Stephen Michael Roth

It’s Okay to be a Quitter

Last month, I stopped writing a novel mid-first draft. It was the first story I had quit in more than ten years. Was it a return of a much-maligned phase from my twenties, in which I seemed to quit more stories than I finished? Was my writing career over? Should I stop querying my novel and give up every literary based dream I’ve ever had? Obviously, I’m dramatizing, but only slightly. I spent a week panicking, but eventually realized it was for the best. That’s right, dear readers, being a quitter can be a good thing, though it will take me a thousand words or so to explain why.

The trouble with Dirt (the tentative title of the story) started from the beginning of the planning process. It was a story that I felt readers would enjoy, though didn’t bring forth much excitement from me. Now, I had wrestled with such stories before, and thought I could handle it, after all, I had been writing for twenty years. I would buckle down and write the novel. It was the wrong decision.

Things started rather promising, as I constructed the foundation of the novel through character development. My main character was complicated (read not entirely likable), which happens to be the type of character writers tend to enjoy writing. Unlikeable characters are fun because they don’t act like your typical protagonist. Instead, they make decisions that causes the reader to question their judgement. It’s the type of character that leaves a reader screaming at a book, leaving people around you to question your sanity.

The main problem with Dirt was the introduction of an unimportant secondary character. This character had a run-in with the M.C.’s wife while in a cafe. Dazzled by my own writing abilities, I allowed myself to integrate this character into the main plot of the novel, therefore, changing the plot entirely. She was much too interesting to be a sidenote, she needed for the entire novel to revolve around her! It turned the novel about city slickers dealing with strange happenings on a farm into a love triangle. It was not the novel I set out to write.

I forged on, figuring that while I didn’t set out to write a love triangle, some readers would enjoy it. Unfortunately, I wasn’t enjoying the writing process. I avoided coming to the laptop after work during my regular writing time. Eventually I had to face the truth. I wasn’t enjoying the novel; therefore, it would never get done. I decided to take a break.

Two weeks later, I returned to the story having solved my character problem. I would kill the meddlesome character, which worked for the overall plot of the novel. Problem solved, right? Wrong. The trouble was me. I still wasn’t enjoying the story and the words abandoned me. I was blocked.

When you quit a story there are a lot of thoughts that flood your mind, most of which pertain to being a failure. At least, those were my thoughts. In my twenties, I had a problem with quitting novels. You see, in those days I was a short story writer focusing most of my time and energy into building a resume so I could acquire a coveted literary agent. My brain worked on the scale of the short story, therefore, writing a novel was a daunting task (ironically, now I’m long winded and writing short stories is much harder). I would start with a flurry, but eventually would grow bored and quit. It took discipline before I was able to finish a novel, though it wasn’t a good one.

Had my old habits returned? I don’t think so, though I have yet to start a new novel (only time will prove me right). Instead, the failure of Dirt can be accounted for by several errors on my part. I chose to write a story I thought would interest others, rather than myself (always write for yourself, outsiders should be involved only after the first draft). I also broke a big rule of mine, which is listen to the story, for it is king. The story didn’t need that secondary character to take a front seat, she was well-placed in the back seat where she belonged. If you only listen, the story will tell you where it wants to go. I stopped listening. I thought I knew better and was humbled for it.

Are there valid reasons for quitting a story? That depends on your point of view. Here are the various reasons I’ve found for quitting a story in the past:

Writer’s block
Didn’t enjoy the story
Didn’t plan enough
Planned too much
Got bored

How about a positive list? Here are some ways to avoid quitting:

Choose a story that you’ll enjoy writing.
Whether you’re a plotter or a pantzer, choose a method of story planning that works for you (I’m a hybrid).
Don’t tackle a novel until you’re sure that you’re ready.
Shake things up if you get bored.
Listen to the story, it’s king, after all.

One last thing about quitting. I found my voice while attempting to write that elusive novel. I never would have finished one if I hadn’t started in the first place. So, if you’re waiting for an invitation, well, allow me. Go ahead, write that novel, and don’t be afraid to quit if things go awry. Just don’t make a habit of it. Until next time, remember to follow your dreams, even if they terrify you.

Stephen Roth

A Reintroduction

It’s been a year and a half since my latest post. What has happened in that span? Will this blog change? What does the future hold?

