Bud Sparhawk's Blog

 2020 Writing in Review

At the conclusion of each year I review my records to see how my so-called writing career is progressing. Until this past year I saw steady, albeit disappointing, progression. It was not only lack of sales but the inability to produce anything novel or exciting to add to my continually increasing number of submissions.

     As 2021 begins, as in previous years, I’ve updated my archives, cleaned out the messes I've created, and looked at the various pieces I've worked on during the year.  I've been doing this assessment since I started writing again in 1990, partly to see how far I've come and partly to torture myself with the realization that I could have done much better.  It also makes me to humbly reassess the wisdom of attempting to  write science fiction.

 During 2020 the COVID-19 hit and affected my desire to write anything new suffered. Despite any writer’s tricks to overcome writer’s block I was able to eke out a pittance and sell even less (none, in fact).  

The chart below sums up my record to date as a pencil of lines.  The primary line represents the number of drafts I count in a given year ( i.e. the gross number of files, not the number of times they’ve been accessed.)  Novels count the same as novellas, novelettes, short stories and articles.  I do not count the number of multiple drafts, edits, and crap I throw away in frustration at my fickle muse.   The source of the chart data is an Excel database.

The BLUE line represents the number of drafts (25) worked on during the year.  The cumulative number of drafts is just  622. 

The GOLD line is the number of submissions for each year.  In 2020 I made 41 submissions bringing the cumulative total to 428. This represents 65.8% of the total drafts. The flattening of the curve from 2014-2020 is when I was attempting novels.

The GRAY line is the number of pieces I've completed during the years. The cumulative total now stands at 192 or 32% of what I worked on.   

The RED line shows the number of unique stories sold by year (I haven't included sales of reprints, audio productions, or donated stories.)  The cumulative number of unique sales is now 140 ( one in 2020). I seem to sell 23.3% of my drafts, which is almost a third of submissions. On the other hand  this indicates that I sell about 73% of everything I manage to complete (and submit.)

It has been a  depressing year.

     

I expect to deliver my current WIP at some point in the next month. Unless I don’t.  Uncertainty seems to be my normal writing state. The Muse had her way with me several months ago, which, as her brief visits go, was more or less a pleasant interlude.  The word fairy’s infrequent and fleeting encounters always leaves me with a warm inspirational glow of what is to come. Sadly, the next morning I struggle to remember the details of our encounter.Nevertheless, and with great confidence, I immediately began gathering the foundational elements; sketching a key scene, imagining a dramatic ending or a simple beginning phrase that will entice the reader, or perhaps some half remembered fragment of a technical article. A smatter of dialogue, a glimpse of character and occasional bits of scenery flavors the mix.   Although all of these fragments are initially in a disorganized jumble, connections begin to form and clarify what looks to become a plot. Many of these connections fail to survive the encounter with the story’s logic. Undeveloped characters who emerge from the quantum foam and, once they’ve contributed their part, are as quickly absorbed into the naked narrative of the emerging story.My struggles are not helped when I realize that bitch Muse has impregnated me with yet another irresistible story idea that could not be resisted. It squirms and twists in my mind until there is nothing to do but put aside the as-yet-unrealized first draft to thoroughly capture the essence of this new idea. I saw no problems developing two stories in parallel. It can’t be that hard, right?Instead, with alternating fervor and frightful dismay, I attempt to focus as the emerging draft(s) struggle with their confusing and compounding problems. Mid-draft issues do not seem to clarify despite frequent infusions of coffee and chocolate, neither of which do much to assuage the contractions as scene after scene, subplots, and the main thread(s) are tested, adjusted, and are too frequently dismissed or abandoned.  A day’s thousand word writing spurt is usually offset by the following day’s massive edits and deletions. False epiphanies and resolutions arise only to be struck down by the immature logic of the developing plot. Contradictions pop up in unattended places, unnoticed by my Teflon eyes for draft after draft.So here I sit awaiting the stories’ development as their uncertain plots refuse to resolve.  Still, I know in my heart of hearts that somewhere ahead lay a plethora of less than satisfying endings and that one golden, satisfactory ending for each story.The trick is finding it.                                                               

As 2020 begins, as in previous years, I’ve updated my archives, cleaned out the messes I've created, and looked at the various pieces I've worked on during the year.  I've been doing this assessment since I started writing again in 1990, partly to see how far I've come and partly to torture myself with the realization that I could have done much better.  It also makes me to humbly reassess the wisdom of writing fiction.

