occur.

I cannot say for certain what changed. I know when it happened, when I began House of Shadows. What I have yet to figure out is why.

But never look a gift horse in the mouth, goes the cliche. (Unless you're a veterinary dentist, in which case it's kind of your job.)

Despite this unfamiliar knowing, there are still times when the editor within (because I'm too poor to afford an editor without) says to me that the tank is low and needs to be topped off. The downside is that this is a self-renewing process which one has but minimal skill or ability to influence. Like a river, it has to run its course. (See? I can produce an ordinary and tired cliche, just like the average political consultant.)

So recently I've been on a (brief) hiatus from my novel while doing all I can to market House of Shadows (since one has to spend one's downtime doing something). It's tempting to force the issue and just take what comes. But since I believe my best work occurs when I allow my subconscious to catch up with the forefront of my brain, and because I want to give my readers nothing less than my best, and since I don't have a publishing house breathing down my neck (other than my wife, who's been asking for book two about two breaths after she finished book one), I can afford to take just a little bit of time.

But only a bit. Because, quite frankly, I'm as anxious as anyone else to see how this whole thing turns out.

With that in mind, here's the current status of The Secret Room. A little over 4000 words, and I'm sitting here at the end of the last scene like a kid in a roller coaster perched atop one of those mile-high tracks, looking down. It's both scary and exhilarating as hell.

To tide folks over, here's a brief bit from our viewpoint character, Abby, just so you know I'm not full of coprolites:

I have few other specific memories of my toddler years, though there is one which remains strong even to this day.

It was a Saturday evening, and our parents had left to go to the VFW Dance. Our grandparents were unavailable, some church function, so Mother had hired a neighborhood teenager as a babysitter. I have never forgotten her. Her name was Barb Evans, and she truly resembled one of those busty blond icons from Mattel, the kind of girl who could walk down the sidewalk of a busy street while wearing a pair of cutoffs and slow traffic to a crawl. I could not have been much more than three, and a storm had come up that evening, accompanied by a wind strong enough to rip the eye screw out of the sill and bang the screen door nonstop against the outside wall. I had curled up with my sister in Dad's recliner while listening to the thunder rumbling overhead in electric blue waves as flashes of lightning rang like church bells. Barb grew more and more nervous, jumping when a particularly loud crash shook the house.

Then the lights went out.

Rachael and I screamed; it took Barb several minutes to calm us down. As soon as she did, she got on the phone which (unlike the lights) was still working.

"Is the power out there too?" I heard her say in a rush. "No? Well then, could you give me a hand with these kids and help bring them over? I can't carry both of them by myself, and I don't want to leave one behind." A pause. "I'll leave a note for their parents, okay?" Another pause. "All right. Please hurry."

She sat on the sofa. We scrambled out of the recliner and huddled next to her. Rain beat down on the roof like an flaming red drumroll and the wind roared like a train overhead. Finally someone started pounding on the front door and Barb flew to answer it.

"I'll take her," Barb said as she came back in, pointing at my sister. "You get the other one."

"I can carry both of them," a male voice replied.

"Not and keep the two of them under your umbrella and dry," Barb said. "Rachael's older, but she's a stick and her sister's still carrying a lot of baby fat, so get her if you would please."

I heard him grunt as he walked in, barely clearing the top of the doorway. He reminded me of Daddy, a broad shouldered man with a thick head of hair hanging down over his forehead. I can't remember his face, though. He reached down and hoisted me up with his left arm, the right holding an umbrella dripping water on the floor. I caught the strong bass note of a familiar scent. Old Spice.

"You go first," he told Barb. "That way if you have any problems getting back, I'll see."

She nodded, Rachael a thin bundle in her arms, the blanket from the couch covering both of their heads. "Let's cut through the Beaumont's back yard. It'll save time."

He nodded as he followed her out the front door.

I remember the rain. It fell in thick grey sheets, pounding on the tin roof of the front porch so loudly it hurt my ears.

The man carrying me looked over my head. "Lights are still on," he said. "Get going, I'm right behind you."

I watched with him as Barb made a sudden dash from the porch steps, running like a deer, her bare feet splashing through the innumerable puddles. "Where the hell are your goddamned shoes?" he yelled after her, then looked down at me. "Oops. Um, sorry."

I made no reply, instead burrowing my head into the hot moist space between his neck and shoulder.

"Don't worry," he said, patting my back with a hand as broad and flat as a frying pan. "I'll keep the umbrella over your head. Just close your eyes, and we'll be there in nothing flat."

