Do shyness and fiction mix?

Yesterday The Times had an great article on the benefits of being shy.

I've often thought that being shy is a huge disadvantage for the fiction writer. I say that knowing that writers in general are considered to be a shy sort. But particularly with regards to fiction, it seems that if you have limited experience getting to know people and finding out what makes them tick -- in real life, not through words -- you're going to have a harder time creating vivid characters with details and motivations that ring true.

(I myself have always been an introvert that was sort of lured out of his shell through journalism, alcohol, and a curiosity about other people -- particularly folks who don't fit a particular mold. I like to think I have both things going for me. But in day to day living, the results are not always pretty. I often feel conflicted in social situations and can go either way, often to my own surprise or disappointment.)

The above article (which actually has nothing to do with writing; this is my personal tangent) made me rethink my view, for reasons that seem to be totally obvious. The advantages of being an introvert -- heightened observation skills, imagination and painstaking consideration of possible outcomes -- are critical to fiction. But can they eclipse what the writer is not able to gather through direct interaction and experience? I'm still not sure.

Turn down the sun, I'm trying to write

I've always thought there was a correlation between temperature and my writing production. I thought I can't be the only one. But when I went to look it up, the first thing I found was this, from WiseGeek:

"According to at least one study, office temperature does influence worker productivity. A study at Cornell University found that office workers in a warm environment are more productive than they are in colder spaces..."

No, no, no! You've got it all wrong! Warmer temperatures equals LESS productivity! Idiots!

I don't know about you, but I can't write or perform any strenuous mental activity when I'm too hot. So when the summer hits, everything from my regular job, my creative output, my energy level, dips. Worse, my sleeping time -- what little there is to begin with -- crashes.

How warm is too warm? In my case, it's anything higher than 72 degrees Fahrenheit. Pathetic, right? Yeah, I know.

The odd thing is, summer was always my favorite season, by far. At least it used to be, when I didn't have school or kids or a full-time job, and I was in shape and could go skating, surfing and hooping for 12 hours a day. But that was the hyper, more physical Lutz of the past; today the majority of my pursuits are related to thinking. And I dont know what it is, but I have trouble thinking, let alone writing, when I'm too warm. Which I don't point out as an excuse, but as a plea, to the ether, for empathy.

Oh, here's some: This article from AbsoluteWrite, while not 100 percent relevant to my predicament, offers some advice. In the meantime, you can find me with my head in the refrigerator, watching Pengu cartoons on my Droid.

Fear, failure and f*cking wastes of time

Yesterday I picked up Janet Burroway's book, "Writing Fiction: A Guide to Narrative Craft," which I understand is something of a staple in creative writing courses. I used to have another copy of it somewhere, or maybe I loaned it out and forgot about it, I don't know. I think I'm on my third copy. But it was worth buying again.

It's a dense book -- not physically, but thick with information and examples. You can tell a huge amount of effort and thought went into it. It's not easy reading. Anyway, I cracked it open again and ran into this bit from an extended quote about fear, from author Dorothy Allison:

"...The best fiction comes from the place where the terror hides, the edge of our worst stuff. I believe, absolutely, that if you do not break out in sweat of fear when you write, then you have not gone far enough..."

This made me think of something Scott Kempner of The Dictators said in "Please Kill Me, The Uncensored Oral History of Punk." Kempner was talking about The Stooges and being "psychically wounded" watching Iggy Pop perform:

"...Iggy put life and limb into every show. I saw him bloody every single show. Every single show involved actual fucking blood.

"From then on, rock & roll could never be anything less to me. Whatever I did -- whether I was writing, or playing -- there was blood on the pages, there was blood on the strings, because anything less than that was just bullshit, and a waste of fucking time."

As I was thinking about these things, I was reminded how -- a bit of knowledge I picked up from my straight gig -- most small businesses fail. I don't know what the exact stats are, but the vast majority do no better than break even. Yet among the over 100s of CEOs and small business owners I've talked to over the years, most seem to have a practical outlook toward failure that I think writers could learn from.

