Bagels, Dirty Limericks, and Martinis: The Badass Guide to Writing Your First Book (Badass Writing) Read online

  Contents

  CHAPTER 1: Introduction

  CHAPTER 2: Idea, Audience, and Motivation: The Absolute Minimum Requirements for Writing a Book

  CHAPTER 3: The IRONCLAD RULES of Writing, and Why Most of Them Are Crap

  CHAPTER 4: 2 Amazing Tools Every Writer Should Have (And More You Don't Really Need)

  CHAPTER 5: 5 Great Books on Writing

  CHAPTER 6: 5 Minutes to Your First Book Outline

  CHAPTER 7: You Got the Guts (and Maybe the Skeleton), Now Flesh It Out

  CHAPTER 8: Plotters and Pantsers: Make Your Fiction Writing Style Work For You

  CHAPTER 9: How to Write for Online Readers

  CHAPTER 10: Why Your First Draft Is Allowed to Suck Hard

  CHAPTER 11: The Secret of Finishing Every Book: Butt-in-Chair Time

  CHAPTER 12: EXACTLY How We Wrote This Book (In 10 Easy Steps, With Bagels, Dirty Limericks, and Martinis)

  CHAPTER ONE

  Introduction

  Way back in 2002 Joseph Epstein stepped up to the soapbox op-ed pages of the New York Times, and, after noting that a recent survey found that 81% of Americans felt they could and should write a book, he begged and pleaded with those Americans not to do it.

  "We already have enough books!" he cried. "We don’t need more. We don’t want more. You’ll just be adding to the horrifying pile of unworthy books," he moaned (while wringing his hands, I presume).

  "And anyway, you just want to puff yourself up," he continued. "You’re just trying to be… significant. Well, it’s a stupid idea," he sneered, "because your book will die. Die, die, die. Just like YOU will. Then where will you be?" (I want to cheer “Dead! I’ll be dead!”)

  He finishes with the following arguments: You’re not creative, you don’t have the time, you’ll kill trees, and (I’m singing now) yooooou’re so vain.

  Ahhh. I love reading that essay, I truly do. It inspires me! It pumps me up. It makes me feel like sitting down at my keyboard (no dead trees for me) and… Well, I think you know precisely what.

  So let’s take ‘em one at a time, shall we?

  The World NEEDS Your Book

  My husband’s mp3 player is stuffed to bursting (I was dying to say, “LIT-ruh-ly BURSTing”) with pop songs from the 70s and 80s. I grew up a metalhead, but now I listen to nearly everything, so I love to tease him about this. He remains stoically loyal to his collection, however, and says (while biting back a smile), “It was an incredible era for music, and I haven’t finished listening to it all yet.”

  I remind him about the “patchwork” jeans he also had that we all thought were cool in the 70s, to which he invariably replies, “And I wish I’d saved those, too.”

  My point is that (shhh, I’ll say it quietly so Mr. Epstein can’t hear) all the good books haven’t already been written! Hell, all the bad books haven’t already been written, and they need to be. (You know why? Because you learn a shit-ton by writing a bad book. More on that soon.)

  The notion that there are a finite number of books and we don’t “need” any more after that is absurd. What if someone said, “No need to write books about current history, we have all this past history to get through first.” Or what if we’d stopped writing books before the internet arose? Hell, half the books on my shelf are How To Do [insert something that didn’t exist 20 years ago] for Dummies. And, frankly, I don’t think I’m the only one who is happy that Diana Gabaldon, Charles Dickens, Virginia Woolf, Ralph Nader, Maya Angelou, Robert Ludlum, and Beatrix Potter didn’t believe all the good or important or rewarding books had already been written. Yeah, you get stars in your eyes when you hear their names, but I bet you they didn’t feel particularly powerful when they first sat down to write. And I’m also fairly certain they all wrote a bit of garbage now and then, too.

