The Different Types of Members in a Critique Group

What do we want to achieve from our critique group. The goals are as various as the people involved.

-        BUTTERFLIES -They view their critique group as a social opportunity. A time to talk shop. In fact it might be their only time to talk to someone about the writing profession. Or maybe their only chance to talk to people at all.

-        SOAKERS- View the group as a mirror, soaking up their reflected greatness. These people attend the group hoping, in fact needing, to be told how good a job they are doing. How great a writer they are. They live for this affirmation like hot house orchids thriving in heavy humidity.

-        DESTROYERS - They attend these meetings for the opportunity to critique. They revel in the sickening desire to tear down and destroy other’s work.  Unable to create themselves. They must destroy all others that do. If they can’t succeed then, by god, no one will.

-        DABBLERS – These attend only occasionally and rarely contribute finished product. But they can impress their friends with stories about their writing group. Things like “I was at my writing group the other day and we were discussing the merits of Hemingway versus Faulkner.” Dabblers aren’t aware enough to realize their friends could care less.

-        WORKERS – These are the people that want to get better. They regularly submit, hoping to learn and improve. They worry about craft, plot, and grammar. Sweating over every aspect that might make the story better. These are the people that are going to help you. Seek them out.

Your objective with your critique group is to staff it with only workers. Eliminate all of the others. They are only slowing you down and getting in the way of you becoming a good writer.

My current critique group is made up only of workers. I was very lucky to get invited to join. Believe me, you will see the difference instantly.  The focus is on supporting each other in getting better. That should be your goal.

Nature, as powerful as a good book

I wanted to share a link to a good friend of mine, Kristi Rose. She has recently sold her first book to Lyrical publishing.We are all living vicariously through her experience. If you get a chance please check out her page and support the book when it comes out. It is an excellent read and she is an great person. Both deserve your attention.

Facebook = https://www.facebook.com/pages/Kristi-Rose/364071883695814 

Blog = http://kristirose.net/

Books that changed my life

Now for something totally different

Instead of writing about writing, something most of you could care less about, I thought I’d write about something different – Reading – How certain books leave a lasting impression.

  I was about ten years old when I read “MY SIDE OF THE MOUNTAIN” by Jean Craighead George. The first book to change my life, thankfully not the last. I identified with the main character because of our similar ages. It’s the story of a young boy who runs away from home to live in the woods. He tames a wild falcon and builds a home inside an old tree. The perfect adventure story.

 What the book did for me was open up the possibilities of self-reliance, of individuality, and the fact that there was a world outside that needed to be explored. It also taught me how to get lost in a story. To totally and completely fall into the story and hope I never clawed my way out. The book was like a lifeline. Every time things got hard in my life I knew that I could always run to the forest if I had too.

The next book was the western “THE SACKET BRAND” by Louis L ‘Amour. About a cowboy whose wife is killed and he spends the entire story getting revenge against the killers. Even though I was only eleven it taught me what it meant to be a hero.  What was expected of a man. It opened my eyes and made me fall in love with history, especially western history. It’s the only book I cannot read again. The impression it left is so strong I don’t want to do anything to change it. Instantly becoming a rabid Louis L ’Amour fan I read each of his over two hundred books, most of them more than once. My ex-Sister-In-Law once sneered and said that she thought those types of books were a men’s version of a Romance Novel. I smiled and agreed with her and said, “Yes, if you mean they bring enjoyment to millions of fans, I agree totally.”

At Thirteen I stole my mom’s copy of the “THE GODFATHER” by Mario Puzo. This was the first true adult book, with adult situations (meaning sex). I loved the story and the fact that the main character was both a bad guy and a good guy. I don’t think I ever read another “Kid’s” book after reading it.

In my late teens I read Stephen King’s “THE STAND.” A band of strangers come together to overcome evil in a post-apocalyptic world without rules. After reading it I devoured everything he had written then branched out to other authors in the same genre. It was then that I fell in love with the idea of storytelling and started creating stories in my own mind. I wrote some of them down but they were never good enough so I put them aside. But I never stopped creating them in my head.

While stationed aboard USCGC Storis in Kodiak Alaska I read “THE HIGHLINERS” by William McKluskey a novel about the Alaska fishing fleet in the 1970’s. I also read “GRAY SEAS UNDER” by Farley Mowatt about a Tug Boat conducting rescue missions off the Canadian Maritimes. Both of these books taught me the true romance of the sea and were a big reason I spent the next ten years of my life at sea. I loved the fact that I was living the life these books where talking about. My adventures were true.