I realized that working a full time job, writing a novel, and keeping up with this blog was hard. Something had to give. Unfortunately, it was the blog.
I work in a warehouse that specializes in shipping bbq and meat packaging supplies across the country. That entails lifting heavy packages, shipping packages, and being on my feet all day.
I have four children. Their ages are 16, 11, 9, and 3 (we think of the youngest as our special blessing, which I wrote about in this post).
I’ve been busy querying literary agents about my novel, Reel Ghosts, over the past year. Fifty queries in all, yet no offers of representation. Not so much as a request for a full manuscript reading.
I’ve realized that traditional publishing isn’t in the cards for me at this time. So, I stopped querying. I felt like I was stuck in an endless loop where I repeated the same mistakes over and over, hoping and praying for different results. I decided my self-worth will not be defined by a literary agent’s opinion.
While I was querying, I started a new novel. It was a story that had been on my mind for a year at that point.
The writing process was rife with trouble from the beginning. I really should read my own blog and take my own advice, as I broke several of my own rules. I started a story that I thought people would like, rather than one that I liked. That lack of enthusiasm on my part led to trouble, as I would avoid writing after work when possible. I thought I knew best, rather than listening to the story. That decision led the story to change into something I hadn’t meant to write. So, I took a break, knowing full well that I wouldn’t return to it. Yet, I surprised myself by returning to the novel after 2 weeks. I had solved my problem. I would kill a troublesome character that I had morphed from a single scene side story into a novel stealing problem. It would have worked (at least I think so) had I been able to find the words. I was blocked. The troublesome story was dead, and I had killed it with my ego, forgetting that I’m not the stories creator but a conduit by which the story is told.
In a previous post, lessons learned, I listed some of the things I have learned as a writer. A lot of these were through my own experiences and mistakes. I thought I was done making mistakes in this field. I was wrong.
Now I’m searching for a novel to write, while embarking on an exciting new adventure. Which is…
I plan to self-publish Reel Ghosts.
The timetable for publishing Reel Ghosts is uncertain. Currently, I’m reading through the manuscript, and putting a final polish on it. There will be some formatting that needs to happen in order to publish. Lastly, I plan on asking a few trusted people for their opinions on the novel before publishing. I’ll update on this blog and on social media when I have a publishing date.
Here’s a hard truth. When I started this blog, I didn’t know what it was going to be. Years later, I still don’t know. I knew that a writer needed a website or a blog in order to be taken seriously in the publishing world. Is that a good reason to have a blog?
I’m still not sure what this blog will look like going forward, however, I can promise insights from my personal experience, along with an occasional story.

Hopefully, you won’t have to wait a year and a half for my next post. Until then, remember to follow your dreams, even if they terrify you.

Stephen Roth

Lessons Learned

Last month, I turned 38 years old. I submitted my first story for publication at 19; it was rejected. With nearly twenty years of trying (and mostly failing) in the books, I thought others could learn from my experience. It’s said that we learn more from our failures than our successes. It feels true in my case, and I’ve learned a lot. This is by no means a comprehensive list. It’s also a more personal one than you’ll find other places. Enjoy.

