Original Recording Script
So on youtube there’s been this debate over “objectively good writing” bouncing around. It seems a few people have gotten pretty worked up over it. It’s spawned a few memes, a few response videos, a few twitter bitch-outs. I’ve been watching it transpire, on and off, trying to understand what it is that has everyone so annoyed with each other, and from what I can tell, it’s pretty much the usual. You have a few people, basically, who are trying to have what appears to be a serious discussion about this stuff, and then a lot of others who seem primarily invested in just being right. That or just yelling a lot.
If you live anywhere near KC, Missouri, I’ll be there on the 7th. My novel, Commune Two, is a nominee for the PA category and I’ll also be appearing on a discussion panel at 9 am that day.
Come out and have a drink with me if you have the time. Bring things to sign if that’s your thing 😉
Hey, all. In celebration of the 1-year anniversary of the 50 Shades of Bray fan page, I’ll be running a Facebook Live event where I run my stupid mouth for about 1.5 hours. I’ll be answering any questions you guys have to post and I’m told there will be some prize give-aways as well. If you’d like to come chat with me for some unknown damned reason, save the date on your calendar and don’t forget to tune in!
Every so often I think, “I should step off the Twitter bus. Nothing good ever came from that.”
Then I meet someone or come across something that tells me why I should stick around. I just came across this fella’s page tonight, Glynn Washington. He’d commented on one of my tweets and I realized the dude had followed me, and sometimes when I see a follower that engages (and not just someone who followed for a follow-back), I go check out their page and see what they’re all about. And I see he’s the host of something called Snap Judgment – storytelling with a BEAT.
Says I to myself, “Snap judgment? Hell, Twitter sure is the right place for that.” Then I figured I’d like to see what the guy’s about and checked out his site.
Guy has a radio show, does a pod cast, and so on. I went and listened to some of their stuff. Listened and got sucked in immediately. I love so much what these people are doing. There are stories here; real stories from real people. There is life, perspective, and truth. I am, right now, too rocked to explain what this is.
The storytelling is deep, here. It is sunk deep, too the roots, into the rock of the earth. This is the art form that precedes novelization. There is so much waiting.
I rarely respond to these. Most of the time, I don’t care and sometimes, they’re good for a laugh. But Kurt is a guy who likes the books and thinks I was forced into stretching out #3, so I want to address that. Here’s his review from Audible:
Love This Series – But Book 3 is a Waste of Time
Publishers are forcing authors with a successful first book to push their storylines out to four or more books versus the standard trilogy. The result is often unsatisfying, go no place, books like this one. Literally nothing of substance happened in this book – NOTHING! The first half was spent simply licking the wounds from all the action at the end of the 2nd Book. The second half was spent setting the stage for the 4th Book. Gayou is an outstanding writer and the amazing ability of R.C. Bray goes without saying, but frankly everything that happened in this book could of been condensed into one or two chapters in a true final book. So I hate to be critical because I have enjoyed this series and like where the storyline is going; but publishers need to quit forcing authors to S T R E T C H things way out when they don’t have the depth of content to make a meaningful book.
So, my recommendation is to pay your dues, buy the book, and try to stay awake for 18 hours. That way we can all hopefully enjoy an amazing forth book. We are counting on you Josh!!!
Thanks for your consideration in reading this series and you concern on the matter. No, I wasn’t forced to stretch the series into four books by a publisher. I wrote the 3rd book to be as long as was needed for specific reasons. I get you feel as though nothing of substance happened in the book. This is because you have read it passively. If you can stand it, you might go back and take another pass.
I have buried within this book all of the answers and keys to Jake’s past. There were two goals: get the reader up to speed on Clay’s group and get the reader up to speed on Jake.
But I’m not going to just give you Jake outright. I’ll never give you 4. I’ll only ever give you 2 + 2. That’s the kind of writer I am. I don’t want to just give you a story. I want to build a story with you. I want you to be part of the process. Because I cannot sit in the room with you and tell the story, this is the best way to do it. I give you 2 + 2, and you must find 4. 4 is hidden in the story that happens off the page.
I hope you see this, Kurt. You’re not one of the guys who simply said, “Blech, this book is garbage!” You just missed the trick. I think if you know that a trick is there, you won’t feel as though this book is a loss. I hope you see this, and that this works for you. And if you see this, come over to the Super Duper Funtime Shitbus group on Facebook. There are so many cool people over there theorizing about this stuff all the time.
And if you’re not Kurt, but you’re seeing this, I hope this explains a few things. Come over to the Facebook group anyway, and say “hi”.
Someone asked me for some tips on being a better writer. I’ve not been asked this question before. How do you plot a story? Where do your characters come from? What is your process? Okay, sure. But how to write better?
I had to think about it. I thought about it much, and then on and off. Then I forgot about it a while, and after, I remembered I was supposed to be thinking about it. I was in my car driving somewhere and I remembered this damned question and that I’d said I’d try to answer it. But I had to stop thinking about it right then because I was in my car and couldn’t get to a place to write my thoughts down. And if you have a thought with no way to write it down, there it goes. You don’t get it back. You can’t think it over again, ever.
