Category Archives: The Quest

Writing and Publishing, how (not) to

Meet the nice guys: Exilian

Tradition demands to start the New Year withs some fancy vows. “Resume going to the gym”. Or  “replace the kitchen faucet” .  That kind of thing. Familiar with the exercise? Aware of the futility? Thought you would be. Probably a shared trait, among sapients, across solar systems.

Three weekly runs at the gym are fun. They do happen. With or without vows. Whereas that faucet… It does look bad. Duly noted. Ever since we moved in. A couple of years back. But it just looks bad. No leaking. It can be considered ecologically sustainable. Why replace it, now?

Instead of participating in the vow exercise I have decided to start the year by breaking with a tradition.

This site was created to keep my fiction writing well apart from my day job. I make a surprising amount of money generating non-fiction. Theres is also an abundance of calls and meetings involved. And some walking around an office building. To fetch drinks and cookies, to attend meetings, or to combine both activities. And the occasional bout of thinking. But my output basically consists of non-fiction.

The last thing I need, in my spare time, is duplicating my day job. Especially without getting paid for it. Non non-fiction writing.

So far, so rationale, so implemented. Since 2014. No non-fiction pieces for other platforms.

But some guys are so nice you can’t resist: Pleased to introduce you to Exilian, the project that made me break my vow. By providing a little Lagos digression. Even got myself an account…

Writer’s amnesia

Today, it happened again. This is scary. First time I was subjected to the phenomenon, my inner hypochondriac suspected early stage Alzheimer. He insisted on doing the usual tests. Results just fine.

So what the hell is this? The admin alerts me to a new comment on Inside the box. Vaguely remember the plot. Wonder how long ago I wrote this. Not recently enough for the post to feature on the front page. Select “Words to Go” tag to get all the shorts.

First reaction: Cool, this does add up. As the admin suggested at the onset of the project: “You worry too much, Troim. You won’t even notice one short per month. That’s totally unlike novels. No risk to get obsessed with those characters.”

True enough. Scrolling down the list, I don’t even recognise the names. I mean, I’m lousy at recollecting names in real life. Used to this handicap leading to countless episodes of embarrassment. I’m name deaf. Recall the person, or some shared occasion. Draw a blank for the names. First and last. Bad.

Not recognising the names of characters I invented earlier this year, and struggling to recollect the plot, that’s worse.

Feels like disrespect. The major characters of my novels, and of the 1KYears series, they’re closer to me than some day job colleagues. (More interesting, too. But that’s beside the point here. And not a nice thing to say, about colleagues). The poor heroes of the shorts, they get forgotten faster than the tram driver spotted through the front window.

Wonder if this means anything, regarding depth and quality? One more question I probably won’t dare raising on LinkedIn.


One more question for the experts on LinkedIn: How bad a sign is it, if you get obsessed with your characters?

This is very much like real life falling in love, only worse.

In real life, past a certain age, you’re familiar with the phenomenon, and know the acute phase won’t last. Either the subject of your desires is within reach, and things will calm down. Or it isn’t, and you’ll face up to this fact, sooner or later.

No such resolution with your characters. As long as they remain active, for the duration of a particular project, they’re here to stay.

And not just the tip of the iceberg the readers will meet.

The writers privilege, or nuisance, is total acquaintance. You’ve got access to the character’s backstory and family history, for the simple reason that you’re the one who came up with it. You have peeked into every nook and cranny. You know them better than they do, otherwise you wouldn’t be able to imagine scenarios where they surprise themselves. In a plausible way.

You check your slides to prepare for a day job meeting, see an arrow and wonder which shade of red colour sensitive character x would have selected. You have a toilet break and stay just that little bit longer because you’re revisiting a pivotal scene involving character x. You ride home on public transport and miss your stop because a fellow passenger stands like character x would.

The longer the project lasts, the worse the obsession gets. And it’s not only character x piling in on you. The whole cast gets ever more prone to showing up outside writing slots.

Such symptoms may suggest a mental health issue.

Nope, wrong guess. With privileged access to professionals this explanation was easy to discard. Especially as the symptoms vanish once the last round of rewriting is completed.

No pathology involved. So far, so good. But what does it mean, for the writer? Is being prone to this kind of obsession, or total plot immersion, a bad sign, signalling lack of distance? Or the contrary?

First episode hurrah

This first episode of the 1kYears series was so much fun to write I’m at advanced risk of jumping right on to the next one, instead of starting work on Parole?, the next long format. Bad Troim.

It’s probably the Dilbert angle of the 1kYears project. A completely fictional global IT service provider, located in a non-existent megalopolis, with an improbable cast of impossibly diverse staff.

Feeling at home already? Looking forward to read about an even more messy workplace than your own, and a worse commute?

Well, there is even more. Immortality looms. Sort of. For nerds. Preferably non-religious ones. Who fancy LGBT pride. In a black majority environment. That would be overdoing it?