He leaped down from the porch into the downpour and had time to take two steps.
 
Then the world exploded.

Wednesday, October 24, 2012

The Secret Room, Sequel to House of Shadows

Okay, I figured that among this blog's multi-purpose uses, sort of like one of those enormous Swiss Army knives which we can never quite recall what that tiny implement on the back side does, but which we are certain one day we will discover its function and subsequently marvel at how in the world we ever lived without it . . .

::ahem:: Uh, sorry.

Having begun the second book in The Breed Wars, The Secret Room, I figured I would post the occasional update here. And considering the level of insanity of this project (which is intended to include twelve novels in the paranormal Breed Wars series, three in the heroic fantasy trilogy which will begin with The Caballa, and at the project's end come to a climax with the singular novel The Misbegotten), it will be completely understood if you pause for a moment to shake your head in bemusement at the obviously insane author before reading further.

One element of storytelling which has always intrigued me has been the multi-layered narrative, where we readers are captivated by an ongoing story which not only satisfies us in the present with the tale's climax, but which lays hints like breadcrumbs that there is a much larger story swelling in the background like an oncoming thunderstorm, teasing with the promise that there is more, much more, to come.

That is where I am now. And I wanted to make a promise to my readers that with each coming novel, which by itself will stand alone, that larger hidden tale will be advanced, and you will always at the story's end come away knowing more than you did at its beginning.

At the moment, I am just under 3000 words into The Secret Room. Here is its beginning, which is included at the end of House of Shadows, and I will continue to post occasional snippets as time slogs along.

Hope you enjoy.

--

The first coffee of the day sits like hot mercury in my stomach long after I leave The Warming Hut, my head down, my shoulders hunched. It's cold. Or perhaps I should say colder than usual for San Francisco during this time of year.

A stiff wind blows my way from the nearby shoreline as I navigate the length of the Promenade. It whips my skirt against my bare thighs, a familiar sting. I keep walking.

In the distance I spy the length of the Golden Gate Bridge, rising from a sea of fog as it leaps across the bay. Its orange vermillion struts stand out in sharp contrast against the cloud it appears to rest on, as though the sky has fallen to earth. I neither stop nor pause.

Shortly thereafter I continue past the parking lot on my way to the east sidewalk. As I do, I look up into the face of Joseph Strauss's statue, posed atop its white circular pedestal as though the somber gentleman has been waiting for me.

Then, suddenly, I hear them again. Footsteps. Still some distance behind me, but just a bit louder, just a little closer.

My name is Marie Abigail St. Claire, and I have fifteen minutes to live.

Wednesday, October 17, 2012

The Writer's Toolbox: A Review of Origins of the Specious

There are any number of useful tools which together make up the writer’s toolbox. Recently I came across one, and wanted to give it due credit.

The book is titled Origins of the Specious: Myths and Misconceptions of the English Language, the authors are Patricia T. O’Conner, a former editor at The New York Times Book Review, and Stewart Kellerman. She has written four books on writing other than the above, tomes which I plan soon to add to the room I use upstairs for a book repository (as ‘library’ seems far too sophisticated a term for that multi-purpose junk room).

The essence of this particular book is to confront and vanquish the urban legends surrounding the English language. For example, you’d think that English is related to the Romance languages such as French, Spanish and Italian, what with how liberally we’ve borrowed from them. However, this is not true. According to Wikipedia, the Romance languages are: all the related languages derived from Vulgar Latin and forming a subgroup of the Italic languages within the Indo-European language family. Which English is not. Our mother tongue is a Germanic language, specifically West Germanic.

This has, over time, become a problem due to those Latin scholars not content to leave well enough alone, and who have over time fought to convert English into a Latin-derived tongue with the persistence of a Jehovah’s Witness on one’s doorstep. This ‘square peg into a round hole’ determination has resulted in a multitude of neologisms being pushed on us like credit card applications at the local department store.

The book is subdivided into wonderful chapters, such as Stiff Upper Lip: Why Can’t the British Be More Like Us and Grammar Moses: Forget Those Commandments. Grammatical urban legends are assaulted with a two-handed sword and swiftly laid to rest. Clumsy ‘rules’ are kidney-punched with quotes like this one: “It is better to be understood than to be correct.” And phony foreign words are put down for the count, such as the phrase nom de plume, which is supposed to be French for ‘pen name’ or ‘pseudonym’. (It’s not either, the British made it up) .