Write. Simply write.
Read. Simply read.
Be yourself (I’m working on post about this topic, as it’s an important recent lesson).
A writer must have thick skin. You’ll spend dozens of hours on a story (much more in the case of a novel). That story will become an integral part of your life; it’s your baby. You’ll show off that baby to others (magazine editors and literary agents among others), who don’t find it as darling as you. They’ll thrash your baby. You’ll get defensive, being the protective parent you are. Don’t.
Rejection isn’t personal.
Rejection isn’t personal (the lesson so important I listed it twice).
Don’t immolate your heroes. There are dozens of people already doing this. Instead, be original.
Only editors like editing, but nothing makes a story better than a proper edit from the creator of the story.
Be thankful for the words that come because there may come a time when the words stop.
Know when to listen to criticism and when to put your fingers in your ears like a five-year-old repeating, “I can’t hear you.”
Celebrate achievements. There’s usually someone who has been missing you while you’ve been tucked away in the office working on that “damned novel.” Take them out to show your gratitude.
Your self-worth shouldn’t depend on others.
Story is everything…
Unless it isn’t. Voice matters.
Let the story speak to you, go where it chooses, haters be damned.
Write what you know sounds good in theory but is also bullshit in most applications. Sure, a lawyer writing a legal drama makes sense. In the horror world, however, few of us are experts on serial killers or ghosts. But…
Do your research. Your search history will look questionable, and you’ll likely end up on a watch list by the FBI, but it’s the price to be paid when not an expert in the field.
Social media isn’t that bad.
Finish the story.
It’s okay not to finish the story. I’m aware this counteracts the previous lesson. Look, there are times when a story doesn’t come together for various reasons (too vague of an idea was my main failure in my twenties). It’s okay. I wouldn’t recommend making a habit of it, but it’s okay.
Don’t take breaks from a story. When I was a young writer, I took a long weekend away from the keyboard. That weekend turned into a week. When I returned to the laptop, the story didn’t come with me. I wouldn’t go as far as to say I was blocked, but I couldn’t find the right tone again. Perhaps that is blocked, sobeit I was blocked.
Unrelated, seemingly trivial stories can connect to become profound.
If you learn from failure, it becomes a lesson. If you fail to learn, it’s simply failure.

What lessons have you learned from writing? Feel free to add your own in the comments.

Thanks for reading,

Stephen Roth

A Note: Some may have noticed this is my first post in some time. I apologize for my absence. A full-time job, a wife, four kids, and my creative writing have my plate filled. However, I will try to post on a more regular basis. Thanks again for reading.

Talking to Non-writers

I’m back! For those of you that aren’t familiar with this blog, it’s been some time since my last post. My absence can be explained by several factors. You only have to go back and read my previous post to learn that I have a baby in the house. Those late-night writing sessions disappeared for a while in favor of a bottle and a baby. I have also been working on a novel, which I finished the second draft of while on vacation last week (yes, I write on vacation). I also started a new job doing pick and pack in a warehouse. It’s a good gig but leaves me tired at the end of the day and with little time for writing. The novel is entering the editing phase, the baby is starting to sleep through the night, and the job has moved to part-time until business picks up in the autumn. That’s a long way of saying I finally have a small amount of free time to do things like this. Enough fluff, let’s get down to the business we love.

As writers, we all understand why it is we do this thing called writing. We don’t have to ask. We know not to ask another writer where they get their ideas or what they’re working on at the moment. We know that we do it because we must, that we don’t know where our ideas come from, or that we’d rather not discuss a work in progress. Non-writers, however, aren’t privy to this knowledge. They ask these questions or comment absurdly on the writing world, our world. What are these questions and comments? What do you want to say? How should you? Let’s discuss.

You’re still writing?

What you want to say: “No, I suddenly lost all my passion and resigned myself to a life without my creative outlet. I’m dead inside, thanks for asking.”

What you should say: Nothing, just smile and nod. Explaining passion to someone who has the audacity to ask such a question is a waste of time.

I’m thinking about writing a book (or other various forms).

What you want to say: “Don’t. It’s mentally draining, time consuming, and impossible for more than a select few to earn a living at. You want a hobby? Take up knitting.”

What you should say: “Great! The creative process is the best outlet I have. I’d love to give you some advice when you start.”

What are you working on now?

What you want to say: (Insert five-minute monologue about the main character and story arc here)

What you should say: (Give them your one sentence hook instead)

Where do you get your ideas?

What you want to say: “From a belligerent muse that sits in the corner drinking cheap whiskey and smoking cigarettes. As long as I keep both on hand, he’ll keep the stories coming.”

What you should say: “Well, every writer has their own process…” You know what? Give them the belligerent muse line.

Oh, I’ll have to watch my grammar around you!

What you want to say: “If I went around checking everyone’s grammar, I’d have to quit my day-job.”

What you should say: “That’s okay, listening to you speak naturally will help me with realistic dialogue.”

When is the book coming out?

(This is only annoying to those of us that don’t have a publishing deal or aren’t ready to self-publish.)

What you want to say: “As soon as I finish writing it, spend six months searching for an agent, wait another six months to find a publisher, then get to fix the novel that I thought I was done writing.”

What you should say: “In time.”

Do you know any famous writers?

What you want to say: “Obviously not or I’d have a literary agent.”