This is science fiction, folks, not the social science section of your favourite online news channel. So please do brace yourself and read:

The new client

It’s free, too. Doing a bit of socialism here. But please post who much you would be willing to pay, in case it wasn’t free. 99 cents would be the suggested price tag. Any takers at that rate?


Carpe Diem

What a difference two nights can make. Spending them in a hospital, after undergoing extremely minor and totally successful surgery, has a way of sharpening your mortality awareness. This in turn can lead to all kinds of unexpected non-medical side effects.

Less than a month ago, the plan was to submit Think-o-mat to three agents. A mere three agent profiles to assess. A mere three emails to edit. A mere submission guidelines to follow. Impossible not to find a time slot for such a tiny task.

Well, come again. And forget it. Life is short. Fun needs to be maximised. Submissions don’t qualify. Whereas publishing on Smashwords turned out to be easier than the implementation of pharmaceutical industry eCTD guidance that happens to be part of my day job.  Why should I pretend to aim for most probably unrealistic conventional publishing if such simple means do the job? Down goes the to-do list. Up shoots the life satisfaction index.

The new client“, pilot episode of the brand-new 1KYears series, was the proof of concept. The Plugger stuff will migrate to Smashwords once the required PayPal account becomes available and potential issues because of the pre-publishing on this site are resolved. Think-o-mat to follow as soon as copyright registration is confirmed.


Three submissions

Writing fiction is tremendous fun, but by the last chapters long format projects tend to turn into a bit of a tedium, as described and tentatively analysed in a previous post. No problem, though, won’t happen again for at least a year, now is hurrah time:

Think-o-mat has been defined completed.

And another dreaded task, writing the corresponding synopsis, has been diligently performed. So far, so milestones.

Now for one more first: The task of submitting aforementioned product, if product status it may reach, to agencies.

After some research and soul searching, three literary agents have been selected for pitching. Yes, three. Three as in 3. Only three.

According to LinkedIn wisdom, thirty plus submissions seem to be considered a must for any newbie author, especially one with as exquisite a selection of handicaps as poor hopeless me. Thirty?!

Come again, folks. Having approached this new task with the kind of open-mindedness essential to keep me performing in my day job, I hereby declare, authoritatively: Thirty is impossible.

Pitching is not a task you can hand over to an assistant, except perhaps in the case of a select few well known authors who won’t need to do that much if it anyway. In my by now lightly informed opinion. It’s mandatory to perform this duty personally, to make sure the first impression is confirmed in the actual work. Just imagine a native English speaker submitting my kind of output. Wasted time and frustration guaranteed, certainly no path to a win-win.

Thirty plus submissions can only mean one of two things:

  • Either you use some sort of bland all purpose template, making only minor adjustments that won’t succeed in conveying an impression of considered targeting.
  • Or you do it properly and end up spending more time browsing agency websites, trundling through submission guidelines and editing pitches than on your actual fiction writing.

The latter is of course justified if you’re convinced your work will become the next library and box office hit, or a Booker Nobel YouNameIt prize, if only an agent got you a publisher. OK. Point taken. I’m a reader and don’t want to miss that one. This situation calls for perseverance. Keep up the good pitching, by all means!

But this is not my type of situation. The same blatant lack of delusion that helps me make good bucks in my day job clearly tells me that my writing has every chance to be considered rubbish, certainly by an audience of native English speakers, most probably also in general. I’m a compulsive writer and enjoy both the writing and reading my own stuff, but a confirmed hooked audience of one doesn’t imply the existence of a wider public. If ever there happens to be a willing readership only waiting for this to hit the (e-)shelves, at least one of three experienced agents will notice and react. If there isn’t, I get myself one more copyright certificate, just in case, have the admin reset Think-o-mat to free access and move on.

Last stretch urge

Spent months loving, nurturing, developing, refining and generally never getting enough of my cast. Reach chapter 9 out of 10 and  wham, change of mindset. I just want to get it over with. AFAP.

Judging by what happened with the Pluggers, the last stretch of  Think-o-mat will again consist of a fortnight of tedium. Writing fast and under unfavorable conditions, to get it done. Rewriting a lot, because this way of proceeding ruins a style that is pretty bad in the first place. Without managing to maintain more than a semblance of the low standard achieved in the previous chapters. The last stretch is as much fun as sorting bills. Why?

There isn’t much significance to be gleaned from a sample of two, but twice is much better than no repeatability and now is the perfect time* to speculate about what causes the phenomenon:

  1. The actual fun is less in the writing than in the development of the characters. On the last stretch, they are all set in their ways, the story just rolls on to its denouement. This turns the creative process = fun into work = tedium.
  2. Reaching the end there is no longer any escape from the fact that this is all one big pile of rubbish that should never have been written. The plot, the cast, the style, it all doesn’t make one bit of sense. The daily dire doubts on steroids, minus the chance to escape into plotting the next step.
  3. Writing the finale is no worse than the earlier phases, but awareness of the approaching ordeal ruins the experience. Like trying to enjoy a good movie when you’ve got a dentist appointment scheduled right after it.  Synopsis writing and handling publishing questions would be the root canal therapy equivalents in the authoring business.
  4. Knowing that once cherished characters will soon be abandoned to their very well known fates calls for emotional stabilization, which triggers a kind of premature mourning. If it was still fun, how would you manage to stop writing at the target point?