This little book from Random House (at just over 200 pages sans notes, acknowledgments, etc.) is a marvel, and should be included on the reference shelf of anyone who writes in the English language. You can also visit the Ms. Connor and Mr. Kellerman’s web site and blog at www.grammarphobia.com.

Sunday, September 9, 2012

The Sexing of Baby Chicks & How to Write More Better

No, this is not an article on fowl perversion. Slog on, gentle reader.

Recently I read an excellent book titled Incognito, the Secret Lives of the Brain, by David Eagleman, a neuroscientist at Baylor College of Medicine where he directs the Laboratory for Perception and Action, as well as the Initiative on Neuroscience and Law. One of its sections I found particularly fascinating, the sexing of baby chicks.

I sense a bit of explanation is required at this point.

'Sexing' is a term used in the poultry business for identifying the gender of a baby chick. Males are pretty much useless to this industry, so it is more cost effective to separate them from the more desirable females as early on as possible. The problem here is the difficulty in doing so. As chicks, males and females are practically indistinguishable to the naked eye. And while there are a few rare individuals who can tell which is which, these same folks are unable to articulate how they are able to do what they do. This being the case, how does one train more baby chick sexers?

This is how it is done. A trainee is paired with an experienced chick sexer. The trainee will pick up a chick, examine it, then identify it as either male or female. The trainer will then say yea or nay. After a sufficient amount of time, the trainee learns how to distinguish between the males and females, even though the trainee cannot explain the how of it any more than the trainer can.

Here's another example of this curious phenomenon. During WW II, London was constantly being bombed by the Germans. As this was going on it was learned that a few rare individuals existed who could, upon spying distant planes, distinguish between the English and German ones. Once this was discovered, the authorities immediately put these folks to work as plane spotters. But there were not nearly enough of them, so the spotters quite logically were put to work training others. However, like the chick sexers, the spotters were unable to articulate how they could tell the difference between the planes. After fruitless attempts at training, the spotters began teaching new trainees just as chick sexers do, by letting the trainee guess whether a distant plane was English or German, and then either confirming or correcting the guess. After a while the new trainees learned to tell the difference as well, though they had no more idea than their trainers how they were doing it.

So what does this have to do with writing? See below. And please understand that the following is an opinion derived from my musings on the above phenomena:

There are some rules (or guidelines, if you will) on how to write best-sellers. Dean Koontz wrote such a text for Writer's Digest once upon a time titled How to Write Best Selling Fiction, though it has long been out of print. And then there are the basic elements of the craft, such as a competent knowledge of grammar, etc. This being so, it seems logical that any writer who has written a best seller should know how to write another one. Right?

Of course that is not the case. While best-selling authors, having reached such a lofty status, do tend to sell well, this does not mean that each novel they write sells just as well (if not better) than their previous efforts. Some even watch their careers and sales decline dramatically.

In short, it would appear there is no magic formula one can follow which will guarantee even steady, much less steadily increasing, sales, or else editors around the world would be following it to the letter while raking through their slush piles. This being the case, how can a writer improve his or her craft, if past a certain point there are no rules detailing how to do so?

Here's where the chick sexing comes in, the type of learning which (when it takes place) cannot be articulated. If we follow the chick sexing model, then we simply write. When success follows, we learn on a subconscious level. Not only that, we learn when we fail as well. Our 'trainers' are the readers. By buying, or not buying, our work, readers are teaching us how to write. As goes the old joke, how does one get to Carnegie Hall? Practice.

Well, gee, thanks for the useful advice. Write your (eventual) way to success. And I thought you didn't have anything useful to share.

To which I say, be of good cheer. For while this process cannot be avoided, I believe it can be abbreviated.

Example: I have listened to any number of writers refer to Stephenie Meyer's Twilight novels as (and this in moments of kindness) "that dreck". And every time I hear it, the first words which come to my mind are not 'literary perspicacity' but  'low sales'.

Not for Ms. Meyer, whose sales figures at one point eclipsed (no pun intended) the Harry Potter novels. No, the low sales I see are the ones for (at least some of) the writers who disparage her Twilight series.

Now understand, I am not referring to readers here when commenting on Ms. Meyer's storytelling skills (or lack of same). Literature is a highly subjective art form, and the reason we have everything from James Joyce's Ulysses to Stan Lee's The Amazing Spider Man is because of this. If a reader would rather chew broken razor blades than read the first page of Breaking Dawn, then that is perfectly legitimate. I'm not talking about readers here. I'm talking about authors.