I was stationed in Long Beach California on the USCG Venturous when I read “CANNERY ROW and SWEET THURSDAY” by John Steinbeck. These books brought to life those people living on the seedier side of town. The side I was now stationed in. It gave them depth and made me look at them differently. I began hanging out in their world and learned a great many lessons about life.

Finally, while in Antarctica aboard USCGC Polar Sea I read all four volumes of Churchill’s “HISTORY OF THE ENGLISH SPEAKING PEOPLE.” It covers the history of Great Britain from pre-historic times to World War One. It opened my eyes to the big picture and introduced me to Non-Fiction. I hadn’t known that I could get lost in a true story like that. I’d thought it could only be in fiction. I spent several years devouring History books, focusing on Military History. That voracious reading eventually led to me getting my BA in History a few years later and eventually a Master’s in Education with the goal of teaching History.

I would not be the person I am today without these books. I might be better, maybe worse, but most assuredly not the same.  My value system would be different. The way I view people, analyze problems and issues. All of it would be different.

There are many other authors that I have read and loved, Heinlein, Ludlum, Asimov, Austin, Orson Scott Card. Authors that reinforced what had come before or showed me alternative viewpoints. All of them were great but they didn’t have the impact on me like the books listed above.

What books changed your life and why?

 

 

"Thanks Gary for the Tip

The other day I came across an article on how in the Music business, the top 1pt make 77 pct of the money. Seeing how this could soon apply to the writing world I sent the link to the Blog "The Passive Voice" A famous blog about the writing industry. He put it in his blog and said -"Thanks Gary for the Tip." Granted, it would have been nice to get a full name mention, but still. I know. Here's the link.

http://www.thepassivevoice.com/03/2014/how-digital-music-services-may-be-fuelling-a-superstar-artist-economy/

Possible openings for a story

Hook1

When an alien lands in your back yard you pay attention. That’s an outer space alien, not a cross the border immigrant type alien.

When the girl next door becomes a cheerleader and spends her afternoons practicing in her back yard, you pay attention. When said alien abducts said cheerleader, you should maybe do something about it.

At least that was what I figured when it happened to me.  Well, technically it happened to Haley next door. She was the one being thrown over its shoulder and carried back to its ship.

Hook2

The cell door clanged like an out of tune church bell. Waves of failure and shame washed through my body. Well that’s it, the bottom. A man couldn’t fail at life any more than I had.

Two days later I found out how wrong I had been. They put my son into the cell next to mine.

Hook3

Dear Mr. Johnson.

Please don’t delete this email. It is not a joke. I can confirm that with the words “Red Elephants”. Yes, that is correct, your mother’s secret word to let you know it was she that had sent the person to pick you up from day care. Remember the day she gave it to you, it was raining, hard. She told you in the old station wagon, on the way to day care. You remember. I know you do because I remember.

Steve, this Email is from the future, your future. Six years in the future to be exact.

Hook4

She walked into my life like an angel floating on a cloud of indifference. A goddess sent to earth to tempt man into being something better.

 My best friend had become the Angel she was always meant to be. The only question, did she know it. Would she ever figure it out.

what happens next????

Here is some flash fiction. I wrote this in an hour just for practice, just to write. I started with an idea, (pulling up his collar) and wrote whatever bubbled out. No thinking, no planning, no outline. I just wanted to recapture the fun of writing.

TWO MONTHS

Two months. Two friggin months on the beach because some piss-ant cook got drunk on vanilla extract and decided to get froggy.  Shaking his head Tom Miller pulled his collar up tight and stared out over the breakwater as the freighter cleared the sea buoy. What the hell was he going to do for two months? Especially in this god forsaken hell hole.

Spreading his feet and leaning into the stiff wind he shoved his hand into the pockets of his black pea coat and hunched his shoulders. A small orange boat pulled up next to the ship to take off the pilot. Bobbing and weaving as it tried to hold position. A short bald man gingerly made his way down, hesitated, then jumped to the smaller boat. The freighter’s crew pulled the Jacobs ladder back onboard then scurried inside. Slowly, the behemoth turned into the long Pacific rollers as white mist shot up from the bow. That was it then. The last contact. She now belonged to the big blue.