So then I tried to think about it when I wasn’t driving, and I still wasn’t getting anywhere. This fucking question. Fuck this question; it makes no sense. How do you write better? I don’t know. Just write the son of a bitch, and leave me out of it.
I think maybe he was asking about tips on technique or some sort of bulleted list. Open a scene in such and such a way, or here’s how you present a dialog. I don’t know. I hope that wasn’t what he meant. It’s all wrong. He’s worrying about the wrong thing, if that’s what he meant, and it’s all wrong. It’s a confusion between technique and writing. Technique is easy. That’s the thing you consolidate into lists. Technique is the thing you work over time, you refine it, you hold onto the things that you like and that others like and that work for you, and you throw the rest of it out. You throw all of it out, if you have to. You look at the words and search for the ones to get rid of. Don’t take many words to say a thing when one will do. Throw the rest out.
But that’s just technique. Technique is bullshit. It isn’t writing. It’s technique. It’s window dressing. It’s the fat and the sugar and the salty water they inject into your food to give it body and heft and false flavor. It is not the food. The technique is not the fucking food.
How do you write better? I don’t know. What the hell do I know? What makes you sure I’m such a great writer, smart guy?
I can’t tell you what to do, not for writing. Go figure it out. Go skin your own knuckles and bleed and sweat, then you come back and tell me.
Here’s a thing I’ll tell you: don’t ever ask a writer how to write better. Any answer you get from us is bullshit. We’re all bullshit. Capital B. We don’t know. Even when we think we do, when the confidence comes and money starts happening, we don’t. We don’t know a fucking thing. Don’t ask us. We’ll steer you wrong every time.
Here’s what you do. Right now in your pocket I bet you have a leash. You don’t call it a leash but that’s what it is. It has a processor inside and a colorful touch screen, accelerometers, wifi and cellular transmitters. Take it out of your pocket.
Now throw that fucking thing across the room. Get away from it. Unshackle. It’s poison. You’re living your life through a tiny little screen. You’re sanitizing the world around you through a tiny little screen. You are making it all, everything, all of it, you’re making it all comfortable through a tiny little screen.
You’re strangling yourself through a tiny little screen.
Get up. Leave the house. Go outside somewhere, go somewhere you can find a tree. Sit under it and feel the wetness of the grass seep in through your pants and chill your ass. Put your hand in the grass and feel it. Feel every blade. Breathe.
Go find a soup kitchen and volunteer there for the day. When you’re done handing out the slop, go sit at a table with the vagrants and ask them to tell you where they came from. Ask them where they plan to be tomorrow, in a week, in a year. They’ll tell you, believe me, they will. If you get a lunatic, don’t get up and leave for somewhere safe. Listen to him. Listen to her. Listen.
Experience discomfort, wherever it is. It needn’t be the life of a druggy, a pimp or a whore. Do something you don’t like. Do something that scares you, if only a little. Go sing in front of strangers in a bar. Go begin something you don’t know you can finish, and then go all in without a goddamned net.
Hate baseball? Go to a ball game. Go to the game and drink the overpriced piss water and ignore the fucking game all together. Go be there, with everyone. Go be uncomfortable. Like baseball? Go to a hockey match. Go to a town hall meeting. Watch how the citizens rail and how the officials yawn. Go look.
Have a set of balls? Use them. Have a cunt instead? Use that. There isn’t any difference between them, though if it helps you to believe there is, go ahead and believe.
Not your brain; the brain is useless. Be in your guts. Be in your bones. Be in your sex. Not fucking; your sex. The experience of being your sex.
Feel. Taste. See. Hear. Smell.
Then go home. Get out whatever unnecessary tools you have, and write. Write the truth. Write the truest thing you can. Even if you write bullshit, write it true. Fiction is bullshit on its face, but write it true.
Believe in the one, perfect word. You’ll never find it, but believe in it anyway. Every sentence. Every line must move with energy. Don’t waste a single phrase. You will fail, but try.
The one word. Not the three lovely adjectives, nor the most appropriate metaphor. A single word. Find it. You won’t find it, but search anyway. Believe. Words are only symbols, and if we had something better than words, we’d use that, but words are what we have, so search.
Do it. Go do it now. Stop reading this and go do it; this is bullshit, anyway. Don’t ask a writer, not ever. We don’t know. Some of us will claim to. Don’t trust them. They are worse than ignorant. They believe their own press. Run from them like a fucking brush fire.
Go. Go out and find it. Go out there, look very hard, and find it.
When you figure it out, come back and explain it to us.
There has to be something wrong with you to do this well, I think. Some writers happen to be mentally balanced individuals that can compartmentalize appropriately. Others of us are prone to a spectrum of dysfunction. Depression, obsessive compulsion, substance dependency, insomnia.
I do not know which version creates the better work. I do know that the one person who protects me from myself is very good, and is very much better than I am, and that I owe her more than she will ever owe me. Thank heavens I am not crazy enough to forget that.