So let me get this straight. You're saying that I can write the great American novel by reading populist tripe written for tweens?

If this is your question, you misunderstand me. For one thing, tweens were not the only passengers on the Twilight train. Which is my point. Meyer's novels jumped the tracks of a readership of teenage girls and began pulling along a number of others in its wake, adult women, and most likely a decent number of men as well (though most of them would prefer to chug bleach rather than admit it, methinks.)

Writers can attempt to reduce the popularity of certain best-sellers to a few superficial and easily grasped cliches, but for those who extend their reach outside of an obvious target audience, there must be something else there. I hate to break it to folks, but the Twilight books were not the first vampire novels aimed at the teen market, as authors such as L. J. Smith, Christopher Pike, and Meredith Ann Pierce (among others) can attest to. And Fifty Shades of Grey, by British author E. L. James, wasn't the first soft core bdsm porn novel ever written either (The Story of O anyone?).

Now, these books (and myriad others) may not be any given writer's cup of tea as readers, and that's as it should be. But no one gave these writers their commercial success. No one made any deals with the devil. So how did their work reach such lofty sales pinnacles?

Well, odds are that, like the chick sexers, they don't know either. The only thing I'm willing to bet on is that these authors, and others like them, wrote the kind of novels they wanted to read, but which no one else was writing, or at least not writing in precisely the same way. So, how to emulate their success?

Read them.

Okay, maybe not them. But read the works of those writers within one's genre who have achieved the kind of success we seek for ourselves, whether it be financial or critical acclaim in literary, genre, or whatever type of fiction. Or nonfiction. For within those pages I believe can be found the secrets of the chick sexers, knowledge which cannot be articulated, but which can be absorbed.

Then again, as Dennis Miller was wont to say once upon a time, "But that's just my opinion, I could be wrong."

And because this would not be a proper blog post without some self-serving content, here is a link to my interview with author Jade Kerrion: http://www.jadekerrion.com/2012/09/03/walter-spence-house-of-shadows/.

Live large.

Sunday, August 26, 2012

The Rule of 72

(The following article has been printed -- well, nowhere. But it's been on my hard drive for a while, and since blogs need content, it has now found a new home. Hope you enjoy, and perhaps even come away a bit more enlightened on what I consider an important subject.)

The Rule of 72
 
I’d like to introduce you to a friend of mine. Unlike those special ‘friends’ who literally seethe with resentment should you be so fortunate as to enjoy a bit of good fortune, this friend takes enormous pleasure in your success. The more successful you are, the wider his smile grows, until he’s grinning like a drunken Jack O’ Lantern on All Hallow’s Eve.

And what is this friend’s name? Most folks know him as “The Rule of 72”. He is a wealth-builder, and his goal is to make even the most casual of his acquaintances as rich as Midas. In exchange, he only asks for three things: (1) a bit of cash, (2) fiscal discipline, and (3) time.

The Rule of 72 is a formula, a simple one, really. The trick is to solve for x:

x = 72/g

And what are the variables?

g = Growth rate, a whole number normally expressed as a percentage.
x = The number of years it takes to double a given sum of money.

It works like this:

Suppose you have an (empty) savings account which pays you 3% interest. You have $1000 which has been burning a hole under your mattress. The smell of singed feathers is starting to keep you up at night, so you decide to invest this money in your local savings account. Being a curious sort, you find yourself wondering how long it would take to turn that $1000 into $2000. So you pay your friend a visit at his place of residence, the local calculator. Here is what he tells you:

x = 72/3
x = 24

So turning an investment of cash, $1000, into $2000 will require an additional investment of time, equal to twenty-four years.

If your thoughts in any way resemble mine the first time I solved for x, they are probably not printable in a family-friendly blog like this. At best you’re likely thinking, “That’s pretty unimpressive.”

Not only is that timeline unimpressive, it’s also costing you money, because we have not yet considered inflation. According to inflationdata.com, the average yearly rate of inflation from 1914 to 2011 has been 3.24%.

In short, in the time it will take you to earn that $2000, not only will you have lost any gains your interest rate might otherwise have earned for you, you will have lost principal as well, spent most likely on frivolous luxuries like food, shelter, lotto tickets (also known as ‘a tax on people who are bad at math’), etc.

So what other options are there?

