Category: Inspiration for your writing

Need some in­spir­a­tion for your writ­ing? Some ideas to help get the juices flowing.

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One author’s secrets to success

Jim round­ing Cape Froward, the south­ern­most tip of con­tin­ent­al South America, in the ves­sel Chonos, January 2005. Photo by John Rosborough.

Jim Delgado’s af­fable, dy­nam­ic and al­ways do­ing some­thing cool.

As a mari­time ar­chae­olo­gist, he ex­plores old wrecks world-wide and was among the first to dive the Titanic. He was ex­ec­ut­ive dir­ect­or of the Vancouver Maritime Museum for 15 years and hos­ted the pop­u­lar TV show, The Sea Hunters, for five.

He’s cur­rently dir­ect­or of the Maritime Heritage Program for the U.S. National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration, as well as be­ing pres­id­ent of the Institute of Nautical Archaeology. He teaches at uni­ver­sit­ies, con­trib­utes to schol­arly and aca­dem­ic journ­als and pro­motes mari­time preservation.

Oh yeah, he also writes books. More than 33 of them at last count. Khubilai  Khan’s Lost Fleet: In Search of a Legendary Armada won the James Deetz Award in  January. The same month Nuclear Dawn: The Atomic Bomb from the Manhattan Project to the Cold War won the Choice Award for Outstanding Academic Title.

Delgado’s new­est book, Silent Killers: Submarines and  Underwater Warfare was re­leased in June. And the next one, Iron, Pearls and  Gunpowder: The Incredible Saga of a Lost American Civil War Submarine, is already underway.

So how does he man­age to do all this and have a life? I asked Jim and this is what he said:

1. I don’t need much sleep.

2. I have a quiet, private of­fice and my wife screens all my calls.

3. I use all my travel time, in air­ports and on the plane, to work.

There’s not much any­one can do about the amount of sleep they  need. But most people can ar­range their work space so dis­trac­tions and  in­ter­rup­tions are kept to a minimum.

And when trav­el­ling, what bet­ter way to si­lence the overly chatty per­son sit­ting next to you, than flip­ping open your laptop or note book and an­noun­cing, ‘I have to work now.’

If you’re really ser­i­ous about writ­ing, you won’t wait for time to write. You’ll make time.

 

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The worst part of writing a book

I really like writ­ing books but there’s one part I hate. And it sneaks up on me every time.

After hav­ing sev­er­al books pub­lished, you’d think I’d learn. But nope, there seems to be a big blank spot in my memory about writ­ing a non­fic­tion book.

It’s an ugly, nasty, teeth-gnash­ing phase so no won­der I for­get it. In fact, the only time I think about it, is when I’m right in the middle of it. Which is where I am right now.

I refer to it as the @#$*! stage of writ­ing a book. Some folks call it the first draft.

No, this is­n’t me. But this is how I of­ten feel when I’m in the @#&%! stage of writ­ing a book.

This is where I have to take all my re­search and put it into some sort of co­hes­ive or­der. That means de­cid­ing what goes in what chapter – and worst of all – de­cid­ing what’s in­cluded and what gets left out.

I know from past ex­per­i­ence that in­triguing facts and fas­cin­at­ing an­ec­dotes will be cut due to the con­straints of space and in the in­terests of flow. I can deal with that. It’s just all the de­cisions I need to make right now. Hours are spent star­ing at the com­puter screen, shift­ing text here and there and mut­ter­ing away. By the end of the day I swear my brain is sweating.

Sometimes I think of this stage of a book like go­ing for a long walk in a forest. There are many trails to take, each of­fer­ing dif­fer­ent ex­per­i­ences, some more ex­cit­ing or chal­len­ging than others.

On rough days I liken it to climb­ing a rock face. Concentrating and know­ing where to put my feet and hands (or facts and an­ec­dotes) is crit­ic­al. At times the top of the moun­tain seems im­possibly far away.

Once in a while I won­der why the heck I’m do­ing this. But a glance down tells me I’m closer to the top than the bot­tom. And I know when I reach the sum­mit, I’ll for­get all about the @#$*! stage of writ­ing a book again.

So I keep climb­ing. Writing my book one chapter, one para­graph, one word at a time.

 

 

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Secrets to being a successful writer

James Lee Burke. Photo by Robert Clark
The re­wards of be­ing a suc­cess­ful writer are ob­vi­ous. Completing an art­icle, short story or book brings a huge sense of per­son­al sat­is­fac­tion. And see­ing your work in print cre­ates its own ad­ren­aline rush.

Then there’s the fame factor, no less en­joy­able even if it is just the “big fish in a small pond” vari­ety. And, of course, there’s the pos­sib­il­ity of fin­an­cial gain.

