Dear Writer. Stop waffling already.
By the time it died, I’d been pushed so far I could have killed it with my own two hands had it not died of its own accord. And I was glad. Glad it was dead. Glad to wash my hands of the stink and pain of it. The tears came later.
Bitter, angry tears of disappointment, at myself most of all. I should have known better. Hell, I did know better. I just sucked at listening to myself.
The most important lessons are always the hardest learned, eh?
One day, I’ll tell you the story of the indie-publishing company that ate a chunk of my life along with ragged bits of heart and mind and damn near destroyed my credit in the process. But that’s a story for another day.
For now, let me tell you this. That story you wrote? Read it again. Read it and look for the first bit that makes your skin tingle. And then take a brutal ax to everything before it. Chop it. Chop it all. It’s deadwood. Move it or lose it.
At least the first paragraph, more likely two or three or five. You don’t need preamble. Stop waffling, for God’s sake. Don’t build up — dive in.
Hook the eyeballs or lose them forever and blame fate and fools and everything but the weak opening you, dear writer, chose to start with.
No, you don’t need to keep that pace all the way through. But if you don’t hook them in the beginning, when did you think you’d get the chance?
All the publishers and promotion in the world can’t help a piece that starts weak and drags sorry butt across dreary page — and a publisher’s fondness for the writer (or for the story itself) doesn’t change that one darn bit.
Ask me how I know. But never-mind, I’m talking to ghosts.
Words are, of course, the most powerful drug used by mankind — Rudyard Kipling
If you made it down here, I’d sure appreciate a ❤ — and thanks very much!