One can get rich by earning obscene amounts of money as a franchise sports star, a box office drawing celebrity, or (one of the most common ways during this century’s first decade) from bonuses earned as the CEO of a financial company with mediocre to downright poor results (I’m guessing they were paid for having good hair). The downside here is that sports stars accumulate injuries, movie stars lose their looks, and Wall Street CEO’s eventually drag their companies down so far that they are allowed to retire with golden parachutes in the seven to eight figure range . . .

Okay, bad example. But for those of us not fortunate enough to fit any of the above, not lucky enough to pick the right numbers for that lottery ticket, or who lack the foresight of being related to soon-to-be deceased relatives who are both fabulously wealthy and poor judges of character, we must consult our financial GPS and take a different route. And here is where our friend, who never learned not to pick up seedy hitchhikers such as ourselves, steps in.

There are two basic investment vehicles our friend offers, stocks and bonds. Both are legitimate investments, but for the purposes of our example, we’re going to stick with stocks, which over time tend to outperform bonds.

Since the beginning of the 20th century till now, the American stock market has experienced an overall growth rate with estimates ranging from 8-10%. We’re going to split the difference here and call it 9%. If we plug this number into our friend’s slot (a disturbing image, but only to the already filthy minded), here is what we get:

x = 72/9
x = 8

This means that were we to invest $1000 into a stock fund mirroring the overall stock market over a twenty-four year period, it would grow as follows:

8 Years = $2000
16 Years = $4000
24 Years = $8000

Not too bad. Even with inflation taking a bite, we will still end up coming out ahead. And while past performance is no guarantee of future returns, it’s a better option than storing your Benjamins in Madoff’s Savings and Loan.

But can one invest in the American stock market as a whole? Yes. There are index funds based on the Wilshire 5000 index, a market-capitalization-weighted index of the market value of all stocks actively traded in the US.

A better way, and with less risk, would be to invest in a very traditional balance of stocks and bonds, 60% stocks and 40% bonds, and then utilize rebalancing.

Que?

Okay, here’s the theory behind rebalancing. It’s actually a variation of a common (and snide) Wall Street cliche about how to make money in the market: “Buy low, sell high.”

It works like this: at the beginning of the year, your investments are divided 60/40 into a Wilshire 5000 Index Fund and a broad-based Intermediate Bond Fund. At the end of the year, your averages will be a bit different, maybe 64/36, or possibly 57/43, due to either the overall stock or bond markets outperforming the other. This is the reason for the split in the first place, the theory being that in a given time span stocks will either outperform bonds, or vice versa. So one takes the excess from the side above the average and transfers it to the lower. The idea is that, in the short term, whatever goes up must come down, so by transferring gains from the higher of the two, those gains are protected from the inevitable downturn. Buy low, sell high.

An even better distribution was published by an issue of Consumer Digest’s Money newsletter. It breaks down as follows:

S&P 500 Index Fund:  20%
Small Cap Index Fund:  20%
Global Market Index Fund: 20%
Intermediate Bond Fund:  30%
Money Market Fund:  10%

According to the aforementioned newsletter, this distribution -- rebalanced annually -- does a bit better than the previous one.

So, a better option. But can one do still better?

One gentleman thinks so. His name is Joel Greenblatt. He is the author of a small volume called The Little Book That Beats the Market, a NY Times best-seller. To summarize, this work explains – in simple, easy to understand language – how to invest in such a way as to generate returns of approximately 30.8%.

I will not go into Mr. Greenblatt’s formula (which he explains in his book), except to offer this one-sentence summary of how it works:  “The Magic Formula strategy is a long-term investment strategy designed to help investors buy a group of above-average companies but only when they are available at below-average prices.” Anyone who wishes to know more is encouraged to read his informative – and frequently humorous -- book.

There will always be naysayers, and I have not as of yet attempted to use Mr. Greenblatt’s formula (preferring my own more proactive method of stock-picking at this time). However, it would at best be problematic explaining my own strategies, while Mr. Greenblatt’s method is quite simple, requires a minimum of time and effort, does not require extensive knowledge of investing, and can be done by anyone with a computer and an Internet connection. And if you are wondering why everyone is not out duplicating Mr. Greenblatt’s strategy, he includes an explanation for that as well.

For the sake of illustration, let us assume not only that Mr. Greenblatt’s method works, but that it does not even work as well as the theoretical average. Let us assume that, due to inevitable flies in the ointment, the average return over a 24 year period is only 24%, then solve for x:

x = 72/24
x = 3

Now let’s do the math:

3  Years  = $2000
6  Years  = $4000
9  Years  = $8000
12 Years  = $16,000
15 Years  = $32,000
18 Years  = $64,000
21 Years  = $108,000
24 Years  = $216,000

Better than $2000, to be sure. And it even provides a cushion against that pesky inflation.

