School days.

In recent weeks I’ve had the opportunity to spend time on university campuses at opposite ends of my home state of Utah.

At my alma mater, Utah State University in Logan, I met with a classroom full of journalism students. For more than an hour they peppered me with questions about journalism, advertising, magazine writing, poetry, fiction, nonfiction, Western history, how I go about writing, and all manner of things. Fortunately, after stringing words together over several decades for all manner of reasons I was able to offer some sort of response to most of their queries.

Days later, I spent an equally enjoyable hour with creative writing students at Utah Tech University in St. George. Again, the questions were insightful and the discussion engaging. Later, UT hosted a public event during which I read from several of my books—mostly fiction but also some nonfiction and poetry—answered a few questions, and spent time talking with and signing books for some of the readers kind enough to come out for the event.  A fine local bookseller, The Book Bungalow, handled sales and now has several of my titles on the shelves at their store in St. George.

All in all, the faculty and staff members involved in my visits had everything well in hand to make the experiences enjoyable. And, the students at both universities were impressive. They seemed bright, immersed, and involved—much different from my own time as a college student, if my hazy memories are to be trusted.

Ding Dong.

It’s the end of the year. Time to ring out 2019 and ring in 2020. Time to look back and time to look ahead. Time to take stock of our lives—or, in my case here, the writing life.

 No new books with my name on the spine were released in 2019, save the large-print edition of my November 2018 novel Father unto Many Sons.

I am tempted to defend myself by saying I haven’t spent the year just sitting on my butt. Then it occurred to me that sitting on their butts is exactly what writers do. A lot.

During all that sitting on my butt in 2019, I worked with Five Star Publishing to get Pinebox Collins ready for April 2020 release, and working on getting a second novel, A Thousand Dead Horses, ready for November release.  

A third novel, And the River Ran Red, is awaiting publication, most likely in 2021. A fourth novel, All My Sins Remembered, is also in Five Star’s hands.

Late in 2019, Five Star released an anthology, Hobnail and Other Frontier Stories, which includes my short story, “The Times of a Sign.” And I worked with editors Nancy Plain and Rachelle “Rocky” Gibbons on a chapter for Go West: Seldom-Told Stories from History, a nonfiction anthology for young readers that Two Dot will publish in 2021. My piece is titled “Earl Bascom and His Bronc-Bustin’ Brothers: Fathers of Modern Rodeo.”

I also managed to write a magazine article for Cowboys & Indians; another for Range magazine; a feature article, a column, and a poem for Saddlebag Dispatches; and a book review for True West magazine. And, Grits McMorrow reprinted several of my essays on writing poetry in his Minnekahta eMessenger.

If I weren’t so lazy, I would get more done. Maybe in 2020….

But for now, back to sitting on my butt.

Lies They Tell Writers, Part 42: Know (and Follow) the Rules.

Many, many of the “lies” addressed in these parts have to do with the “rules” passed along to aspiring writers at conferences and workshops, in books and articles, by critique groups and manuscript readers.

Most of the “rules” are based, in some part, on reality. But seldom are they universal enough in application to even qualify as “rules.” “Advice” or “considerations” would make more apt descriptions.

The simple fact is, if you want to write, and write well, you have to figure it out for yourself. No one else can guide the pencil or stroke the keyboard or tell you how to tell your story.

That’s not to say you should ignore the “rules” you hear. Neither should you accept them unconsidered or untested. Try that, and you’ll end up hopelessly confused, staring at a blank screen or sheet of paper wondering how to proceed and continually contradicting yourself as one “rule” clashes with another.

I think the best advice concerning following the “rules” is that offered by W. Somerset Maugham: “There are three rules for writing a novel. Unfortunately, no one knows what they are.”

My Favorite Book, Part 7

Win Blevins appears on my list as author of a couple of my favorite novels. But while filled with interesting short stories, this book is nonfiction.

The Dictionary of the American West includes definitions and explanations of “Over 5,000 terms and expressions from Aarigaa to Zopilote.” It not only makes for enjoyable browsing, it is a handy reference, always at hand on the shelf next to my desk.

I also use and enjoy Ramon Adams’s Western Words, but while that book covers cowboy lingo well, the Dictionary of the American West is broader in its scope, including language from other subcultures, including mountain men, miners, Indian tribes, fishermen, Hispanics, and on and on.

While better known as a Western Writers Hall of Fame author of fiction—and you’ll see him here again for that—today Win Blevins earns a place on my list of favorite books for this important work of nonfiction and history and lexicography.

Good Luck, Dale Walker.

There are many factors that play into achieving any sort of success as a writer. One of them is luck.

One of the luckiest things that ever happened to me when it comes to writing was meeting Dale Walker. Dale was one of those larger-than-life characters I first encountered at a Western Writers of America convention when the author paint on me wasn’t dry. He was a past president, past Roundup editor, past several other things in the group, and revered, it seemed, among the entire membership. He also edited the novels of many admirable writers and was a respected author of nonfiction himself. Being the socially awkward type I am, I admired him from a distance.

Then, still not long after I became a WWA member, the organization announced the creation of a fiftieth anniversary anthology with Dale as the editor. Not knowing any better, I submitted a story.

I saw Dale at the next WWA convention and screwed up the courage to introduce myself. He hinted that my story would be in the anthology. It would be, outside of some success with poetry, my first publication of any note.

It must have been at the next year’s convention or one soon after that I again screwed up my courage and handed Dale a proposal for a novel. He tracked me down the next day and said it was one of the best proposals he had ever seen—but, unfortunately, the publisher he represented wasn’t inviting any new authors into their Western line.