What you should say: “No. Why? Do you?”

I don’t read much.

What you want to say: “It shows.”

What you should say: “Really? You should try (insert name of author you genuinely believe they would enjoy).”

I hope you don’t write about me!

What you want to say: “I try to have interesting characters.

What you should say: *wink* “What makes you think I haven’t already?”

Obviously, these are in jest. Remember not to use any of these comments on your loved ones. They are patient and supportive while we are toiling away at that next masterpiece, return the favor. Until next time, remember to follow your dreams, even if they terrify you.

Stephen Roth

A Grand Entrance

Today, I’d like to take a detour from our usual writing related topic in favor of a story that is near and dear to my heart. It’s a story I’ve told a number of times in the three weeks since its occurrence. Why is that? Well, it’s a doozy of a story, if I can say so myself (and I can since I was there). This is the story of how Wyatt James Roth entered the world.

For the past nine months my wife has been carrying our fourth child within her womb. It was a surprise pregnancy that came when our minds were still set on getting her health back to 100% after a noncancerous brain tumor was removed. Three or four years ago, we had decided to try for another little bundle of joy. Over time we had realized that it wasn’t meant to be and went about our lives, loving and raising our three daughters. Of course, for reasons that escape me now (and her likely as well) we didn’t go back on birth control.

I won’t go into detail about the journey of fear and faith we went through while she was in the hospital in Kansas City for the surgery to remove the tumor and later at home for the therapy to bring her back to normal—asking me to do so is asking me to relive the darkest days of my life. Know that one was conquered, while the other renewed. As I see it now, God thought we deserved some good after months of trials and tribulations. That came in the way of child number four.

Jokes ran rampant amongst our families during the nine months that Baby Roth grew in her stomach. “At this rate Stephen will be delivering the baby.” You see, my wife has been called a baby making machine (the words of one of the nurses who was present for the birth of Adelynn, baby #3). Each delivery has been faster than the previous. A worrying fact considering how quickly Avery, baby #1, entered the world. My sister in-law, who has a four-month-old daughter in which the delivery was over thirty hours, quipped, “All your deliveries don’t add up to that!” I don’t have to do the math to know she’s right. Adelynn, baby #3, was born just over an hour after my wife awoke me in the middle of the night. Luckily, in that instance I had the forethought to warn the nurse of the rapid progression that had flustered previous nurses and planned on doing the same this time around. I didn’t get that chance.

“At this rate Stephen will be delivering the baby.” It was only a joke. Now? Well…

Fast forward to May 27, 2021, one week from the due date. My wife had an appointment with her OBGYN that morning. Everything looked good. 3cm dilation and 70% effaced. I was thinking today might be the day, as she had gone into labor on the day of a doctor visit before. Sure enough, I got a text from my beloved later that her contractions were bad and five minutes apart. I grabbed the ready-bag and jumped in the car to pick her up from the in-law’s house. While I was there, I gave the girls a hug and we were off to the hospital.

As we got into the car, I thought about how strange it was to be heading to the hospital in the daytime—our three girls were born in the wee morning hours after little or no sleep. However, they say that boys are different. Right they are.

By the time we got to the hospital, I was sensing that it might not be the time. Her contractions had lightened in severity and distanced themselves. When she was checked in the hospital room by a doctor, she was still at 3cm. They waited an hour and checked again. Still the same. At that time, they started talking to her OBGYN about the next step. While she laid in the hospital bed, the contractions had distanced to a span of one every twenty to thirty minutes. The doctor came in and asked us how we felt about going home, which I had been expecting since a similar scenario played itself out with Abigail, baby #2. “Yes, if you think that’s right,” was the gist of what we told the doctor.

Now, herein lays the single problem I have with the way things played out. As they were talking about sending us home, which we agreed was the right call at the time, an hour had passed since she was last checked. For most women that wasn’t likely a problem. For the woman dubbed a baby making machine? Fuhgeddaboudit. You better check or else. Or else what? You’ll see.

Anyway, they sent us home with a warning that contractions were likely since she had been checked three times in a single day. She had two contractions as she got dressed. Hmm, interesting. Two more on the way to the car. Okay. Several more on the drive home. Uh, really? They said this would happen, so it was normal, right? That was what we talked about in the car on the way home. It was normal, right?

