Writing Without a Niche

January 6, 2009 By 45 Comments

“If my doctor told me I had only six minutes to live, I wouldn’t brood. I’d type a little faster.”

~ Isaac Asimov

without a nicheWriting without a niche is like cooking without a recipe, instinct outweighing instruction.  An excellent chef can easily surpass the written recipe by twisting his ingredients to the tang of his individual taste.  However, though cooking outside the lines stretches the possibilities of the palette, it is also probable that some people will not care for what is set upon their table.

Writing without a niche for the last half year has been the most extraordinary experience I never saw coming.  At least my children each gave me nine full months to prepare.  I’ve enjoyed the majority of the minutes, even with a few culinary complications.  Regardless of the compliments pinging my inbox on any given day, they always share space with dissimilar sentiments.

“My favorite posts are when you talk about your family,” are followed by “Is there any way you can make this less of a family blog?”

“I love the way you write,” is often followed by, “Can you tell me how do you do it?”

The freedom of writing without a niche is like the freedom found wondering around a lush island missing its harbor.

I love to banter about starting a blog, treasure tales of my family, and adore dissection of the written word, but many people wish to read my words, minus the details of my family’s day.

I’ve sorted it out.  As you know, Eric and I are sharing office space over at the Blueprint; my new home to discuss blogging, voice, and other general matters of business.  Soon, I’ll be sharing studio space with Dave in an endeavor equally exciting.

This leaves the best writer on the net ready for its most certain direction since the day I uploaded Thesis.

I have a fair idea about where I’d like to go and how I plan to get there, but I didn’t arrive at this spot without assistance and don’t intend to walk without friends beside me. Writer Dad was built on community and the insight of this community is something I give tremendous value.

We share a winding road.  If you have ideas or suggestions, please feel free to share.  I look forward to listening.

Also, giant thanks to everyone who spread the word about the Blueprint.  Our turnout was everything we hoped for.  Looks like I’ll be writing without a niche at WD for a while.

Writer Dad

Ghostwriter Dad still has to write with a niche.

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My Feet Never Touched the Bahamas, but My Voice Found Paradise.

October 16, 2008 By 76 Comments

A friend is one of the nicest things you can have, and one of the best things you can be.

~Douglas Pagels

Bloggers I Heart: Blogger Dad

I love writing for Writer Dad.  It’s tremendous fun.  Though the whirlpool of words is a ball, the real benefit of the blog is the people who’ve entered my life.

Comments are as constant as coffee; I love them thrice as much.  Every so often, a comment leaves the blog’s basement behind, then leaks into an email… then nine… soon a hundred.

I’d like to plant my flag in new tradition.  I think we’ll call it, “Bloggers I Heart.”

Bloggers I heart are the bloggers with whom I have a running dialogue.  These are the ladies and gentleman who, were I in their city, I couldn’t imagine bread not being broken.

Anyone who has been with us longer than a week will need no introduction, but I’ll send out a sentence anyway.  It’s only fitting I start with David Wright; alter ego, Blogger Dad.  I stole his name, he stole my theme, and now here we are an armload of weeks later.  We’ve collaborated before and will again.  I don’t know how many days have passed without at least a single email, but they were few and probably sad.

Without further ado, my friend, Blogger Dad:

My Feet Never Touched the Bahamas, but My Voice Found Paradise.

Are you writing in YOUR voice or are you mimicking someone else’s?

The best way to show you how to find your voice is to tell you how I found mine.

I used to think that writing humor was easy. My influences growing up were 80’s-era Letterman, Eddie Murphy, George Carlin, Saturday Night Live “when it was good” and columnist, Dave Barry. I ate comedy for breakfast, lunch, dinner and midnight snacks (emphasis on the snacks). I knew that someday I would be making people laugh. All I needed was an audience.

I started writing for a local paper three years ago, convinced that I was going to be the Next Dave Barry. Unfortunately, the paper wasn‘t looking for a columnist. They assigned me to the political beat. While there is plenty of unintentional humor to be found in covering local politics, I rarely got a chance to flex my humor muscles in straight news stories.

While I plugged away at my beat, I practiced writing a humor column in hopes my bosses would see how brilliant I am and would give me a shot. Soon, I realized that writing humor is hard. Hell, it’s almost work.