But have you ever thought about what it takes to be a suc­cess­ful writer? A cer­tain amount of writ­ing skill is ne­ces­sary and even more im­port­ant is a good story idea.

However, when you get right down to it, I sus­pect one of the most crit­ic­al ele­ment of suc­cess is persistence…and a thick skin.

That’s right, the old say­ing, “Writing is 99 per cent per­spir­a­tion and 1 per cent in­spir­a­tion,” is really true.

And even if you’re a dis­cip­lined, ded­ic­ated writer, you need a sys­tem for sub­mit­ting your work and deal­ing with rejection.

Award-win­ning au­thor James Lee Burke is one of my fa­vour­ite writers. As well as telling a good story, he cre­ates a vivid sense of the land­scape and the people that in­hab­it it. And his char­ac­ters pos­sess a depth and com­plex­ity not soon forgotten.

Burke, now 75, had his first short story pub­lished in a col­lege magazine when he was in his 20s. By the time he was 34, he was the au­thor of three suc­cess­ful novels.

Then came a long, dry patch. Burke didn’t stop writ­ing; he just couldn’t get published.

So he de­veloped a meth­od for deal­ing with his grow­ing stack of re­jec­tions. When a short story was re­turned, he gave him­self 36 hours to get it back in cir­cu­la­tion. He’s used that pro­ced­ure for 45 years. “If you keep your story at home, you’re en­sured to lose,” he wrote in a 2002 New York Times article.

Burke fol­lows the same philo­sophy when it comes to books. His fourth nov­el, The Lost Get Back Boogie, was pub­lished in 1986.

After it had been re­jec­ted 110 times.

James Lee Burke’s fourth novel.
“I’d pub­lished three nov­els in New York then went 13 years without a hard­back pub­lic­a­tion,” Burke wrote. “That many re­jec­tions is sup­posedly some kind of re­cord in the industry.” 
 
Not long after it was pub­lished, The Lost Get Back Boogie was nom­in­ated for a Pulitzer Prize.  Since then Burke’s had an ad­di­tion­al 26 nov­els published.

So now, whenev­er some­thing I’ve writ­ten gets re­jec­ted I tell my­self to “Burke it.” Just turn it around and get it back out there. Because, hey…you nev­er know.

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Writing the first sentence of a book

Eighteen months ago I shif­ted my fo­cus to cou­gars, the sub­ject of my next book. After a peri­od of in­tense re­search, I began or­gan­iz­ing all the in­form­a­tion I’d gathered.

It was an im­mense job that in­volved sort­ing through a Bankers Box full of files and an equally massive amount of in­form­a­tion saved on my hard drive. And then one day it was done.

“What now?” I wondered. Then it hit me: it was time to start writ­ing the book.

But how? I knew what I wanted to say but what about that all im­port­ant first sen­tence? I searched my mind. All I found was an im­age of the Sahara desert, a totally empty land­scape stretch­ing into in­fin­ity. Just like the blank screen on my computer.

A knot of pan­ic formed in my chest. Breaking the house­hold rule of not in­ter­rupt­ing each oth­er when we’re writ­ing, I rushed into Rick’s of­fice. “It’s time to start writ­ing my book and I don’t know what to do,” I announced. 

“It hap­pens to me every time I write an art­icle,” he replied then con­tin­ued tap­ping away on his keyboard.

I trudged back up­stairs and shuffled some pa­pers around on my desk. I called my mom. I made a cup of tea. I changed the wa­ter in the dog’s bowl. And then I laughed. I was em­ploy­ing the old­est writ­ing trick in the world – procrastination.

My brain is sharpest in the morn­ing and by then it was late af­ter­noon so I let my­self off the hook for the day. The next was filled with er­rands down­town but the day after that…I had to start the book.

I wondered how I’d ever found the elu­sive first sen­tences of my oth­er books. To be per­fectly hon­est, at that mo­ment, I had no idea. The whole concept of writ­ing the first sen­tence of a book seemed daunt­ing, per­haps impossible.

People new to the craft of writ­ing of­ten ask me for ad­vice. So I asked my­self what I’d tell them about start­ing a book. At least that was a ques­tion I could an­swer. “Just jump in and do it,” I’d say. “Don’t worry about it too much, you can al­ways change it later. Something will come to you eventually.”

And the next morn­ing, while I was walk­ing the dog, it did.

Heavily fall­ing snow covered our boot prints al­most as soon as we made them. The fat white flakes, the forest around us and the ar­rival of twi­light meant vis­ib­il­ity was fad­ing fast. And right in front of us, filling with snow as we stared, were the large foot­prints of a cougar….

It might not be per­fect and would prob­ably change over time. But, at last, I had a way in. I could start the book.