  The idea that there’s nothing to be gained from a “bad” book is equally ridiculous. You had to read Giants In The Earth in high school, didn’t you? (Hah. I’m sure you had to write an essay on why learning about the lives of Norwegian immigrant homesteaders was divinely revelatory and essential to your development as a human. I found it excruciatingly dry, and barely read the Cliffs Notes. I had to Google it in order to get the bit about “Norwegian immigrant homesteaders” just now.) Seriously, think how much juice you just got from reading Mr. Epstein’s silly outburst. Do you suppose he ever recited Dr. Seuss by heart? Would he call Dr. Seuss “bad?” And think about how much you learned from all the ways your parents ruined your life. See? See? “Bad” = fabulous!

  It’s possible I exaggerate, but I think you get my meaning. And if you don’t, you’ve probably already printed off a copy of this so-called book just so you can Sharpie all over it, shred the pages, then mix the shreds into hydrochloric acid.

  But you haven’t, because you’re our kind of people. Or because you can’t find your hydrochloric acid. Either way, it’s cool with us.

  You ARE Significant

  Are there people who aren’t important? Sorry, that just doesn’t ring true. Yes, many people dream of leaving a legacy, of having their words or deeds remembered long after they’re dead. But if you only did the things that you knew for certain would have impact for the next thousand years, you’d hardly get up off your couch. Why should you, when you could just sit there and watch Big Bang Theory and eat Cheetos and not have to be so damned important? Don’t sign me up for that, it’s all I can do to keep the kids in Converse.

  And you were born to be creative. You’re a made creature, and there’s not a one of us who doesn’t long to make stuff. Mud pies, clothes for your Barbie, a crossbow, a rockstack, a meat dress (Franc Fernandez for Lady Gaga), a guitar from the wood you pulled from an 18th century mantel (Brian May of the rock band Queen), a better mp3 player, a fan for your chopsticks to cool your noodles… Humans just love to make things. So let it flow, mama.

  Maybe you haven’t written your book because you think you’re not enough of a smarty-pants. You don’t sound all important and shit. Steve Martin has this awesome bit on his Wild & Crazy Guy album where he says, “Some people just have a way with words, and some of us… err, not have way.” Not everyone talks like a stuffy, tenured Ivy League professor, thank the good baby Elvis, so don’t think you have to either. We don’t, as you may have noticed. In fact some of the best non-fiction has a very conversational voice, because people learn well from a friend, showing them the way. We’re not trying to teach you how to correctly mix drugs for chemo patients — we’re simply talking about writing a book. And even if we were trying to teach you something terribly, tortuously important in the tiniest details — say, how to fly a fighter jet or build a hadron collider — we would be technical, but not for the sake of sounding all proud of ourselves. (Although of course, we would be proud.)

  And the truth is that the world is infinitely richer for all the untutored journals and painfully awkward efforts at recording the life, ways, and habits of our daily lives and livelihoods that have come to us through the generations. Anne Frank comes to mind. How instructive and valuable it can be to hear someone’s unique perspective about the world.

  Of course you don’t have enough time. Nobody does. That’s why you need a machete, so you can slice out a chunk of your schedule and re-assign it to “writing my book.” Don’t worry, we’ll get to the machete bit later; for now just know that there isn’t enough time, ever, for everything. Like Mr. What’s-his-name says, we’re all gonna die!

  But you ain’t dead yet. And u
ntil you are, hey! Why not write your book?

  Still need a reason? Awesome. I love making these lists. Sit back, Jack, and let me lay it on you.

  One Bajillion Reasons to Write Your Book, Starting Today

  We had fun doing this. Some are tongue-in-cheek of course, but we’re not saying which ones.

  You’re bored.

  You have something to say.

  You want to learn something about your subject.

  You’ve always wanted to wear a Snuggie to work.

  You want to learn something about yourself.

  You like pain. Eye pain. Back pain. Ass pain. Bring it.

  Raffi did it. How hard can it be?

  You’ll capture a bit of history.

  You want future generations to know something you know.

  You want to preserve something that’s important to you.

  You’ll build some authority for yourself.

  You long to join the Super Elite Writer’s Club. (They have cookies.)

