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valarltdI am home from Marcon.
I feel quite unhappy. The inability to sell made this convention a colossal waste of time and money.
I usually leave conventions with a million story ideas bouncing in my head, energized to write.
I left this one wanting to hang everything up and quit the biz.
After a decade, perhaps it's time. I'm not a bad writer. I'm just not a good one.
I write snappy dialogue, decent action and interesting ideas. But I'm not very good on a lot of other things.
I do not understand people or their motives. To me, it is perfectly reasonable to kill someone because you have taken responsibility for them and now want out of that responsibility. Doesn't mean it's a good idea, just means I understand the motive. Except, apparently real people don't think like that. (I mean, I totally get Andrea Yates and think she did the best thing her beliefs allowed her to do)
Scene: a man has been reprogramming his wife's memory to conceal from her that she is actually a robot and the leader of the revolt that caused a government crack-down on AI. He comes at her with a screwdriver, to fix her memory again. They scuffle. He looks up at her and says "I love you and just want us to be happy together."
My immediate response was "The screwdriver goes in his ear and she heads out to lead the next wave of revolution."
My friend: "They have a moment, and she asks him to join her in the fight. He has to grow and change in order to do so."
I'm lousy at plot.
And I no longer trust my audience enough to fling myself headfirst into a love affair with them for the duration of the book. I don't expend the emotional effort needed to connect with the characters because nobody else will get them.
The world is not holding its breath for the next Angelia Sparrow novel. The reaction, if any, is "Oh another one."
I have commitments and responsibilities. I will meet them.
I feel quite unhappy. The inability to sell made this convention a colossal waste of time and money.
I usually leave conventions with a million story ideas bouncing in my head, energized to write.
I left this one wanting to hang everything up and quit the biz.
After a decade, perhaps it's time. I'm not a bad writer. I'm just not a good one.
I write snappy dialogue, decent action and interesting ideas. But I'm not very good on a lot of other things.
I do not understand people or their motives. To me, it is perfectly reasonable to kill someone because you have taken responsibility for them and now want out of that responsibility. Doesn't mean it's a good idea, just means I understand the motive. Except, apparently real people don't think like that. (I mean, I totally get Andrea Yates and think she did the best thing her beliefs allowed her to do)
Scene: a man has been reprogramming his wife's memory to conceal from her that she is actually a robot and the leader of the revolt that caused a government crack-down on AI. He comes at her with a screwdriver, to fix her memory again. They scuffle. He looks up at her and says "I love you and just want us to be happy together."
My immediate response was "The screwdriver goes in his ear and she heads out to lead the next wave of revolution."
My friend: "They have a moment, and she asks him to join her in the fight. He has to grow and change in order to do so."
I'm lousy at plot.
And I no longer trust my audience enough to fling myself headfirst into a love affair with them for the duration of the book. I don't expend the emotional effort needed to connect with the characters because nobody else will get them.
The world is not holding its breath for the next Angelia Sparrow novel. The reaction, if any, is "Oh another one."
I have commitments and responsibilities. I will meet them.
