Though aimed at my readers, other writers may find this post at my writing site about quality and expectations and criticism interesting.
For the 3rd Monday in a row I’m taking more than an hour to listen to a podcast. I generally have little patience for podcasts; most have a very low signal-to-noise ratio. The 21st Century Creative, hosted by Mark McGuinness of Lateral Action, is all signal, no noise.
Eschewing the rush rush syndrome everyone thinks is appropriate these days, Mark takes his time, 60 to 90 minutes. Each guest ends the show with an artistic challenge; participate and you can win nifty useful books (and, not incidentally, grow artistically and personally.)
Make time for the 21st Century Creative podcast. Your art deserves it.
After years of music school and uncountable hours of practice Morgan makes a decent living playing jazz guitar in clubs and coffee shops and as a session musician at a local recording studio.
Following a similar path, Shannon studied under a chef who was a family friend and has worked for the past six years in various upscale restaurants.
Morgan, the musician, has always loved to cook. Guests at Morgan’s special dinners have always said “You should open a restaurant!” Morgan just smiles.
Shannon, the chef, took piano lessons as a child and a few years ago, started practicing in earnest. Guests at Shannon’s living room concerts say “You should play down at the coffee shop!” Shannon never took it seriously—before now.
One of Morgan’s friends was hosting a special dinner party for out of town business guests and begged Morgan to cater it. “Nothing fancy, do what you always do, but please, feed my guests!” Though Morgan initially refused payment, the friend insisted.
Without even asking, a friend of Shannon’s booked a gig at a local coffee shop. Based on some recordings the friend had made at a living room concert, they were glad to pay a small fee for the performance.
Since Morgan and Shannon share a network of friends, each is aware of the other’s vocation—and their avocation.
When Shannon was invited to a dinner party hosted by Morgan the musician, Shannon expressed genuine appreciation for the food, for the flavors and presentation. It never entered Shannon’s head to expect a professional presentation at the level Shannon was capable of. Morgan was, after all, a hobbyist, and amateur simply having fun with friends.
After one of Shannon’s living room concerts, Morgan asked about some of Shannon’s original songs, and expressed genuine appreciation for the arrangement of a cover tune Shannon had performed. Morgan wouldn’t dream of critiquing Shannon’s fingering on the fretboard or choice of material. Shannon is, after all, just having fun, an amateur. Music is Shannon’s hobby, that’s all.
Now, though, things are different. Morgan, a musician, is being paid to cook. Shannon, a chef, is making money with music.
Would you expect them to have different expectations of each other’s hobbies now?
Folks who hire Morgan to cater a dinner are delighted with not only the food, but the price. They couldn’t afford Shannon’s highly professional service anyway, so they’re just glad they can get something they like at a price they can afford.
The coffee shops where Shannon makes a few bucks, the living room concerts that pay in generous tips, are glad to have lively music played by someone who loves what they do, who does it well enough for their guests at a price that allows them to have live music instead of prerecorded.
If these clients are happy to pay Morgan and Shannon for what were once only hobbies, should the other be miffed that “Shannon’s guitar playing isn’t studio-ready” or “Morgan’s cooking would never make it in a fine restaurant”?
At what point does it become a professional artist’s right to set expectations for another artist?
When a hobby morphs into a side business does an artist owe patrons the same quality as leaders in their field?
Is an artist obligated to be excellent, world-class, top of their game, before they’re allowed to exchange their art for money?
Or is that between the artist and those who are exchanging their money for that art?
I wish I had a nickel for every time I’ve read this sentence:
It comes mostly from pantsers who don’t want to learn story structure, who think it’s a straightjacket for producing formulaic pablum and they want no part of it.
When my middle daughter graduated from high school she wanted to write songs. We got her a small keyboard and I offered to give her lessons.
“No, that’s okay. I know what I’m doing.”
She was echoing what I’ve heard dozens of songwriters say: “Learning music theory will destroy my spontaneous creativity.”
Really? So you’re saying that me and Mozart and Dylan and Donald Fagen are drudges? I’m not the genius those three are, but I write better songs because I learned music theory, not in spite of it. Listen to Donald Fagen talk about composing the Steely Dan song Peg:
After I’d read An Uncollected Death and An Unexamined Wife by Meg Wolfe, she let me pillage her brain for thoughts on how she pieced together the stories, the mysteries, the characters.
How long did it take to sort the plot details for book 1? Creating the bits of the mystery, I mean. A month? A year?
I developed the characters along with the plot. It really is character-driven. What happened was that I had many, many strands of interrelated stories that I braided together, changing and tweaking details by working backwards, then forwards again. The last third, Act III, went really quickly, once I got the first two acts properly braided. The same thing happened in the second book, and in this third one, as well. The second book took me a little over eight months to write. This one has taken me ten–I had some health problems again during the summer which really slowed me down.
Why the French Resistance? Special existing knowledge on your part, or just interest?
Short version: make it a habit.
Slightly longer version: make it the right habit.
After 18 months of experimentation (following 18 years of dabbling) I’ve made writing my habit. It’s part of my daily routine.
Every morning, Best Beloved and I have our tea and a chat. Then, I go downstairs and write one scene (+/- 1,000 words is where mine seem to fall.)
Or, more accurately, how I begin the process of moving toward my books.
Planning is a left-brain process. Creativity has to have a healthy dose of right brain. You need both. The apocryphal Hemingwayesque “write drunk, edit sober.”
Here’s a very short version of my story-generating process, which thus far has given me good results blending left and right, analytical and creative: … more … “How I Write”
Prepare for a long rambling rant with overtones of self-analysis.
I have written before about using free as a strategy, not a price.
Please, make business decisions based on evidence, a plan, not hoping and wishing.
I’ve read mention of people giving away tens of thousands of digital downloads of their book, and receiving a few dozen reviews and the equivalent of $700 in related sales.
If the effort involved is minimal and the reward is $700, I guess I can see that. I suppose I have to reserve judgment until I have more data.
Yes, I want lots of people to read my books.
What I don’t want is for lots of people to just line up and download my books. It’s not the same thing.
That’s 400 articles.
144,849 words about writing, indie publishing, and commonsense zero-cost DIY marketing for authors.
Thanks for showing up every week and reading them.
By a wide margin, the most popular post yet has been a list of a bunch of other posts. Seems y’all like things packaged neatly, and I respect that.
What else do you like? What’s been missing? What would make this place so valuable you’d stand in line to pay for my help?