But (and this by now should sound familiar), can we do even better?

In the US there exists something called a Roth IRA. This is a retirement account most financial institutions offer. It has a maximum contribution limit of $5000 ($6000 for anyone over the age of 55). Unlike its cousin, the deferred IRA, there are no tax benefits for contributions made to it. However, any earnings made on contributions and then withdrawn during one’s retirement are not subject to taxes.

So if instead of $1000 in a savings account, we instead put $5000 into a Roth IRA and followed Mr. Greenblatt’s formula, what kind of returns might we expect?

3  Years = $10,000
6  Years = $20,000
9  Years = $40,000
12 Years = $80,000
15 Years = $160,000
18 Years = $320,000
21 Years = $640,000
24 Years = $1,280,000

And this with no taxes, as well as no further contributions beyond the initial $5000.

There is a biography of the famed investor, Warren Buffett, called ‘Snowball’. The reason it is called this is because of the snowball effect, how a small handheld snowball rolling down a mountainside can grow to enormous size by the time it reaches bottom. A similar principal is at work here. Or, as Albert Einstein once supposedly said, “The greatest known power in the universe is compound interest.”

So now, of course, anyone reading this will go out, make their fortunes, and the world in 24 years will be so full of millionaires you won’t be able to shop the express line at Walmart without tripping over half a dozen, right?

Nope. Not a chance.

Why?

At the beginning of this diatribe, I said there were three things required to build wealth. One was time. Well, most folks have time; even older ones like myself. Twenty-four years isn’t all that long, unless one is elderly already. So we’ll give that one a pass. Where almost everyone who reads this will get tripped up will be by the other two, which are: (1) A bit of money and (2) fiscal discipline.

How is that? After all, with huge gains such a reasonable possibility, how could one not put aside a ‘bit’ of money? Well, primarily because of (2).

Most people spend all of their money to improve their quality of life. And once that level of spending has been established, it is very difficult to change their fiscal habits. Theoretically it shouldn’t be hard, the optimist might suggest. Everyone knows someone who lives at, say, 90% of what one’s self earns, so it’s doable. Just live like that person, the optimist says, and invest the remaining 10% as has been illustrated above. Right?

Wrong. The sad truth is that many people would rather spend money buying lottery tickets than putting that same amount of money into an account set up to achieve the amount of returns described above, because those returns are contingent upon one thing: delayed gratification.

Well, someone might say to me, if you’re such a pessimist, then why bother taking all of this time making your case?

Truth? I’m not sure. But maybe, like the famous glass, I’m only half a pessimist.

Thursday, August 16, 2012

Giveaway (and Part II of my Interview with Jennifer Lafferty)

As of today, August 16, and in cooperation with Goodreads, I am running a Giveaway promotion offering the chance to win a copy of one of ten signed trade paperback versions of my novel, House of Shadows. This offer will expire on September 16. To enter, click on this link: http://www.goodreads.com/giveaway/show/31339-house-of-shadows

I would also like to share with you that House of Shadows is currently being offered for free from the Kindle Lending Library for members of Amazon Prime.

And now that I have your attention (he said with a smile)...

If anyone would like to preview the first twenty-nine pages (so chosen because of the teaser this section ends on), you may get the full effect by clicking here and scrolling to the link at the bottom of the page: http://www.sff.net/people/walter.spence

But be forewarned, I did say 'teaser'. . . .   

And for those who would like to read Part II of my interview with Jennifer Lafferty, you may do so by clicking here: http://www.goodreads.com/author_blog_posts/2803890-interview-with-author-walter-spence

Thursday, August 9, 2012

My Interview with Jennifer Lafferty

Recently I was interviewed by fellow writer Jennifer Lafferty. The interview was split up and published on two separate blogs. I am providing the link to one here, and will follow with a link to the second within the few days:

http://www.examiner.com/article/interview-with-walter-spence-author-of-house-of-shadows?cid=db_articles

I have been fortunate enough to have attracted two five-star reviews thus far for House of Shadows. Anyone who wishes to view them (and any associated comments) can access them via the Amazon link to the right of this post.

Friday, August 3, 2012

So What Have You Written For Us Lately?

Now that I've introduced myself to you gentlefolk, the next question one might reasonably pose is:

"Who the heck is this guy?"

"What has he written?"

"And what about Naomi?" (Okay, that reference is a bit dated.)