Sighing to himself he tried to suppress a deep shudder. Everyone and everything he knew was literally sailing out of his life. Leaving him here like a discarded piece of jetsam.

 So what now? Where was he supposed to go, what was he supposed to do. It wasn’t like he had a home to go to. He’d been on the move for too long to ever put down enough roots to call any place home. In the past, his down time had been planned. He’d hole up with some buddy and twiddle his thumbs until his next berth. This was different, Money was tight, money was always tight, but he could squeak by for a couple months if he was careful. But there was no telling how long it would take to get another ship after his suspension was over. All become some low life cook decided to come after him with a carving knife the size of Star Wars light saber.

Throwing his green sea bag over his shoulder he turned and began the long walk back down the pier. He ignored the cawing seagulls and distant whistle from the lumber mill. “Well Tommy my boy,” he muttered to himself “Another day, another adventure.”

He had to suppress a shiver as he nodded a greeting to the gray haired security guard at the front gate. God, there was a job for you. All day in a six by six cube, checking people and goods in and out of the loading yard. Stuck here while manufactured parts from Ohio got to travel the world.  It’d be enough to make a man slit his own throat with a dull knife.

Stepping out to the main road he turned his head to look both ways. Left or right? Port or starboard? Which way? Lives could turn on this simple decision. His life in particular. He was really torn. He had no idea which way would be best. The town looked pretty much the same both ways. Gray warehouses, lumber yards and abandoned lots. He’d never pulled liberty here so he didn’t know where anything was located. The only thing he knew for sure was that the Union hall was across town for unknown reason so that was out for today.

His legs refused to move, refused to commit. Surely people looking would have thought of him as a lost soul. Staring first one way then the other.

 “What is it you want Tom,” he asked himself. “Other than what every sailor wants, booze, broads, and a bed. Hopefully in that order.” He said as he tried to shake off that lonely feeling threatening to climb up his spine. He didn’t feel the loneliness when he was at sea. He could push it back. Bury it in work. But here, on shore, the bitch threatened to take over.

 As he pondered his future travels a sea gull landed to his right. There was nothing special about the bird. A normal, everyday, white sea gull. It wasn’t a messenger from the gods or anything special. Just a flying rat.

The bird tilted its head then pecked at a McDonald’s wrapper. Because Tom was generally pissed off to the ninth degree and finally here was something to attack he took a step towards the bird and brought his boot back for an epic kick. The kind that would have made an NFL kicker proud. But sea gulls are not dumb. They have been around enough pissed off sailors to know to keep their distance. And long before Tom could launch his epic kick, the bird jumped into the air and flew away.

Tom chuckled and sighed to himself, “Typical.”

Because he was already turned that way, because it was easier to continue than to make a decision, or just because. He kept on walking, down the road to the right. Not because some higher power drove him. Not because it was his destiny, but because a bird landed to his right vice his left. Such are the little things that screw with our lives.

.o0o.

Gracey Mars was slammed and it wasn’t even happy hour. Carla had called in sick again so she was both tending bar and waiting tables. Oh the glamor of a dock side bar. The Green Shamrock served a mixed clientele, both fishermen and dock workers, almost all men. Guys determined to forget about how much their lives sucked. Men trying to eke out a few more rounds until their next paycheck mixing with guys loaded to the gills with spending money after a profitable fishing trip. It created an interesting environment to say the least.  A woman with any sense wouldn’t be caught dead in a dive like this.

She wiped the bar down for the tenth time and cursed under her breath as Johnny Simpson made his way to the Juke Box. If he played that damn Pena Colada song one more time she was going to scream. Just think, if you had stuck with it you’d be graduating from college this summer. Of course you’d have been a hundred grand in debt, but you sure as shit wouldn’t be here. Twenty three years old and she had made it exactly five point six miles from her child hood home. She wondered for the thousandth time if she would ever get away. Ever see more of the world than this barnacle on gods butt.

“When you going to marry me, Gracey?” Mike Jensen slurred over the top of his drink. Gracey laughed. Mike was older than Noah, with straggly gray hair and missing front teeth. He had lost his dentures a couple of months ago but couldn’t afford new ones. He could afford to come in here every day though.

“Mike, I’ve told you a dozen times. I’ll marry you the day you get sober.” Gracey said with her patented female bartender smile.

“Ah hell Gracey, for you I just might do it.”

Everyone laughed and then returned to concentrating on their drinks. Such is the nature of a dockside bar in the early afternoon.