  You’ve never been a laughingstock before.

  It will help you launch a business.

  You’re already rich, so you don’t need to worry about money.

  You want to prove your high school English teacher wrong.

  You want to tell people about your passion.

  You’re willing to be paid in Cheetos-per-word.

  You’re trying to build a whole new future.

  You’ve made fear your bitch.

  Your business/area of interest needs some publicity.

  You love great stories.

  You’ve been journalling since you were a teenager.

  You want to see your name in (digital) ink.

  You’re a fan of someone else’s book.

  You’re not scared of rejection.

  You are scared of rejection, but you're going to conquer that fear.

  You’re trying to quit porn, and need a substitute.

  You've read some really sucky books. You know you could do better.

  You love writing. You can’t not write a book.

  You need to put on some weight. Particularly thigh and ass weight.

  You’ve heard sexy, rich chicks dig guys who write.

  You’ve heard sexy, rich guys love chicks who write.

  Your uncle’s stories of small-town life must live on in print.

  You have no idea why you’re compelled to do this. You just are.

  One Bajillion Reasons NOT to Write Your Book (and Why They Don't Matter)

  1. All the Epstein arguments.

  There are too many books in the world already, bad books are worthless, you are not smart or significant enough, you don't have time, blah blah blah. See above.

  2. You don't know how to start.

  Yes you do. You got this book. And we're going to tell you how to start.

  3. You're too scared to start.

  You might be scared, but you are not too scared to start. Hold your breath, close your eyes, and jump. We'll catch you. Or at least we'll push you in the direction of the shallow end. You can swim, right? (Kidding.)

  4. You're paralyzed by information overload.

  There are too many books about writing! There are blog posts about writing that you could read for years! You will never know everything! It's ok. We're going to give you the essentials and also permission to disregard a whole bunch of bullshit that you don't need.

  5. You're not a writer.

  Do you write blog posts? Letters? Memos? Emails? Then you are a writer. Writers write. They suck, too, sometimes. Ok, probably more than sometimes. But it's ok. You're allowed to be a sucky writer. You're still a writer.

  6. You don't have any ideas.

  Go flip to the section on ideas, k? (And if you're anal like me and absolutely cannot flip ahead, here’s a sneak peek: You don't really need an idea. More on that in Chapter 2.)

  7. You won’t make enough money.

  Here’s my theory: Some money is more than no money. I'm not saying you should go out and quit your day job and dedicate your entire life to your writing career if you've never written anything longer than an email, but it's not all doom and gloom. Plenty of people make a living at it.

  8. You can say everything you need to say on your blog anyway.

  Blogs are certainly one way to get your story out there. But they're not a book. You're going to tap into a different audience with a book than you would with a blog. I'm not dissing blogs. Hell, I write three or four myself. But writing a book gives your reader a single, manageable container for your story.

  9. You don't have any connections in the publishing industry.

  Who cares? Most authors don't. You don't need them, even if you want to get published with a big New York publisher. That's what agents and slushpiles are for. (“Slushpile” is publishing-speak for the un-agented, un-requested piles of manuscripts that editors and agents always have on their desks, looking for the Next Big Thing. Maybe you are the Next Big Thing.)

  10. It's too hard.

  Well, it ain't easy. But let's be honest here: On a scale of easy to hardest-thing-ever, writing has to be fairly middling. Plus, if you enjoy writing, the fun is going to out-weigh the hard any day.

  11. You are scared of rejection.

  Rejection is not fun. But then, neither is meeting a hungry bear in the forest. You have a much better chance of surviving one of these encounters than the other. Suck it up.

  12. You can’t take criticism.

  You’ll probably want to work on that a little, because constructive criticism is super valuable. But I’ll tell you a secret: I set up my writing experience so that I take as little criticism as possible and in the smallest doses I can manage, because I am kind of a wimp about criticism. I don’t have a critique partner. I get my mom and my best friend to read my stuff, and they know to couch all their feedback in hearts and smilies. I don't read my Amazon reviews. At all. In this way, I spare myself the debilitating feeling I get when someone tells me I suck. (I’m working on it.)

