Writing What Hurts – Part the Sixth – Progression
(Author’s Note): Just to say… I have not posted any part of this long-in-the-works book on writing in a very, very long time. You’ll find the link to the parts (and a couple of side posts) on the front page of my website at the top. I am working on re-activating my creativity after a long period of too much time building Crossroad Press and ignoring it. I have to find a way to schedule both… Here is the next installment in this book on writing that I may, or may not ever finish…
I mentioned in the previous short chapter that when I started writing, I chose the short story as my format. There were a lot of reasons for this, but the one I’m going to stick with is – I wasn’t ready to write a novel. What is true for me is not necessarily true for anyone else. A lot of people start out the gate writing novels and never really do much in the short form. Some of my favorite authors are very skimpy on stories, and long on novels, or even novellas. Peter Straub and T. E. D. Klein come to mind as authors who chose their length and pretty much stuck to it. While Peter has written a number of short stories over the years, I don’t believe they are his chosen form… That said, he did beat me for the Bram Stoker award the year my collection Defining Moments was on the final ballot.
For me things have always been a progression. In fact, when it comes to the books that have mattered the most to me, it goes deeper. The first novel I wrote that really mattered to me was This is My Blood. Anyone who is a fan of mine will know that the novel was born as a novelette – first published in Starshore magazine long ago, then reprinted in Karl Edward Wagner’s Year’s Best Horror XIX and a number of other publications over the years. That novelette, “A Candle Lit in Sunlight,” or sometimes mis-titled as “A Candle in the Sun,” was – as it turns out – only the germ of the idea.
It took someone else’s perspective to make me see my error. I was very proud of the novelette. I’d never gotten the kind of notice it brought, and I was even starting to feel a little cocky – the first sense that I had chosen a profession where I had the skill to make a name for myself. Then came my first World Horror Convention. In those days, there were rock-stars of horror. John Skipp, Craig Spector, Poppy Z. Brite, Kathe Koja, David Schow – wandering the halls like the Pied Piper with troops of acolytes and poseurs dangling off them like lichen on a swamp tree. I was a bit in awe of them, but they proved friendly enough, and accessible.
At the time, I was not only starting my writing career, but was in the midst of publishing my magazine, The Tome. I had a table in the dealer’s room, covered in the books and magazines I’d cobbled together to sell and help pay for the adventure. Among those books and magazines were several copies of Starshore with my story. Sales were anything but brisk – there was a lot of competition. Still, I met people. I passed my story on, and on that very first day, it happened.
A short, slender man with a slightly odd accent stepped up to the table. We started talking about vampires. His name, he told me, was Robert Eighteen Bisang. I kind of nodded, thinking it was odd enough to either be true, or an affectation, and that it didn’t matter. He told me he had the largest collection of vampire fiction in the world, first editions of Dracula. I told him that he did not have all of the vampire stories yet. I sold him a copy of Starshore. He promised to read it and let me know what he thought.
I, of course, had heard that a lot since opening the table and seldom seen return traffic. What there was mostly consisted of my fellow small-press editors and authors, and a few people who hoped that, if they stayed close by, I’d remember their names and buy the next story they submitted. Yes – even at the lower levels, we had acolytes. I was pretty new, though, and my “posse” was pretty sad.
Anyway, to make a long story short, Robert came back to my table later that day. He had an odd look on his face, and I’ll never forget what he said. “You know, David, this is really brilliant – but it has to be a novel.”
It took me a bit to get over the “brilliant” part, but I did. His words stuck with me, and so did Robert. In fact, one night out in the middle of the Mediterranean on board the USS Bainbridge, I sat down in the transmitter room I’d claimed as my own (too cold and noisy for most others) and I set to work. I had one of those tiny green Gideon Society bibles that they give you when you go to boot camp. I had my old IBM 386 PC and a Deskjet 500 printer. I had from 4:30 in the afternoon until midnight, day in, and day out.
I went through all the gospels. I wrote down the holes in them, and then I compared those holes to the other three gospels to make sure they weren’t covered somewhere else. I found places where – without changing the original story much – I could insert my characters. I had no idea how long it would end up, but I had a really good idea of where it was all going. This was an important work for me on many, many levels.
Prior to being a writer and publisher, there was a time in my life when, lured to church by good looking high school girls and fun college ministers, I thought my life would go in a different direction. I thought that maybe I’d become one of those fun campus ministers, preach to college kids and high school students, make the church my life. I’m going to stop talking about This is My Blood for a while now, and I’m going to move on to a more memoirish (new word – take note) segment of my tale. I’m going to tell you how a young, naïve man with dreams left small town Illinois, joined the US Navy, outgrew organized religion, and got to the point we just left – the point where this book – this first, important book, was something that had to be written. In no small way, my books are my life. I think that must be true for most creative people – the ones who would create without fame or fortune or fans – the ones that can’t help themselves. We are a sad lot – though the sadness could be dulled by a healthy dose of sales…
In 1977, I graduated from Charleston High School, in Charleston Illinois. Soon after that – things started to get interesting.