Rarely Likable

Evolution Erin Talks about Titles

I haven't submitted to The Virginia Quarterly Review, but you'd never know it from looking at their ten most common titles of submissions. (via) I know for a fact that I have a story with title #2 somewhere. The only reason I haven't used #3 is because it is the title of one of my favorite Flannery O'Connor stories. #6,7 and 10 are right up my alley, though #8 and 9 are a little too flashy for my tastes.

All of that said, even before I read this? I've been trying to put myself through Title Rehab. It's kinda dumb to have stories whose titles you hate, like giving your child some name you can't stand. When I went back and thought about it, the pieces I've written that I've really liked over the years have one thing in common: the titles don't suck. One of them even has some function.

So I've been writing down titles that I like. Both real and as yet unused. Most important, completely independent of the stories to which they may belong. My criteria is this: If someone asked me what I was writing, I'd want to respond by saying "I'm working on a story called..."  Real titles that pass this test: Slaughterhouse-Five, The Franchiser, Why I Live at the P.O., The End of the Affair, Harriet the Spy. Titles that do not: Survivor, Unstuck, Feed, everything on that VQR list. See some trends there? Yeah, me too.

This is still all new to me, though...so I suspect I'm going to go through pubescent phases where I try out title styles. Like this one thing I've got, formerly called Promotion. It's now Dennis Explains the Stash, which a few days later sounds to me like a combination of Nickelodeon/Disney programming and a demented Beverly Cleary book. That may not necessarily be a bad thing, though. It's better than Promotion, therefore in accordance with what are apparently my personal tastes, which is a start.

"Fitzgerald?"

In the last few years, I haven't had writer's block in the traditional sense where there is blank paper and angst. I think some of this can be attributed to my Internet addiction -- I can't wail I don't know what to write about when there's plenty around me to write about.

These days, when I'm not writing? I sit in the waiting room.

There are lots of waiting rooms in my non-writing life. The pediatrician's is a little dingy and divided into smaller areas with toddler toys and television. The psychiatrist's is one long boxcar with lots of New York magazines and the occasional People on the end tables. The general practitioner's has endless scattered pamphlets about smoking cessation and high blood pressure. The veterinarian's has a flat screen television, free roaming live-in cats, bottled water on the table, and a tasteful mosaic of romping, happy cats that lines all the walls. The DMV's is really just a bunch of seats thrown together where everyone is talking, but no one is listening. All of the ones at restaurants are packed, noisy, smell tantalizingly good, and I suspect plenty of people get tables who just walked in 20 seconds ago.

My writing life waiting room isn't literal, of course, but at various points it's resembled all of those other ones. 

It's been in dire need of renovation, and it's been so tastefully, carefully decorated that it makes me very suspicious of what goes on in the office itself. It's had magazines, pamphlets, televisions, menus. It's had other people in it, it's been empty except for me.

I've waited five minutes, I've waited five months. The receptionist has been soothing and sympathetic, the receptionist has been cranky and brusque. And when the time comes to step into the office and tend to the business at hand? There's times I've been relieved, and times I just want to finish the Justin Timberlake interview in my magazine before I grab my bag and get up.

My last waiting room was awful. I'd been there before a hundred times, I'd read all the magazines, the seats were really uncomfortable. Worst of all, it seemed like everyone who saw me sitting there was like, what in the hell are YOU doing here? But dammit, somehow I knew that once it was my turn to go into the office, it would be worth the wait. 

And I have to say, I was pretty much right.

Let's talk tactics

The following things have led to fiction writer-productivity on my part.  Some of them don't work anymore, I list them here in case they're useful to someone else. I have left countless things out that will hopefully be put into future installments.

They are also listed in no particular order, except for the last one.

-- Buying school supplies (man, I love and hate this time of year...)
-- John Updike's short story "A&P"
-- All previous places of employment
-- Sleep deprivation
-- Stinky candles
-- Crushes on people, places, and things
-- Donald freaking Barthelme
-- Driving my car for long uninterrupted periods of time
-- Stephen King's short story "Everything's Eventual"
-- An intense desire to ridicule something (and subset: something specific)
-- Taking showers
-- Diet Pepsi Vanilla
-- My beloved iPod, Dusty Gazongas
-- IMs and email (this also belongs in the net loss category, I suppose)
-- EverQuest, EverQuest 2, World of Warcraft, The Matrix Online (also in the net loss category, and it is worth noting that I cannot include Dark Ages of Camelot, City of Heroes/Villains, or Guild Wars yet...and I will probably never include Lord of the Rings Online)
-- Steely Dan
-- Various coffee shops and libraries in the Northeast
-- Saying "Sure...why not?"
-- Harper's and Star Hits magazines
-- Jewelrymaking, particularly learning how to make a halfway decent wire clasp
-- People who don't have a clue that they make a difference...and often, will never find out.

Don't quit it...but not for the reasons you think.

I've been reading a lot of very informative and valuable blog posts and other things like them on the Internet lately. So much so, in fact, that it's gotten me to thinking...surely there is some way I can return the favor. The problem is, what I've got to offer isn't really an compact article's worth -- or even a blog post's worth. It's really more just random things that I am occasionally told are useful.

So, with that in mind, here's the first installment of what might be a series. Category of the Moment: Writing and the Day Job.

Never mind the color of your parachute...figure out what you hate, then don't do that.
I knew people in graduate school who waited tables to earn money. I would rather be covered in papercuts and dipped in a vat of vinegar than be a waitress. Or a scientist, or a public relations coordinator, or a real estate lawyer, or a salesperson. 

Some things I do not hate: Sitting in front of a computer screen all day long. Interacting with people on a contained basis. Accepting constructive criticism and using it to make something better. Ergo, that is my day job. Which leads to my next thought...

There is no ideal, perfect, correct day job for writers.
I get really annoyed when I hear writers imply that all other writers should follow some career path or other. And I use the word imply because that's ALWAYS what it is. No one ever comes out and says that if you're not a professor/full time freelancer/fill-in-your-own-stereotype-here, you ain't shit. But have I ever been in a situation where I've felt like I had to apologize for how I make money? Oh yeah, absolutely.

There are plenty of other dumb things that are part of the What You Should Do If You Want To Call Yourself a Writer Canon, but that one is particularly full of crap. If you're productive and happy and you've found a day job that you don't hate? No one should give a rat's ass whether you're the UPS guy, an airline pilot, any of the jobs I named in the last part, a freelancer, or a professor.  I'm not saying that in a blowing sunshine where there usually is none way, either, and here's why:

Having a day job may actually be GOOD for you.
I want to read more stories about human resource representatives where the writer actually seems to know what a human resources representative DOES. Also: I am tired of The Friends Effect, where three people who made practically no money (at least early on, anyway) had a fantabulous apartment. I'm tired of deus ex machinae in the vocational category. Having an actual job not only puts you in the realm of the world at large, it exposes you to others in that realm. It compels you to participate as well as observe -- and I think some of the former is necessary to truly do some of the latter.