I showed a few samples to my editor and mentor, Jason Whited. He gave some advice, carefully couching criticisms within compliments to protect my fragile writer’s ego. One of the things he said shocked me, though.

“This isn’t your voice,” he said.

“Huh?” I asked, “Of course it is! I wrote it.”

“Yeah, but this isn’t the YOU that I talk to. You haven’t found your voice yet.”

Though not intentional, my first attempts at a column were merely pale imitations of Dave Barry. My writing was like a decent karaoke performance. I sounded enough like the singer I was imitating, and some tone deaf people might even have found it listenable, but there was something lacking.

Jason’s advice was this, “Write from your heart, write often, and you will find your voice.”

Stop trying to be the next (insert writer name here)

In January 2006, I was asked to step up to the plate.

My publisher made a bet with me that I couldn’t lose 100 pounds before the year was up. If I won, he would pay for a trip for me and my wife to the Bahamas. If I lost, well, I’d be publicly embarrassed. But even if I lost, I was still a winner, because I was getting a shot at writing a regular column every other week about my efforts.

This was my chance to prove myself!

Just let go

My first piece had to be a good one. No, make that great! I wrote a few different drafts, starting out with an emphasis on “the funny” and once again aping Dave Barry’s style. On the night prior to my deadline, I was sitting in front of my computer, cycling through different drafts of the column. I was attempting to cobble something together. It wasn’t working. Then a thought occurred to me – let go.

I deleted each of the drafts quickly and decisively, knowing that if I didn’t kill them without hesitation, I would never be able to.

I put on some music, closed my eyes and searched inside. I had to lay it all out on the page. I had to be brutally honest about a subject I’d tried to dance around for most of my life. I needed to expose myself as I’d never done before. I needed to do it with humor and heart. I opened my eyes and then wrote my ass off.

After reading my first column, Jason took me out to lunch and congratulated me.

“This made me weep, man,” he confessed while looking me in the eyes, “You, my friend, have got the gift. You’ve found your voice.”

I sure as hell don’t feel all that gifted, but I believe the second part of his statement.

I wrote a lot that year, even if I didn’t lose a lot of weight. (Six pounds, for the record, so obviously my feet never touched tropical paradise.) I wrote about diets, my relationship with my father, working out and a number of other topics which people still come up to me today and ask me about. Many people told me that my columns made them laugh and cry. It was amazing to make such connections with readers.

I discovered that I wasn’t a straight up humor writer. I would never have discovered my voice if I tried to stay in the mold I had created for myself. I had to break free and be afraid to fail at what I thought I wanted to be. I am a hybrid writer, sometimes funny, but best when I write from the heart.

I know that my journey to great writing is far from over. I’m sure I will struggle for years to be as good as I’d like to be. Fortunately, I’m no longer trying to be someone else.

I’m singing my own songs now.

Blogger Dad

Nine out of ten dentists agree, teeth are ten times whiter with Blogger Dad in their reader.  You can subscribe for free, right here.  In you’d like to be informed of mealtimes, this is where he tweets.

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Scads of Ads? Not Here.

October 7, 2008 By 83 Comments

This is part II of a four part series. Click here for part one.

Let advertisers spend the same amount of money improving their product that they do on advertising and they wouldn’t have to advertise it.

~Will Rogers

We canceled cable two years back; in our house, it’s DVD’s or downloads.  We rarely listen to radio; too much trash cluttering the silence between notes.  In our car, it’s CD’s or conversation.

Our children are exposed to advertising, of course.  They are not deaf or blind, and we do occasionally leave the house.  But their exposure is remarkably thin, especially considering the times we live.

I can’t weave the worldwide web without constant commercial assault; my eyes spammed at every other click.

I’d like for Writer Dad to offer asylum.

Allow me to state clearly before I proceed:

I’ve no issue with advertisers or advertising on blogs.  Bloggers have every right to mine as many dollars as they can from the countless hours they pour into their online enterprise.  If I had no product of my own, I would sell ad space, and I’m positive that I’ll have sites in the future which will harbor ads.

For now, here, I would prefer to design something different.

Our world is littered with advertising.  Online, it’s worse.  It’s embarrassing, we all know it.  I shudder to think what our more civilized progeny, several hundred years from tomorrow, might think as they comb through these, our present histories.

On Writer Dad, I’ll have my own words to shill.  I needn’t subject a loyal audience to supplemental promotion.

