I bow to no man.

A Review of The White Goddess, by Robert Graves.

I bow to no man in my love of Lord of the Rings.  I was a relatively early reader in the early 60's, (at least, I didn't know anyone who had read the book), and I read it so many times I literally lost count.  I searched in vain for a LOTR's-like followup, and really didn't find any for years. In fact, I started writing Star Axe because I wanted something like that. (I'd like to point out I came up with the title of Star Axe before I ever heard of Star Wars, by the way.)

Anyway, by the time The Silmarillion came along, I'd lost some of my mojo. I couldn't read it. Long lists of strange names, like the Old Testament.

I'm currently reading -- or trying to read -- The White Goddess by Robert Graves. Written in 1948, it is a very dense book.

Now I loved I, Claudius (both the books and the TV show), but this book is more or less unreadable.  I found that if I skimmed it more than read it that I actually came away with more comprehension than if I puzzled over each little bit

Hit a chapter last night that I simply couldn't do.  About an ancient alphabet, it might as well have been cryptology as far I was concerned. I skimmed it fast and kept going.

His argument basically (as I understand it) is that modern culture has buried the old Goddess religions behind science and paternalistic values. That by doing so, we've lost the poetic meaning of myths and of our lives.

What I'm finding as he marshals his arguments are snippets of fascinating legends and lore and the occasional connection between them that makes sense.

But I'm also finding a whole lot of dubious connections between traditions and names of different times and different cultures. He goes way too far.

I'd have to call this "Creative Scholarship," if you will. Fascinating in its own right, but not convincing (to me, at least) in its evidence. I mean, his thesis obviously has some truth to it, but he has more or less assembled facts in a creative way.

What I'm most reminded of is The Illuminati, by Robert Anton Wilson, which is another fascinating exercise in tying random information together in a nice tidy whole. 

I'm still going to try to finish it.

Then, after that, maybe I'll give The Silmarillion a try.

Enforced Not-Writing.

I have such a compulsion to write that when I step away from it I'm amazed. It seems so important, seems so necessary, and then suddenly -- it isn't.

I finished the second draft of Blood of the Succubus, increasing it by 25K words.  I knew that I wanted to give it one last draft, which is my new requirement. It seemed overwhelming to me.

But I was going to give myself a little time off, maybe do a little researching.

So I'm two and half days off from writing, and it becomes so clear to me that all these "requirements" and "one last drafts" and "overwhelming"ness are self-imposed.

Totally in my own head.

But if I didn't have that, I wouldn't do it.

Anyway, even after this short a time, the idea of a new draft isn't quite as daunting.  But I'm still giving myself a full six days off.  Not writing. No matter how much I want to. 

Just step away, fella.

I figure I'll be completely rejuvenated by next Wednesday, and ready to tackle the final goal.

Really, dare I say it, I have a pretty easy life right now. The store is humming right along, and I'm just sort of making sure it's on course, but other than that...I can take time off.

Since I've eliminated almost anything else but writing -- including gardening, movies, books and socializing (not that I ever did much socializing) when I'm not writing, I have nothing but time on my hands. (I've read 14 books this year.  14!!!! Which has to be the lowest number since I was like 7 years old.)

Most of my fellow writers are younger, and still have family and work constraints. But I don't feel too guilty about it.  I put my 30 years into the store, working 60 hour weeks.  I put off writing for 25 years.

I'm due.

Incompetent news stories.

I'm noticing more and more news articles that are badly written.  I noticed it first with online stories, but lately, even the big boys are spilling out poorly edited and constructed stories. I mean, I'm talking New York Times, Washington Post, et al.

The leds are buried, sometimes they aren't even clear. Words that don't belong. And a general lack of structure.

Is this the result of the consolidation of news into cheaper and cheaper venues? Have the big boys cut so much that they aren't any better than the internet? Cause if that happens, what good are they?

Or maybe I'm just noticing it more because I'm doing so much writing myself.  I can tell when it's slapdash and when its been carefully considered, when the writer gives a shit or is just slapping out an assignment.

So for instance, a front page article in the Bulletin this morning. It's written by CQ-Roll Call, entitled, "Outsider Candidates, Any Hope?"

Here's an example of what I consider confusing or vague language:

"With many of the 17 candidates talking about their resumes (talking about their resumes?), these outsiders are showing something different." OK. I get what he's saying, but only because I puzzle it out. But it's such a vague statement as to be useless. It's just taking up space. By the way, "showing" and "talking" are two different things.

Or this: "Both he (Carson) and Trump, leading campaigns that have been embolden by their demeanor, are not dissimilar." I'm not sure I can make sense of that even when I try. I think he's saying, "Though Carson and Trump are exhibit different demeanor, they are not dissimilar."  Or even better, "Though Carson's diffident personality and Trump's brash one have emboldened their campaigns, they are not dissimilar." Something like that, still not very good.

"And, while Trump has drawn criticized (criticism?) for his statements that have been deemed offensive (offensive statements?) -- dissing Mexican immigrants, inflammatory statements about women, and nearing on bullying his opponents...."

That's where I gave up: "...nearing on bullying his opponents..." I can't make any sense of that one. (After more thought, I get it. Trump is nearly bullying his opponents. Or his treatment of his opponent is nearing (verges on) bullying.