But he asked if I knew anything about a guy named John Muir. As it happened, I knew a bit more about the man than Dale did and related one of my favorite Muir stories about his riding out a Sierra windstorm perched in the top of a tree just for the fun of it. Dale said he was working on a project and may get back to me. Later that day, or perhaps the next, he took me aside again and asked if I would like to write a book about John Muir for a new nonfiction series—“American Heroes”—he was editing for Forge Books.

Just like that, I became a writer of books. All because I had the good luck to meet a man named Dale Walker.

My admiration for Dale only grew through working with him and getting to know him better and becoming friends over the years. I only wish I had gotten lucky earlier. Not because it may have helped me become something of a writer sooner, but because it would have been my good luck to know Dale longer and better, just because he was Dale.

Dale died December 8, 2015.

Lies They Tell Writers, Part 22: Vomit on the Page.

Our last effusion, outpouring, gush, upchuck of “Lies” talked about the physical process of writing.

Here we go again.

I cannot count the number of times I have heard writers and writing instructors advise other writers that when writing it is important, imperative even, to write write write write write write write.

Do it quickly. Don’t slow down (hence, the absence of commas above). Don’t stop. Don’t worry about spelling, grammar, punctuation, word choice, or anything else. Just get it on the page (or screen) as fast as you can. You can always fix it another time.

A popular way of putting it is, “vomit on the page and come back later to clean it up.”

That doesn’t work for me.

It could be because I have written advertising copy for so many years. When you are confined to a fraction of a page or a half-minute of air time, you don’t have a lot of words to work with. Every one has to work hard on its own and play well with others. So, you carefully consider and contemplate every word, often before you write it.

Writing poetry is much the same, which is where I went next. Then short stories and magazine articles. By the time I got to novels and history books it was too late. I was already trained to examine each word, mull over every phrase, and think about every sentence. If something isn’t right, I am not capable of moving on. (Which is not to say everything I write is right; anyone who’s read my stuff knows better.) I can try, but it nags and niggles at me like a burr under a saddle blanket and I have to make it as right as I can before I can move on.

It’s more like playing with your food than vomiting on the page, I suppose.

The point is, writing is something you do by yourself. You have to do it your way. If that means barfing verbs and nouns and adjectives, fine. But if ruminating over every jot and tittle works for you, that’s fine too. 

Find The Lost Frontier.

My new history book, The Lost Frontier: Momentous Moments in the Old West You May Have Missed, is now available. The Lost Frontier will be found at the usual online booksellers, and any bookstore can get you a copy if it’s not on the shelf.

Some fine writers and historians enjoyed the book. Matt Mayo says, “No dry history here…the subjects are fully fleshed, clothed, and howling for attention.” Chris Enss says it’s “the way history should be written: riveting, involving, and filled with verified facts that make the era of the Old West come alive.” Will Bagley says, “I need to add biographer and historian to the long list of Rod’s astonishing talents.”

I wouldn’t go so far as all that, but I do believe that in the pages of The Lost Frontier you’ll find plenty of interesting history—most of it strange and surprising stuff you didn’t learn about in school.

Lies They Tell Writers, Part 14: Writing is Easy.

There’s an old saw that says “writing must be fun—if it was work, you’d get paid for it.”

As true as that may be—and writing is fun for most of the folks I know who do it—writing well is, at the same time, work. But there are people I know who “write” but are not willing to work at it, or even acknowledge that work is required.

For example(s):

Once, while judging a poetry competition, another of the judges and I were discussing the relative merits of some of the submissions. This judge did not much take into account the use of literary technique, seem to appreciate its value, or want to reward the obvious effort of some of the poets to make their poems poetic. Subject matter and story were the only measures—“poetry” didn’t matter. To paraphrase, “I’m a big believer that this stuff comes from God, and all we do is write it down.”

Well.

While inspiration is important to writers, it is the Alpha, not the Omega. Once inspired, it is up to the writer to turn that inspiration into poetry (or prose, for that matter). Otherwise, we lay the blame for mediocre or downright bad writing where it does not belong—in the lap of the Almighty—and relieve the writer of the responsibility. It is our job as writers to take whatever inspiration we receive and mold and shape and polish it into something worthy of the muse.

One more illustration:

From time to time I am approached by writers and poets for advice. (Why they would stoop to my level is beyond my ken.) One poet wanted suggestions on that nasty little thing called meter. In my experience, there are a lot more poets who lay claim to using meter than there are poets who understand and use it properly.

After a few go-rounds of discussion, that poet threw in the towel.

"I really don’t want to get too technical if I can help it,” came the explanation, “because I think it might take the magic out of the process. Some of what I feel is my best poetry just seems to flow out almost complete.”

Well.

Like it or not, using meter properly in poetry is largely a technical process. It takes work and frustration and rewriting and revising and struggle and exertion to get it right. And, when well done, it will add to, not subtract from, the “magic.”

Whether it is poetry or prose, fiction or nonfiction, writing well is work. As English novelist Anthony Powell said, “Writing is a combination of intangible creative fantasy and appallingly hard work.”

Part of the work is understanding the gritty little details of why you’re writing what you’re writing the way you’re writing it. “Writing is very hard work and knowing what you’re doing the whole time,” historian Shelby Foote said. I agree.

William Styron said, “Let’s face it, writing is hell.” He’s right, too—even though writing sometimes seems heavenly.

Finally, Thomas Mann made a good point when he said, “A writer is someone for whom writing is more difficult than it is for other people.” That may be the difference, right there. Anyone can put words on paper, and many have a knack for putting them down well. But writers—real writers—are the ones who invite, and endure, and even enjoy, the difficulty involved in writing right.