However, I am moving toward writing full time, and must leverage Writer Dad in a way that will generate income.

A few methods:

  • I’ll use Writer Dad to further spread my voice, and promote my services.  This is paramount to my future as a writer, whether I freelance or publish.  At Writer Dad I can meet new people and potential partners.  Fellow writers, artists, editors, agents, publishers, etc..  I adore the knights already around the table, and there’s plenty room for more.
  • I plan to peddle a lot of my language; WeeBooks and otherwise.  We’ll discuss this one in more depth mañana, but I don’t see why writers must always maintain middle men between themselves and their patrons.  Why sell a short story to a magazine, who will fill their magazines with ads, if I have the means to deliver directly to an audience, should they be inclined to download.  Sometimes, dissemination should be as simple as a handshake.
  • I’d love to keep our white space free from ads.  If this objective grows unreasonable, and I do add paid color to the sidebar, it will fly in only two varieties: affiliate products from people I believe in, or ads for services which relate directly to the plurality of the Writer Dad audience.  These will have long term placement, so our space doesn’t mutate with every refresh.

Without ads, audience participation is crucial.  Even without purchase, readers are patrons.  Links and comments are two ways to help without a wallet.  Reader creativity, I’m sure will help breed others.

This is our blog, and it will be exactly as excellent as we make it.

Writer Dad

If you enjoyed my words, please subscribe (for free) by RSS or Email.  If you’re a Stumbler, please consider Stumbling.  Thanks.

The uber observant of you may have noticed my new header and RSS splash, along with my groovy Stumble and Twitter buttons in the Sidebar.  These were the splendid work of Eric Hamm at “Motivate Thyself.”  How awesome is Eric?  He did it for me just to be a nice guy.  He was probably still glowing from the guest post he got from Leo at Zen Habits.  Congratulations, Eric.

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Writer Dad Through the Looking Glass

September 1, 2008 By 62 Comments

“The artist’s world is limitless.  It can be found anywhere, far from where he lives or a few feet away.  It is always on his doorstep.” 

~Paul Strand

Writer Dad went live six weeks ago.

Though the site has met an audience quickly, there was a long month of prologue that I don’t like to discuss.

Those were the forgotten days of my stumbling stabs at a blog on blogspot, where early posts sounded much like an idiot rambling inside the corridors of an empty cave.  Each post carried the shame of a dirty magazine, and I was too mortified to show them even to Daisy.  

I had nothing to say; at least nothing that anybody would want to hear.

I didn’t have a cat to talk about, I didn’t feel like bragging, or complaining, about my children to a network of strangers, and I certainly wasn’t an expert on anything; at least not enough to pop out how-to lists several times a week.

Eventually, I swallowed, and decided to just start writing.  I could figure it out as I went along… as long as I had the right name.  

I searched for an afternoon that felt like a week.  Everything was taken, including a few ghastly choices, I’m thankful were spoken for.  Almost ready to retire, I typed writer dad dot com into the search field.  

Domain name available.  

I’m a writer and a dad; guess that’s green lights all the way.  

I registered the name and drafted my first post.  

On the other side of the looking glass, and a couple dozen of the states, was a gentleman by the name of David Wright.  He too, was a writer and a dad.  He had just been let go from his job as a reporter, and was trying to decide on his next move.  

He wanted to be Writer Dad.

He checked and the domain was available, but he hedged.  

An hour later it was gone.  

I can imagine the seething hatred David felt for the thief who had crept into his head and embezzled his idea.  Fortunately, animosity died a quick death, and David started reading Writer Dad.

He liked it.

A couple of weeks ago, I received an email.  Dave told me his story, and about his new blog, Blogger Dad.  He’s a seemingly terrific guy.

This is where a fun anecdote turns relevant.  

I believe in the new renaissance, and putting ourselves together.  I believe that barriers are breaking.  

My relationship with Dave is the first seed to crack shell and see a sapling stretch for light.  

He’s a cartoonist, with a long running strip called Todd and Penguin.  We’ve collaborated on our first wee-book, which we will unveil this Friday.  

This is the magic of the internet.  Dave and I weren’t assembled by a team of marketers.  We came together because I put my voice out there and he answered with his.  Collaboration has been superb; swift with no middlemen between us.  

If this is what the future offers, we should all be wise and listen.  