This is their job, man.  Give a shit.

Today I finish.

Today I finish the second draft of Blood of the Succubus.

It's going to be about 84K words, a thousand short of my guess. I'm still betting it will be 90K words by the end of the third draft.

I took the Goddess chapters (which tell the origins of the Succubae) to writer's group last night and they were lavish with their praise. Susan called it "high level" writing and other things too generous to say here.  Rather reassuring. Of course, Susan had suggested I write these chapters at the last group...

It feels like a much more layered, textured book than before.

I have to add a couple new characters into the ending chapter, but that shouldn't be too hard.

Then I take a couple days off, and then start researching.  Looking for Goddess elements I can include.  I've got Robert Grave's White Goddess, (which is an impenetrable read but full of poetic passages) and I'm thinking of a couple others.

Then take the rest of the month for a full on rewrite, beginning to end, fleshing out the book and improving it as best I can.

If nothing else, this book will have had the full professional effort.

The book is shaping up.

It's a tangled mess. You're not sure if it works. Things seem out of place.

You dig in, try to put it in some order. You write clarifications, you add here, you cut there.

And then the fog clears and you have a book.

Even though I still have two and half chapters to write, over the last day or two, Blood of the Succubus became a full book, with a beginning and a middle and an end, that made sense, that seems well-written to me.

I mean, I like it.  A lot.

What I have left to write is pretty clear in my head.  They are mostly action scenes and those are the easiest to write. (Or, as I always say, easiest to write, hardest to write well.)

I'm confident this is going to get done, possibly as soon as today, if not tomorrow.  This book will be at least 90 thousands words before it is done, which is full third bigger than most of the books I've been writing.

So then what?

I'm going to give it that extra rewrite I've been talking about. I'm now convinced that the rewrite after the rewrite is totally necessary. It improves the book immensely.

This is a good solid book with some weighty subject matter, a complex plot, lots of characters, that moves forward.

As always, it's the writing I think truly makes a book. Once you have the story -- and for me, the story is often the story -- then it comes down to execution.  I believe I'm a better writer than I was even a year ago, just through constant writing.

I think the writing can always be improved. Almost every run through.

Linda says I'm getting "better and better." She's biased, maybe, but that encouragement is so important, and I'm so lucky she is willing and able to give it.

But for the first time yesterday she mentioned she "missed me" because I'm writing so much.

I'm going to try to finish what's on my plate by the end of the year and then take another look at what I'm doing. As I mentioned a few days ago, I feel burdened by my creativity.  I've got to figure out another way to do it that isn't quite so monomaniacal.

I've had a hell of a run, but I think I can finally let myself believe that I can ease up without losing my creativity.  Just moderate it, put it on more of schedule, allow for other things to happen.

I've written a careers worth of material in the last four years. At least half of it isn't ready for prime-time but the raw material is there. Maybe play with that for awhile.

I'm really proud and grateful for what I've done. I can see the progress. Now I have to figure out a way to integrate other things into my life.

80% rule in writing.

80% of a book's existence is the writing.

20% is everything else: the beta readers, the editing, the dealing with publishers/agents, the book covers, the formatting, the getting up online, the garnering reviews, the publicizing.

That last 20% is responsible for 80% of the problems, the hassles, the stress, the delays.

Up to that point, every decision is in your own hands. You can make snap decisions. If something needs to be done, you can do it.

Suddenly, you're dependent on others, and shit happens.  I mean, sometimes it goes smoothly, but usually there are hiccups, delays, misunderstandings and occasional disagreements.

(Note to Publishers -- you've been great, it's just that it's not all in my hands.)

I could of course just throw my book up online without most of those things. It's possible that might work out -- but pretty improbable.

As you can tell, I love the 80% rule.  It works for just about anything.

I think it's 80% right.

Trapped by my genius.

This is going to sound like a silly complaint.

How do I put it?  I feel trapped by my creative urges.

Around 7:00 last night, after spending 8 hours in front of the computer, I felt like I was in prison.

When did writing become a burden?

Here's the thing -- the creative flow keeps coming.  I darn't turn it down.  After 25 years of getting nowhere, after struggling with ideas after my first 3 books in the 80's, this creative energy is somewhat of miracle.

So I took it and ran with it.

Three years later I'm in an intensive rewrite of a book that I think could be good. I have some time constraints and I have some opportunities.

The opportunities are what I set out to achieve 3 years ago -- so it would be pretty stupid to blow it now.

But this book along with my other "responsibilities" (finished and unfinished books) means that the rest of this year is going to be spent in front of a computer screen. This is the endgame -- or an endgame of sorts. Crazy to slack off now. 

Part of the problem is that I spend as much time in rewriting mode now as I do first draft mode, and rewriting is a chore. 

It has to be done. I've seen enough feedback to know when the rewriting has been noticed and when it hasn't. Basically, it is always noticed, it is always an improvement. It is what makes a book better -- maybe what makes it good.

So there is no fucking choice. So I wrestle with it day after day.

I've never been a terribly outgoing person, but this is a bit much even for me.

I do need to get back to walking in the wilds. This is the one activity that I can do to get out of the house that doesn't disrupt the creative flow, may even enhances it. I burn off some nervous energy, and I refresh the brain.

I need to keep my eye on the prize. The good book.