When we got home, I knew we were likely headed back to the hospital within a few hours, a la baby #2. But we had time for some grub, right? We ordered soup and sandwiches to keep it light, because, hey, she might be having a baby tonight. Soon after ordering, I realized it was likely a mistake. The contractions had increased in strength and frequency since we arrived home. She went to lay down in bed, while I had second thoughts about going home without insisting THEY CHECK HER.

The food arrived while she was breathing through the discomfort on the bed. Great! Who’s hungry? Not my wife, because she just vomited into the trashcan. I had a flashback to Abigail, baby #2, again. You see, when we were sent home with Abigail, we had enough time to eat a late dinner before going back to the hospital. That dinner ended up in a trashcan in the birthing room while the nurses were out of the room prepping for delivery—hence my warning to the nurse with Adelynn, baby #3. When she was done vomiting, I knew two things were true. 1) We needed to get to the hospital. 2) We needed to do it quickly.

I threw the food in the fridge, grabbed the trash bag full of vomit, and escorted the wife to the car (oh, the bag O’ vomit went into the dumpster, if you’re wondering). On the drive to the hospital, I encountered two slow moving drivers that happened to be side-by-side, because isn’t there always when you’re in a hurry? Great. Luckily, the drive was a short one. Was it short enough? Well, I wouldn’t be telling you this story if it was.

Eventually, I turned onto a different road, escaping the slow-moving duo. It was the home stretch; the hospital was a few minutes away. As I was preparing to turn onto the side street where the hospital’s parking garage was located, when my wife said the words I had been fearing. “My water just broke.” Luckily, she had the forethought to grab a towel from the linen closet, saving our seat in the process. Unfortunately, having been present for all her deliveries, I knew that the minutes between water breaking and hearing the first cries of a baby could be counted on a single hand.

I turned into the parking garage and started looking for the expectant mother parking. We had been fortunate enough earlier in the day to find such a parking spot. However, all were full as I scanned the parking garage. “Hurry, just park!” she said. “Where?” I thought or maybe said, I don’t remember. I continued along, following the arrows and panicking. Finally, an empty parking spot, and not just one but three.

I pulled into one of the three spots and went around to help her out of the car. “No, I’m not going anywhere. He’s coming!” she said as she stood beside the minivan.

“Should I get help?” I asked her.

“I don’t know. He’s coming!”

I scanned the parking garage for anyone that might be able to get help. It was empty. There was a door some thirty feet away. I hurried over to it. The door was made of glass, revealing a long corridor that disappeared around a corner. If I went in there, I wouldn’t be able to see my wife. No, that was no good. Next to the door there was a metal box with a picture of a phone and sign that said “emergency phone” on the front. I looked at the metal box in confusion. I touched the box. No obvious phone, nor were there hinges to indicate a lid or some other opening. Was it magic? Well, I’m not Harry Potter and Hogwarts never sent me a letter, so I abandoned it.

When I looked at my wife, I realized I had been away from her for too long. Later, I would find out she was busy pushing our son’s head out while I was busy with the door to nowhere and the magic box. I ran back to her side. She proceeded to tell me that his head is out and he’s coming. Thinking quick, I opened the sliding door of the minivan and flipped the captain seat back and out of the way. “Sit down,” I said to her. She didn’t want to. I insisted a few more times before giving up.

In a last-ditch effort to get help, I pulled out my cellphone and dialed the hospital’s number. I sighed in exasperation as I got an automated voice giving me options that I couldn’t comprehend in my panicked state. While I was holding the phone with my left hand, I was feeling between her legs with my right hand. Yes, the baby’s head was out.

Now, I’ve told this story several times in person to other men, husbands and fathers alike. Some have voiced their awe that I did what I did, while voicing their inability to do it themselves. Hogwash, I say. That’s the woman I love and the mother of my children. In her time of need am I present and responsive or absent and inactive? You can either be the man who caught the baby or the fool who stood and watched while she reached between her own legs and grabbed that baby—I don’t know about other women, but that’s the way my wife would’ve done it. I know my answer.