When it comes to things like Twitter and Facebook, I’m still a bit ignorant.  But the exchanges I’ve had with Dave, and a few others like him, could only be described as some of the brightest spots on tomorrow’s dawn.

Writer Dad

If you enjoyed my words, please subscribe.  I’ll be back again tomorrow.

Thank you to everyone who nominated Writer Dad for favorite writing blog. If you haven’t done it yet and would like to, you may do it here. Thanks.

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I Promise.

August 19, 2008 By 65 Comments

“Teamwork divides the task and multiplies the success.”

~Author unknown

Ever since Friday, I’ve been answering emails about Promise.  

Did you really name your daughter Promise?  Is Promise a real person?  How did you write the eighth wonder of the world, and how long did it take to put together?  

The most frequently asked question:

What kind of account will yield that amount of money?  

I have to admit, I love this.  

Though Promise was born only in my mind, her birth is significant.  She is my first character to be given voice to an audience beyond the living room.  We don’t ever really see her, and we don’t know much about her, but I think anyone who reads those eleven hundred words can easily understand Promise’s quintessential truth.  

I’d like to answer some of these questions today, but since I don’t think Writer Dad’s quite ready for a list post, allow me to spin a yarn instead.  If you’re still curious when I’m finished, shoot me an email.  

The story starts last November.  I’d been writing for around two months.  I was all juiced, anxious to start collaborating with Daisy.  ”Come on Baby,” I’d beg.  ”Let’s write a book.”

“When, in our spare time?” (Note: This is not a serious question.)

….. Writer Dad hovering……

“Fine.”

All I’d written up to that point was a chapter book for Mia and my own abysmal short story, which was by then turning into a complicated novel through some kind of mysterious cell division that I seemed to be both in charge, and under the control of.

I wanted to keep tinkering with the novel, but I didn’t want to get lost in a bog.  If I was going to be a Writer instead of just a writer, I needed some good circulation.  We don’t go to the gym, only to beat on the same set of muscles, right?

In two decades of teaching, Daisy’s never refused a book as gift or purchase, and I was reading twenty to thirty children’s books out loud to a room full of children, every single day.  

I wanted to try my own.

Daisy and I have always thought that there weren’t enough children’s books about money.  This is somewhat bizarre, considering that understanding money is essential to the modern world, and something we should learn at the earliest possible age.  

Not enough parents really teach it, and the country’s children aren’t learning it in school.  

Perhaps it’s a subject that makes people feel uncomfortable, or guilty, or afraid.  

I’m not really sure why it is, but I am sure that it’s an empty shelf of possibility.  

Daisy and I agreed to gather our thoughts and meet at the same time and place (in bed after the children are asleep) the following week.

One week later….

“You have how many?”

“Five.”

“Five ideas?”

“No.  Five stories.”

“Let me see.”

The room is still, except for the rustling of papers.

I’m sitting in a perfect ninety degree angle, with my back to the bedpost.  I am, admittedly, quite pleased with myself.  Daisy has brought her page of notes; I have brought a notebook.  I did not know until that moment that what I had done was impressive, but I am drinking her expression as though it were wine at a tasting.

“Impressed?” I am beaming after five minutes of silence.

Daisy looks at me.  

I love this look.

It’s the one that says, “Thank you for making babies with me.”  

At least that’s how I would describe it.

That was the beginning of what turned into a long run of weekly exchanges.  We met every seven days, and each time I would try to get that look again.  This is long before any serious hope of publication; long before I would try to dull my voice to please the gate keepers.  

When I first started, I used the books I was reading out loud every day as a template, but soon realized that my attempts to mimic their charm and simplicity were mostly insipid.  

My solution:  Write the stories as though I was explaining things to my own children, or trying to impress Daisy.  

That night, it was the second story I read that you saw last week.  Back then, it was simply called Promise.  Though it has been heavily sanded, its structure of “The Eighth Wonder of the World” is no different then it was that evening, late last year.  

That special evening also yielded two more stories about money that I’ll share at some point in the future, along with two others that might be the clumsiest things ever committed to paper.  

Not every investment pays off, but you should never stop making them.  Promise the girl was born that night, but so was a promise I made to myself: a commitment to find my voice, and make it heard.  

Writer Dad

If you enjoyed my words, please subscribe.  I promise I’ll be back tomorrow.

If Mom and Dad never cease their contributions, an average annual return of 10% will make this work.

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