I suppose it depends what your idea of failure is, of course. But I'd much rather fail than create something that was "just bullshit." Because my worst fear is doing exactly that.

The new DWW - Read It or Beat It

So I'm up to 50,000 words in the novel I'm writing. (I would call it my "first novel" but it could also be my last, so I'll wait until there's a second.) It's close enough to being done that I've decided to take a look at this blog, which in theory could become some kind of landing place for anybody curious enough to find me after reading something I wrote.

I was surprised to find Dead Wall Window is -- WOW -- five freakin' years old, which, I don't know why, just seems like forever to me. A ton of stuff has changed in my life during that time. Most importantly, I have two more children, Sonny and Declan. A laugh-riot, those two. I also got out journalism when the getting was still good, and through a few odd turns, managed to successfully transition to a new career making better money. I'm kinda proud of that. And I joined a writer's group, which is the key reason why I have a nearly completed novel and writing this here post today.

But the main thing I realized upon reviewing this blog -- or rather, could feel -- was the solemn frustration and aimlessness behind most of my posts.

Frankly, this blog never really had a point. It was entirely an impulse, a place where I could record odd memories and thoughts about stuff that caught my interest, and occassionally stretch my writing muscles. The expectations were extremely low. It was an outlet. I didn't think anybody would read it or even find it. I didn't even tell my closest friends. And as I kept reading, I could sort of see why.

Many of the posts represented some achy, vague grievance that I was trying to put my finger on. In retrospect I think these posts were extremely helpful to me on a personal level, and were well worth expressing. But to the outsider, they couldn't have been much fun to read (I'm speaking generally; I know some folks read things and liked 'em -- and I thank ye kindly) and I sort of knew it at the time I wrote them, due to the amount of apologizing I did for "whining." All of which seems silly now. One writes to be read. If I didn't want people to waste their time, I should have bought a diary.

And so anyway, I started asking myself: What impression does this blog leave folks who don't know me? And should I care? Up until now, Dead Wall Window read like what it is, and what I initially decribed it as -- "a writer's toilet." And a very self-obsessed toilet, at that. It struck me that this is no way for a writer trying to reach a broader audience to work. I should aspire to something more. Frankly, I better.

So I began thinking about changing the look and tone of this blog. I even mulled starting all over. But then I thought of the past five years and all the stuff that's happened ... and I realized that this blog might have its own story to tell. At the very least, something my kids could point at and say, "See, I told you Dad was a sicko."

So I'm sticking with DWW. And I'm committed to (and I'm going to say it out loud, so hopefully it sticks) posting more, putting myself out there more, sharing insights about writing and publishing (to the degree I'm comfortable doing so), and maybe -- god forbid -- serve as a source of information or guidepost for somebody. The frustrations will still be here, I'm sure. But it's time to kick it up a notch.

Tom Wolfe on writing

My latest hobby is scrolling through the NPR archives for interesting pieces on books and other stuff. I know I'm late to this particular party ... I used to only listen to public radio -- or any radio -- while driving. I don't drive that much.

What I just realized--duh--is that I don't have to wait for the clock to roll around to catch a good program on the radio. I can just go to the NPR site and click what programs I want to listen to. Somehow I always knew I could do this, but hadn't really wanted to until I missed a Normal Mailer interview that took place earlier this year.

After that, I hit up a Tom Petty retrospective interview, caught up on This American Life, and some odd book readings that I'll never have the time to make in person.

The best one so far was a Tom Wolfe interview aired 20 years ago and re-aired to celebrate Fresh Air's 20th anniversary. Wolfe talked a lot about writing and the genesis of his writing style... like writing a novel like you're pretending to be writing a letter to a friend, and how he purposely choose clothing that stood out, which seems antithema to the traditional fly-on-the-wallishness of being a writer.

"It is much more effective," he said, "to arrive at any situation as the Man from Mars, than to try to fit in."

I'm probably guilty of idolizing mainstream or popular authors like Wolfe too much. It's not like I don't read lesser known scribes. But I'm fascinated with why certain authors are considered greats, and I often find I waste little time when reading them.

Anyway Wolfe's interview is good stuff.