In the beginning (because where else would we start?), I was a young fellow with a fascination for literally everything. During a early period in my life wherein I ranked among the unemployed, I took an aptitude test with my state's Employment Security Commission, the purpose of which was to assist in placing me amongst the gainfully employed. After taking said test, I sat down with my counselor who, after rattling the paperwork in front of him, looked me dead in the eye and (with the sorrowful compassion normally reserved for telling a child his puppy has gone to Heaven) told me what the examination revealed I did best.

"Learn."

We took stock of the varied and sundry employment opportunities such an aptitude offered me. Then, four seconds later, he gave me contact info for a local company that made aluminum storm doors and wished me luck.

Since the list of employment opportunities for professional students was a tad limited even then, if I were to become the kind of overnight success it took Eddie Cantor twenty years to become, it soon became obvious I would have to reconsider my future career options.

So I decided to become a writer.

(Hilarity ensues.)

Okay, thirty years then.

While I had made several attempts at playing around at writing after graduating from high school(including, but not limited to, attempts to write spec television screenplays for series like Charlie's Angels and The Incredible Hulk), I had not yet made any attempts at conventional fiction like short stories and novels.

Then I received an invitation to join an outfit called The Unknown Writer's Group.

There will be opportunities galore later on to chat about my experiences with that august assembly, so for now I will simply say that I had discovered true nirvana, folks like myself who were intelligent, literate, and who took the act of committing literature seriously. I jumped into the pool, and after promptly sinking, some kind soul dragged me to safe ground, after which I jumped in again.

This went on for a while. Eventually I learned how to dog paddle and we went from there.

At first I stuck to short fiction, and even made a couple of sales to various periodicals, the happy circumstances of which were quickly followed by the untimely cancellation of said magazines. Ultimately I took pity on a steadily-shrinking industry and decided to try my hand at novel-length fiction instead.

During this time Holly Lisle, our most successful author and the primary reason we ended up changing the name of our little gang from the Unknown Writer's Group to Schrodinger Petshop (We're Strange, but Cats Like Us), had received an offer from her publisher, Baen Books, to do a series of collaborations on a series called The Devil's Point novels. After everything had been sledge-hammered out, she offered me the opportunity to do one of them, a novel titled The Devil & Dan Cooley. It was that sale, and subsequent contract, which qualified me to join SFWA (Science fiction and Fantasy Writers of America).

Then life happened and turned into a roller coaster which I rode for the next fifteen or so years. During that time I started and worked on a novel I had titled The Caballa.

The writing of that piece of work was one of the most arduous events of my life. And when I was done, I took at long, cold look at it and thought, "It's not bad. But I can do better."

I consider myself a writer, and I cannot tell you how hard it was to admit that. I had put an enormous amount of time and effort into that novel. But my craft had improved to such a degree during the process of writing it that I felt unsatisfied with the final product. And by that point I was so burned out that even the thought of starting over on it made my eyeballs ache.

So I decided instead that I would put The Caballa to the side and write something just for me. I would tell the kind of story I had always searched for, but which no one else seemed to be writing, and I wouldn't give a single, solitary damn about its saleability or its marketability. And when I was done, I wouldn't even try to submit it to any agents or to the traditional publishing industry. More and more folks were self-publishing their work, so that was what I would do. I would assume the financial burdens of its production and its marketing, and whatever happened, would happen.

That novel became House of Shadows. It was first published as a trade paperback on June 14, 2012, then followed by a Kindle version two weeks later.

Being such a recent project, I'll share its story here as time goes on. Perhaps said tale will amuse some and educate others. But regardless of what ultimately happens to and with it, all I can say is that I told the story I wanted to tell. And that, as someone once said, makes all the difference.

An Introduction of Sorts

First, an explanation of the name of this blog, since I'm guessing most folks are not terribly familiar with William Butler Yeats. The title comes from his poem, The Second Coming, specifically from its final two stanzas:

"And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?"

"Slog" has several definitions, but the one most applicable to my situation would be this one:

Slog: to plod (one's way) perseveringly especially against difficulty.

This is quite appropriate for my situation since, as of June 14, 2012, I took it upon myself to become an independent author.