 During the last year a few of my short stories and a novel were published.  My remaining WIP remain around 98% completed due to continual rethinking and rewriting/revising. The number of drafts I count in a given year is the gross number of files, not the number of times they’ve been accessed.  Novels count the same as novellas, novelettes, short stories and articles.  I do not count the number of multiple drafts, edits, and crap I throw away in frustration at my fickle muse.  Some other writers may obsessively count and report their word production and have suggested that I really ought to keep track of total words written (drafts, sketches, edits, etc ) instead of a simple file count, but even for me the resulting number would be too horrifyingly large with ratios of written words to words sold at  millions to one. The source of this data is an Excel database I have maintained to keep track of my submissions. Writing Statistics 1990 - 2019 The BLUE line represents the number of drafts (22) worked on during the year.  The cumulative number of drafts is just  559. The PURPLE line is the number of submissions for each year.  In 2019 I made 22 submissions bringing the cumulative total to 387. This represents 65% of the total drafts. The flattening of the curve from 2014-2018 is when I was writing novels instead of shorter works.

The GREEN line is the number of pieces I've completed during the years. The cumulative total now stands at 189 or 32% of what I worked on.The RED line shows the number of unique stories sold by year (I haven't included sales of reprints, audio productions, or donated stories.)  The cumulative number of unique sales is now 134 (three in 2019). I seem to sell 24% of my drafts, which is better than a third of submissions. On the other hand  this indicates that I sell about 70% of everything I manage to complete (and submit.)

Recently ANALOG published my blog on writing so I decided to share it here for those who might have missed the announcement on Facebook or web site.****************************************I’ll be the first to admit that I am not a conscientious writer. In fact my writing efforts occur occasionally in spasmodic bursts of creativity but more often in damn, slogging drudgework. I am also easily distracted (ADD) and not very good on details, a combination that definitely curtails my efforts. Too often I’m distracted by something bright and shiny and lose my often-tattered thread of plot. As I’ve mentioned in my weekly blog (www.budsparhawk.blogspot.com), elements of my drafts such as names, places, and descriptions seem to remain liquid, never resolving until the penultimate draft is unknowingly submitted. I too often have regrets immediately after submission because of my PSS (premature-submission-syndrome).All of my stories begin with far more words than ever reach the reader. Most of my short stories were almost three times as long in their original draft. As the sculptor said modestly about his works, “It’s easy to a produce a statue once you see the part of marble you need to remove.”Editing provides both the bane and pleasure of writing. The bane is realizing that the piece I just completed is in fact an atrocious piece of poorly worded, rambling, disorganized crap. The pleasure comes from the continual polishing of successive drafts to make each word matter until the pearl steps from the oyster as it were.To begin with, editing a first draft is easier than the writing of a story. At that nescient stage, errors of haste become glaringly obvious, as does any material irrelevant to the story. Most misspelled words and grammar mistakes are hopefully taken care of automatically so are of no concern (except when you’re writing SF of course). Editing becomes increasingly harder with each succeeding draft as I struggle to clarify and improve the action while honing descriptive and expository sentences into razor-sharp clarity. This last effort (reaching for the perfect word/sequence) often becomes as tedious as picking fly scats from the pepper line and would appear being overly compulsive to any rational observer.I always carry a burden of guilt about my lack of discipline and fret that, should I not write for a while, the gift of creativity will depart, never to return. Occasionally I can become extremely focused, so much so that I ignore not only outside distractions but, occasionally, the physical cries of bladder and stomach. These periods come when my inner demons use their spurs to ride me to exhaustion. A similar narrow focus descends when I become captivated by a compelling story, so much so that my copyediting persona stops mentally correcting words, sentences, or sometimes entire scenes to the point that I actually understand the author’s intent. I wish I could be as critical of my own drafts instead of having these damnable teflon eyes that too frequently slide over outrageous errors of speliing and grammer.Yet, there is a time, a brief moment when clarity prevails, when I am graced with a scene, a line of dialogue, or a plot detail that is suffused with such brilliance that it takes my breath away. When I attempt to capture it, the resulting effort captures only a pale shadow of that revelation and no amount of editing ever restores the luster of the original insight.So I continue plodding along my punctuated path, stumbling too often, and missing many of the more clever possibilities as I strain to craft stories well beyond my skill level. My tortuous struggle to achieve something meaningful seems to be both a curse and a blessing.But it doesn’t stop me from writing.

Soon after the last day of 2018, as in other years, I updated my archives, cleaned out the messes I've created, and looked at the various pieces I've worked on during the past year.  I've been doing this assessment since I started writing again in 1990, partly to see how far I've come and partly to torture myself with the realization that I could have done much better.  It also makes me to reassess the wisdom of what I've been doing.

 During the last year I managed to sell several short stories and publish a long languishing novel published.  My remaining WIP remain around 98% completed due to continual rethinking and rewriting/revising. I am anticipating the publication of another novel (SHATTERED DREAMS) in May as well as three more pieces in Analog.