Decision made, I tossed the phone onto the passenger’s seat of the van and knelt on the dirty parking garage floor. His head was fully out at that point, yet still held in place by the tight fit leggings she was wearing. The time for modesty was well passed, so I pulled her pants down, she even helped with a shaky hand. A final push from my wife and his torso was visible. At that point I grabbed him underneath the arms and pulled him free (probably not the best technique, but it beats landing on the concrete).

I pulled him close to my chest and patted his back. He let out a warbly cry in response. Then he peed on my shirt, which was already damp from the birthing process. I was about to take off my shirt to wrap him up, because we’re in a parking garage, you know, when my wife handed me the towel she had been sitting on in the van. Yeah, that was probably better than displaying my Dad Bod for the entire hospital to see.

So, there we were, my wife with her pants around her knees, while I’m kneeling in front of her holding a naked baby wrapped in towel. A naked baby that had since stopped crying, mind you. Perfectly ordinary, right? Well, it certainly seemed that way, because we had to stop a stranger walking by to ask them to alert the hospital, which she kindly did. As we waited, a car pulled into the empty space next to the one we were standing in. Two men got out and walked towards the hospital without batting an eyelash. People are in their own worlds these days or so it seems.

Remember when I said that Wyatt had stopped crying? Well, evidently the hospital had alerted a response team via an overhead page. They were listening for a crying baby.

Kneeling on concrete for ten minutes isn’t comforting to the knees, so I decided to try to stand. My beloved reminded me that I couldn’t do that because the umbilical cord was still attached to the placenta that had yet to be delivered. No problem, kneeling on concrete while holding my newborn baby boy wasn’t so bad. I was still kneeling when an off-duty nurse who had heard the page on her way out of the building approached us. After making sure that both mother and baby were doing well, she was able to get into quick contact with security. We owe a debt of gratitude to that off-duty nurse, who returned to check on both mother and baby the next day, this time in their room.

The response team was there within a minute of being made aware of our location. No less than a dozen nurses and staff members swarmed us. They loaded my wife, now carrying Wyatt in her arms, into a wheelchair. There was a spare wheelchair, and a nurse offered to give me a ride because I looked pale. Having made the long walk to the birthing and delivery floor once already, I agreed.

During the day and half stay in the hospital, it seemed everyone who entered the room commented on the delivery. “You’re the one that delivered in the parking garage.” It’s a story that we’ll likely be telling for a long time. The story of how I held him first (just kidding, honey). That’s the story of Wyatt James Roth and his grand entrance.

The picture at the top of the page was taken by my sister-in-law upon visiting Wyatt in the hospital and was where this story happened. The post today was longer than normal, but I hope you didn’t mind. I sure didn’t. Until next time, remember to follow your dreams, even if they terrify you.

Stephen Michael Roth

The Long & Short Game

Yesterday, I finished reading the first draft of my horror novel, tentatively titled Reel Ghost (not a typo but an intentional play on words). At 136K words, it’s far longer than any story I’ve tackled in my many years writing about fictional people doing fictional things. No doubt it will go on a diet during the drafting/editing process; yet will remain a lengthy beast of a story when finished. I prefer a period away from a writing project after the first draft before I set about ripping it to shreds during the edit. This time around I spent that time editing a few short stories I had written before the novel. The longest of those short stories came in around 6K words, a far departure from the project I was taking a break from.

Working on three stories that were less than *pause to check and recheck math* 5% of my previous project was an experience I hadn’t been prepared for at the onset. Over the last few years, I have focused my attention on obtaining the seemingly unobtainable goal of becoming a traditionally published author (we’ll save the debate about traditional publishing vs self-publishing for another day). Naturally, a novel is the best way to achieve such a goal. Therefore, I have spent more time on novels and less time on the short stories where I honed my craft. I was focused on the long game—the novel—while getting lax with the short game—the short story.

“But both are stories! Aren’t all stories the same?” you say. Well, no, as a matter of fact, they aren’t. I will say that both need to contain the elements that all successful stories must have (voice, plot, effective characters, conflict, setting, beginning, middle, end, etc.). However, the nature of which a writer tells a short story is much different. In a novel there is room to expound on a subject to the writer’s content. The writer of the short story is awarded no such luxury, as the limited wordcount requires conciseness. A novel is like running a marathon, whereas a short story is a sprint. Sure, both involve running but any runner will tell you that the skills involved and the mindset for each are vastly different. If a runner starts a marathon at a blistering pace, they’ll likely run out of steam before reaching the finish line. A runner taking a leisurely pace in the 100-yard dash would have equally disastrous results, being left in the dust out of the gate as his competitors finish.