'Independent'. Sounds a tad more eloquent than 'self-published', which is a concept not only more easily grasped, but also comes laden with tons of baggage. To most readers, who cut their teeth on the product of what is quickly coming to be known as 'legacy publishing', this is the formula:

Self-Publishing = Vanity Publishing

The term 'vanity press' has been attributed to publisher Johnathan Clifford, who claimed to have created the term in 1959, though it had appeared in mainstream U.S. publications as early as 1941, according to Wikipedia. While a traditional press created earnings by selling its work to readers, a vanity press made money by selling its product to authors, who would then (typically) turn around and attempt to resell said product to their presumed (and largely theoretical) readers.

There were any number of problems associated with business model, not the least of which was the fact that the initial monetary outlay required to produce such books was the responsibility of the author. The primary difficult, however, was one of distribution. How to get one's wares to those anxious readers slavering for the writer's peerless prose?

For traditional publishers, this need has always been fulfilled by book distributors such as Baker and Taylor, Ingram, etc., who act as middle-men and go-betweens, taking the finished product and distributing it to the various book store chains and individual outlets. Cracking this nut was, to say the least, highly problematic for would-be authors with limited access to these businesses, little to no marketing expertise and even fewer funds.

Then came the ebook and the marketing muscle of Amazon.

Elaborating on this subject is beyond the scope of a post such as this, but suffice it to say that traditional publishing is still reeling from the aftershocks of this new paradigm. And they haven't subsided yet. Now new authors could bypass the gated communities of the Big Six and take their wares directly to a market panting for their work in barely-suppressed anticipation. Right?

Not quite. One of the tenets of economics is the relationship between supply and demand. As demand increases, supply decreases. This has been a truism for most of human history, and is no less true here, as is its converse.

While production times vary with the author, the typical novel (or novel-length) work of fiction on average takes around a year or so to complete, sometimes longer (as fans who waited five years for A Dance With Dragons by George R. R. Martin can attest to). And since traditional publishers have always kept the bar for new entrants high, product by the previously unpublished has always been kept on a limited and very short leash.

Then came the ebook and the marketing muscle of Amazon.

(There an echo in here?)

By eliminating barriers to entry in the marketplace, Amazon made it possible for just about anyone to create and market ebooks, thereby dramatically increasing supply. And what happens when supply increases?

Demand decreases.

With every new ebook which hit the market, the value (and corresponding price) of all other ebooks took a tiny hit. Not so much, individually.

But there are a lot of ebooks.

There is an ancient Chinese tale, about an emperor who had a problem, solved by a petitioner to his court, Filled with gratitude, the emperor offered much gold to the fellow, who waved off the offer and instead requested that the emperor simply take a chessboard, place a single grain of wheat on the first square, then double the amount for every following square (so that one became two, two became four, four became eight), and this would be his reward. The emperor, relieved not to have to part with his gold, agreed to this bargain. Until he discovered that fulfilling the petitioner's payment would require all of the wheat in the kingdom.

Then he had the petitioner executed.

While vast supply has resulted in a corresponding drop in ebook prices, the business model is not completely broken. Traditional publishers, inside their aforementioned gated communities, still exist, as do the hurdles authors must transverse in order to publish with them. This means that there is still value in their product, which continues to be restricted, thereby keeping demand high for their own unique wares, and prices correspondingly higher as a result.

But these community walls are starting to crumble. Established authors are, more and more frequently, taking their product directly to the marketplace, experimenting with this new model. If this goes on (a longtime science fiction cliche) -- well, you get the picture.

This new reality of publishing means the market is swamped with ebooks. Retail prices for new entrants have dropped dramatically, with new authors oftentimes being forced into massive giveaways in order to create brand-awareness. And on the heels of this have come those who can only under the most liberal of defintions be described as 'writers', but who are quite savy with how the ecommerce system works, and who are quite good at 'gaming the system' in order to market a questionable product. All of this means that good product is easily lost in the shuffle, and that the producers of quality work must slog their way along in terms of marketing it. And since 'quality' is a somewhat subjective term, there is little in the way of quality control other than a handful of reviewers who are themselves swamped by the tsunami of ongoing content, not to mention the aggrieved feedback of those whose wares they comment upon in a less-than-adulatory fashion.

This is the new reality. And as a new independent author myself, it is one I (and many like me) must contend with.

Which means we independents have two basic options in marketing our work. Either we pay someone to do it for us (an expensive proposition), or we do it ourselves.

The financial wizards among you can likely guess which path I've chosen. Hence this blog.

A hardcore truism is that one can only succeed in business by giving excellent value. Savy writers know this. And while there are no fees associated with this blog, there is another currency it demands. The reader's time.

With this in mind, I promise I will do my best to make this blog a commanding value for you, its readers.

This concludes our broadcast day.