The number of pieces I count in a given year is the gross number of files, so novels get the same weight as novellas, novelettes, short stories and articles.  I do not count the number of multiple drafts, edits, and crap I threw away in frustration at my fickle muse.  Some of my friends obsessively count and report their word production and suggest that I really ought to keep track of total words written (drafts, sketches, edits,etc ) instead of a simple file count, but even for me the resulting number would be too horrifyingly large with ratios of written words to words sold at  millions to one.**

[image error] The chart at right shows the arc - the blue line representing the cumulative number of files worked on and the red the cumulative number of stories sold year by year (I haven't included sales of reprints, audio productions, or donated stories.)  The total number of unique sales is 137 (ffive in 2018) and the cumulative number of files is just  559. This makes my "lifetime" sales average  24.5%, a full tenth of a point increase! The green line is the ratio of sales to files each year, which seems to be smoothing out as the number of works increases.

The chart shows the ups and downs of my working/writing career. Strangely, the years I had problems with my day job turned out to be the most productive for writing.  In my peak year
(2013, when I really retired) I sold almost a  third of what I wrote.  The chart also shows the decline of the novella markets, which was my first love, and which I continue to pursue against all reason.  It was only after I'd relearned how to write short, that my sales increased. Periods I've spent attempting to complete my draft novels also meant a decline in the total count, much to my regret.
So, looking back on 2018 I have to say I've not done badly.

* I also made progress in getting some more work done on the remaining ones.
**I am a  brutal editor of my drafts!
#SFWApro

I’ll be the first to admit that I am not a conscientious writer. In fact my writing efforts occur occasionally in spasmodic bursts of creativity but more often in damn, slogging drudgework. I am also easily distracted (ADD) and not very good on details, a combination that definitely curtails my efforts. Too often I’m distracted by something bright and shiny and lose my often-tattered thread of plot. As I’ve mentioned earlier in this blog, elements of my drafts such as names, places, and descriptions seem to remain liquid, never resolving until the penultimate draft is unknowingly submitted. I too often have regrets immediately after submission because of my PSS (premature-submission-syndrome).All of my stories begin with far more words than ever reach the reader. Most of my short stories were almost three times as long in their original draft. As the sculptor said modestly about his works, “It’s easy to a produce a statue once you see the part of marble you need to remove.”Editing provides both the bane and pleasure of writing. The bane is realizing that the piece I just completed is in fact an atrocious piece of poorly worded, rambling, disorganized crap. The pleasure comes from the continual polishing of successive drafts to make each word matter until the pearl steps from the oyster as it were.To begin with, editing a first draft is easier than the writing of a story. At that nescient stage, errors of haste become glaringly obvious, as does any material irrelevant to the story. Most misspelled words and grammar mistakes are hopefully taken care of automatically so are of no concern (except when you’re writing SF of course). Editing becomes increasingly harder with each succeeding draft as I struggle to clarify and improve the action while honing descriptive and expository sentences into razor-sharp clarity. This last effort (reaching for the perfect word/sequence) often becomes as tedious as picking fly scats from the pepper line and would appear being overly compulsive to any rational observer.I always carry a burden of guilt about my lack of discipline and fret that, should I not write for a while, the gift of creativity will depart, never to return. Occasionally I can become extremely focused, so much so that I ignore not only outside distractions but, occasionally, the physical cries of bladder and stomach. These periods come when my inner demons use their spurs to ride me to exhaustion. A similar narrow focus descends when I become captivated by a compelling story, so much so that my copyediting persona stops mentally correcting words, sentences, or sometimes entire scenes to the point that I actually understand the author’s intent. I wish I could be as critical of my own drafts instead of having these damnable teflon eyes that too frequently slide over outrageous errors of speliing and grammer.Yet, there is a time, a brief moment when clarity prevails, when I am graced with a scene, a line of dialogue, or a plot detail that is suffused with such brilliance that it takes my breath away. When I attempt to capture it, the resulting effort captures only a pale shadow of that revelation and no amount of editing ever restores the luster of the original insight.So I continue plodding along my punctuated path, stumbling too often, and missing many of the more clever possibilities as I strain to craft stories well beyond my skill level. My tortuous struggle to achieve something meaningful seems to be both a curse and a blessing.But it doesn’t stop me from writing.

Two years ago I wrote a little Christmas tale for Analog's December issue.  Kate Baker, a good friend of mine, was sufficiently taken with it that she recorded/narrated it as a present.  This was accepted very quickly by Analog's standards.
So here, I pass Kate's wonderful gift to you.  May all your holidays be merry and bright.