Writing a story with the wrong mindset can be disastrous for both the story and the writer. I spent most of my early twenties writing short stories to build my resume of publishing credits for an eventual novel. Spending more than a couple years focused on the short game meant a grim awakening when I decided the time had come to write the novel. That realization: writing a novel is hard. Brilliant, I know. Looking back, I’m not surprised I failed to complete those first few novel attempts, after all, I was a sprinter running a marathon. I was fast and furious out of the gate, straight into the rising action of the plot instead setting a comfortable pace by laying the groundwork of character and eventual conflict. Those first novel attempts were all abandoned, and some with a heartbreaking number of words and time spent in a futile effort to curtail the flailing efforts of a writer out of his depths.

I did eventually finish a novel and submit it to a few literary agents. The consensus was no. Of course, those agents were right. That was more than ten years ago, and I’ve grown as a writer and a storyteller since then (yes, those are different). It was a halfway decent idea written by a halfway decent writer, and this was a scenario where two halves didn’t equal a whole. No matter, we learn from our failures and I’m filled to my receding hairline with knowledge.

(A short aside for you young writers out there. I did a few things right and a lot more wrong in my younger days. Attempting to find my voice writing short stories? Right. Quitting multiple novels? Wrong. Only querying three agents when I did finish a novel? Wrong. Deciding that I wasn’t good enough and going back to writing short stories? Wrong, at least in part. Remember that attempting part of the first question? Well, I found my true voice while writing short stories the second time around. As for the deciding I wasn’t good enough part, well, I think we all have a voice inside our heads that is afraid of being rejected, of not being good enough for others or even ourselves. The best thing you can do, writer or not, is locate that annoyingly negative voice and rip out its tongue.)

Like I said earlier, I’ve dedicated the last few years in pursuit of a career as a novelist. When I have spare time between drafts of novels, I try to write as many short stories as I can. In the years that I focused solely on the short game, the average story was 3-4K words, with a few exceptions on both sides of that spectrum. Those are easily readable lengths that most magazine editors desire when space is at a premium. The short stories have gotten longer with my continued focus on the long game. I’ve found myself wanting to give as much detail as possible, while creating a fully developed character in the process. Of course, those things happen all the time in short stories, though keeping it brief can frustrate the most talented of writers. The script had flipped, this time around I was playing the short game with a long game mindset.

So here we are, the original plan for this post. Call them suggestions, tips, or general rules to follow when approaching the long and short games.

Novel (the long game)

Set a wordcount goal. Most writers that have been doing the deed for any length of time likely already do this. If you don’t, it’s a good suggestion, especially when tackling the marathon-like novel. Setting a wordcount goal is akin to a runner picking out an object, say a tree in the distance, and shooting for that rather than focusing on the 26.2 miles that lay ahead. When you get to the tree, pick out another target. Personally, I set both a daily goal (1K-2K words depending on the day) and a weekly goal (10K).
Have a plan. I’m not suggesting that pantsers should morph into planners by any means (for more information on plotter vs pantser click here). Yet knowing what you’re going to write before you sit down at the keyboard can expediate the process. I take a plantser (plotter/pantser hybrid) approach to novels. Several pages of notes that include character details and plot highlights are written before I start writing chapter 1. I also tend to plan 2-3 chapters ahead, so I know where I’m going, but still have creative freedom to scrap it on a whim (which does happen).
Take a break. No, not a long break. I speak from experience when I say that a long break from a novel can become permanent. Think of it more as a timeout. When focusing on a novel, I write 6 days a week and take 1 day off (usually Sunday). Troublesome storylines and unfulfilling characters can happen during the writing process. Often, I’ve solved these issues while my mind was elsewhere.
Remember it’s a marathon, not a sprint. Writing a novel is a long-term project that can’t be finished overnight. The first draft of Reel Ghost took around five months to complete. The subsequent drafts and edits will likely take the same amount of time—at least for me. Days can drag and you’ll find yourself looking in the distance for the finish line, only to find it isn’t in sight. Do yourself a favor, enjoy the process.