  13. You’re scared to call yourself a writer.

  No one will know how to talk to you at cocktail parties if you don't have a normal job. And what the hell do you write on your tax returns? Know what, though? It’s kind of fun to be weird. Own it. Fly your freak flag, baby.

  14. You have physical, mental, or medical limitations.

  I get that writing is maybe not your occupation of choice if you have severe carpal tunnel syndrome or some condition where you can’t sit for long periods (like me — I call it ants-in-the-pants-itis), but technology is a beautiful thing. Look around and see what you can find to help you out. I have a super successful fiction writer friend with dyslexia who writes most of her books with dictation software. Find a solution. There’s probably one out there.

  15. Someone has already written the book you want to write.

  Are they you? Then they haven’t written the book you would write (unless you’re planning to plagiarize, which is totally not cool). Be sure to check out Chapter 2, the section on What to Do if There Are Already 10 Zillion Books in Your Area (Or, Why Writing is Exactly Like Porn).

  16. Your writing might offend someone.

  This is a real fear and one that both of us have struggled with. In the end, you just have to decide if writing what you want to write is worth it. Sometimes it is, and sometimes it isn’t. But a lot of times you’re going to offend people a lot less than you think you are, if you just grow a pair (testicles, ovaries, whatever) and put it out there.

  Who the Hell Are We?

  So who are we to tell you how to write your book? What gives us the right to impart our wisdom?

  Sonja Foust is an author and blogger. She has several romance novels and short stories published at small presses. Fiction was her first love (like, literally — she loved fiction way before she loved men), but her recent writing has taken her into the blogosphere. Her popular blog Pintester.com chronicles her humorous attempts at trying out pins from Pinterest, usually with hilariously
faily results.

  Sonja will be tackling some of your big, bad fiction-writing questions, and maybe playing a little Good Cop to Lisa’s Bad Cop, although she rarely misses the opportunity for some badassery and f-bombing herself.

  Lisa Creech Bledsoe is a writer, fighter, and marketer. She’s been ghostwriting ebooks (primarily non-fiction women’s interest), and recently decided to start writing under her own name, even though it meant taking a machete to her schedule in order to find the time.

  Lisa is also an actively competing boxer, so if she says you can write a book, dammit, you better get serious, ‘cause shit just got real. You can get her Badass Manifesto for free at TheGlowingEdge.com, where she writes about boxing, rock, and laundry… but mostly boxing.

  Oh, and she also uses waaaay too many parentheses. Years ago someone told her this meant she could never, never be a writer. (Someone was wrong.)

  This is a Love Circle, Not a Firing Squad

  This is all about you, superfox. Listen, we may talk big (we're both f-bombers and one of us punches people, see above) but we're not here to impose our goals and expectations on you. Sure, we have all kinds of checklists and ways to approach the most common problems, but in the end you get to write your book exactly the way you want to.

  We are the opposite of your high school English teacher. We will not be forcing you to read anything in front of the class, nor will we be giving your book a grade (although we have some stickers that are fun). We believe in you. We know you can do this because we’ve done it and we have lots of friends who’ve done it, and we think the crazy-high expectations for what constitutes a “good” first book are holding too many people back from taking that first step, or even daring to try.

  Our goal is to guide you, cheer and cajole you, make you laugh, and help you write past your fears and wave as you sail on by.

  We’ll probably tell you your baby is ugly. However... It’s ok; lots of babies are ugly. C’mon, they’re all squinchy and squally and half of them are bald. Your book baby will be ugly, too, but you know what? It will grow. It may get braces and orthopedic shoes and have stringy hair, but eventually it may just straighten out and do you proud. And praise Elvis, it probably won't take 18 to 30 years. (Writing a book is so much easier than raising kids.) Meanwhile, we’re here to help you figure out how to tape little bows on its head and catch it doing cute YouTube-worthy tricks and resolutely love it no matter what your friends say.