#SFWApro

In my optimistic youthful days I imagined writing to be an alloyed joy; envisioning hours spent flowing golden words onto page after page of a compelling tale, and having writ, hardly pausing my moving fingers to erase or revise a line of it.  I imaginged swimming in the clouds of creativity, grasping truth and raining delightful insights on my (mostly imaginary) fans.  I threw my stories about with great abandon, waiting for the adulation that would surely follow.

And waiting.  

As rejections amassed to a startling number, I began to intuit that perhaps my masturbatory tales were not so brilliant as I imagined and that my words had been more base metal than golden.

Thats when I realized that the writing game involved more than dreaming fantastic stories and vomiting words onto pages upon pages. Not only was laying out the story line properly important but writing also involved honing descriptive and narrative words into something meaningful to editors and readers instead of being random reflections of my own not-so-deep thoughts. I realized that there is craft involved that must be mastered.

My discovery that writing is an iterative process that never really begins to take shape until I have the rudiments* of a rough draft or a sketch plan/plot.  My first drafts are more often than not, sloppy messes of awkward phrasing, poor to horrible word choices, and a jumble of rambling chunks that are poorly organized relative to each other.  My second or third draft will see actual scenes being formed, which allows me to arrange them in the order that best tells the tale.  Another pass-through lets me filter each paragraph to contain but one strong thought as it advances the plot.

Once I've done these simple fixes I embark upon the long, slow slog of polishing each sentence, selecting the best way of phrasing an idea using the most effective words.  I've discovered that, as I slog along, my paragraphs become clearer and better serve to propel the plot.  I also often sense the emergence of rhythm or melody in the scenes.  I sometimes play these against the bass line to create novelty, heighten tension, or convey more emotion than mere sentences can achieve.

These are the actions that take me through consecutive versions until I reach the point where I am finally ready to present it for the judgement of others.

Then there are the revisions...

*Character(s), settings, chronology, and tone 


#SFWApro 

I was recently congraduated for my productivity when I announced that my three (3!) of my novels would be completed within a rather short period.  The truth is that this is more a confluence of circumstance and editorial processes than a reflection on my less than rapid drafting.  All will be available in trade paperback, eBook, and audio formats.


SHATTERED DREAMS is a mil-scify novel about encountering a deadly and intracable alien force and the eithical/moral choices that humanity must consider when faced with certain eradication.  This novel illustrates how various levels of commmand act through the eyes of a disgruntled marine who grows into his ultimate destiny.

This novel is a compilation of several short stories and other material from several anthologies and magazines. It is the result of two years of effort to compile and write the major portions of the story's arc.

Can now be ordered as pre-release.


DREAMS OF EARTH is the culmination of a five-year effort to imagine what space-faring humanity would become over a  long time span. In this I deal with what facets of we humans posess, which will be retained as we continue to become into a star-spanning civilization , those which may emerge as we continue to evolve, and which aspects might shrivel through disuse.

Throw in genetic modification, the impact of environmental effects, and social pressures as gaps begin to grow to produce a diverse and varigated "human' race.

Oh yeah, I threw a few aliens into the mix as well.


MAGICIAN is a reissue of an expansion of my Nebula finalist novella MAGIC'S PRICE (Analog, March 2001.)

Unsatisfied that I left my young protagonist being carried away from friends, family, and certain death in the novella, I decided to follow him as he tried to discover the magicians' secrets.

But first he must master the sklls of surviving the wilds of this partially terraformed planet from the three who accompany him.  As he learns his own limitations and struggles to adapt to the magicians' society he uncovers far more about his past and what the future promises than he ever thought possible.


#SFWApro



.

I am sitting here performing one-handed typing and looking forward to at least  seven or more weeks before escaping my sling.*  After that I have to have therapy to get muscles back in shape and restore mobility.

Typing w/one hand sucks.  Worse, I discovered that dictation results in short sentences and poor word choices which leads to a LOT of post-draft editing, and not in a good way!
So my productivity is in the toilet and with my wife dressing me, cutting my food, and keeping me clean I am starting to feel like a damn invalid - a foretaste of what is to come no doubt as I approach my dotage.

The understandable depression that now assails me due to my limitations makes me wonder if it isn't time to bank the forge fires, lay aside my literary hammer, and put this fussy wordmaking aside so I can once more become an uncritical reader who cares not one whit about the inevitable errors that infest our published works.

It will be a while before this becomes obvious:  I have a backlog of sold shorts, a couple of novels in the pipeline, and a few drafts to finish before I disappear.

Or maybe I'll feel different down the line.

 *Long story short: grip slipped, extended left arm took the entire weight of heavy box resulting in four rotator cuff  tears, shredded bicept, and two detached  tendons.  

#SFWApro