Enough speculation. A bigger sample is needed first. Perfect time* to ask the subject matter experts on LinkedIn if they struggle with some sort of last stretch phenomenon.

*Perfect time is an euphemism for active shirking. You can only write one piece at any given time. Blogging and posting on LinkedIn postpones the drudge. Oh, and it’s a new month, too. Words to go and the Aspiring Writers Short Story Challenge call for action.


Alt Left SciFi pitch

Some amazing advice kindly provided by Ariel Ayangwo:

Eight Ways to Spark More Social Shares on Your Content Fast

It’s targeted at bloggers, but Ariel’s 4U-rule can easily be applied  to fiction writing. The corresponding Alt Left SciFi pitch reads:

  1. Useful: Feeling challenged? Your life no paradise? Regardless of whether you love or hate the changes affecting the world as we know it, Alt Left SciFi will provide distraction while raising your privilege awareness. And up goes the happiness score.
  2. Unique:  Authentic non-native business English, scientific affairs and multination company experience applied to storytelling. Alt Left SciFi plot cores will pass as promising business plans at the height of a corresponding tech boom.
  3. Ultra specific: If you are a member of the non-Anglo corporate or scientific frequent flyer tribe, you will feel at home in Alt Left SciFi. Same for supporting professions. But beware: We are not alone and you won’t feel worshipped.
  4. Urgency: Enjoy it while it lasts! The “Alt” gracing “Alt Left SciFi”  owes its presence to the high probability of upcoming changes. While the plot cores are no more factual than fake news, any look into any history book will tell you that a certain level of inequality calls for a rebalancing, if and when it becomes evident to a sufficient number of sufficiently apt people. Conventional Left promises utopias, Alt Left SciFi predicts transitions. Read Plugger stuff or register as beta-reader for Think-o-mat now to get ready for a dynamic future.

We are not alone

Really love a post by Elisabeth Giovani on LinkedIn, about the scares and doubts about not writing in our mother languages. Feels good not to be alone, shared scares are lighter scares!

Funny, though, how we automatically refer to native speakers as arbiters who might grant or refuse us permission to write in English. As if they were familiar with the language we are using.

The globalized non-native English speakers and writers, talking mostly non-fiction here,  have developed their own codes and good verbalization practices, as anyone working in an international environment can testify. The rules are fairly straightforward:

  • Keep it simple: The sentence structure or syntax, the vocabulary, the references, the metaphors, all of what you say or write.
  • Forget about stylistic aspirations. Achieving comprehension is hard enough without additional handicaps.
  • Try to avoid cultural references that don’t travel easily. Keep in mind that your Fridays are some else’s Sundays.
  • Think before joking. Humor has the nasty tendency to rely on prejudices that might well be mutually exclusive.

In the world of anglophone non-fiction, you get training to understand what you’re up against and learn these rules. Forget abut elegance. Keep it simple or the plane won’t fly. Those who are not willing to adjust don’t last long.

Making a living in this universe doesn’t prepare you well for encounters with the anglophone fiction writers guild. Turns out the bad English we have been using for decades didn’t make it into this particular sphere. OK, point taken. Think-o-mat is too well advanced to reformat the American and British characters. Starting with the following project, the full cast and the narrator will be non-native speakers. Pity there are no non-native agents and publishers.

The 2k challenge

Fascinating, the number of formats out there.  Longshot Island does me the favor to define precise criteria:

Usually stories with more characters work better than stories with fewer characters.

Check. Lots of spiky characters, that’s the easy bit.

 We prefer shorter stories, 500 words to 2,500 in length.

Wordcount feels kind of low, even for shorts. The newbie writer goes search and finds confirmation. Cliff’s Notes provide a range of 1,000 to 20,000 words for short stories. A short short. Why not?

Except there is also this detail of a creative requirement:

We are looking for stories that surpass traditional genres. Slipstream. Steampunk. Subterranean. To name a few possibilities. We are looking for lost places. We want stories that make people laugh as well as cry. We want something different.

This calls for a quick check on Wikipedia.

Slipstream is a kind of fantastic or non-realistic fiction that crosses conventional genre boundaries between science fiction, fantasy, and literary fiction.

Steampunk is a subgenre of science fiction or science fantasy that incorporates technology and aesthetic designs inspired by 19th-century industrialsteam-powered machinery.

Subterranean fiction is a subgenre of adventure fiction which focuses on underground settings, sometimes at the center of the Earth or otherwise deep below the surface.

Interesting business model. Let’s try this and call it the 2k challenge.