Short Stories (the short game)

Omit needless words. It’s true this is a piece of advice that should be carried into all facets of writing. Yet it should be taken into particular account considering the limited wordcount of short stories. After all, as a writer you’re combating the reader’s waning attention span and a literary magazine’s print space (or lack thereof).
Be mindful of your pacing. Having a story rejected is a harsh reality for a writer, but seeing comments attached to the rejection can offer an outsider’s perspective on the story. Years ago, I received a rejection with one such critique. The editor complimented my writing and several aspects of the story. The problem? According to the editor two scenes in the story were too long (his words). Confused because I remembered the story, I opened my Word document and doublechecked. All sections in the story were within two hundred words of each other, with the two in question falling in the middle. The sections weren’t too long per se, but rather dragged and slowed the pace. These sections contained character building elements and plotline developments integral to the story. A short story needs to deliver these elements in as concise a package as possible (omit needless words, remember?) or you might get an email stating “Thank you for submitting your story, but…” Also, it might be a good idea to save that two-hundred-word piece of dialogue for something else, like a novel.
Experimentation is fine. Ever wanted to write a first-person story from the perspective of a zombie? Perhaps you’d like to try your hand at writing science fiction. The short story is a wonderful conduit for stretching your creative muscle. If the story doesn’t work out? Hey, no big deal, you’ve only wasted a few days, not the months it takes to write a novel. Be prepared if you’re planning to sell your story to a magazine, however, not all editors are open to experimental work if you happen to stretch the preconceived notion of normal.
Remember it’s a sprint, not a marathon. I tend to write short stories fast and furious, then slow down for the editing process. Have a weekend to yourself and don’t know what to do? A five-thousand-word story should keep you busy. The beauty of a short story is in its briefness, which is what makes them so difficult to write. Yet with practice the short game can be mastered (I’ll let you know if I ever get there).

The wordcount tells me it’s time to end, dear reader. Until next time, remember to follow your dreams, even if they terrify you.

Stephen Michael Roth

A Horrifying Mind

I am in possession of a horrifying mind. It’s both a blessing and a curse to have thoughts that instantly turn to the dark and macabre side of life. While on vacation a few weeks ago, my 13-year-old daughter and niece of the same age played in the ocean jumping waves and drifting ever so slowly away from the shoreline. My mind drifted to the rip tide warning and their foreseeable demise because of teenage obliviousness. All ended well (though they did receive a stern lecture from my wife, who went Mom/aunt mode). The knowledge of the ocean’s dangers and the strength of the tide was both a blessing and a curse during those five days on the Florida beach.

Yet there is something else in this horrifyingly macabre mind that I must share with you, dear reader. Like the knowledge that the ocean is both beautiful and deadly, it is a blessing and a curse.

I know what scares you.

The sound that emanates from another room in a house where you are supposed to be alone. You clutch yourself tighter as a chill courses through your body. The room catches your gaze as you contemplate investigating.

Shadows cling to the edges of a dimly lit parking garage as you hurry to your car. The support columns make a perfect hiding place for someone or something…

The black SUV with the tinted windows made identical turns as you and remains in your rearview mile after mile. It’s probably someone who lives in your neighborhood on their way home after a long day’s work. It’s nothing, nothing. Probably.

A young child stares at you with blank eyes while in a crowded space. There are many people around, but for some reason you have caught this youngster’s attention. You smile to deflect your unease. The child only stares back. Your brow gets sweaty as you avert your eyes, though you keep checking. Still the child stares.

The circus is in town for the weekend. Naturally, you take your family. A fun time is had by all. That is until the clowns make their way into the audience. Your pulse quickens as you watch them get closer and closer.

THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! Comes a sound that reverberates throughout the house. You sit up in bed, suddenly wide awake. Someone is at the front door. A glance at the clock reveals a time in which no good news is unleashed.

A basement. Damp and dark and without lights.

If asked, you’d say you don’t believe in ghosts. Yet you cross to the other side of the street when passing that long-abandoned house. It’s the subject of whispers and rumors. You don’t believe it, of course. Your footsteps quicken while stealing glances out of the corner of your eye, nonetheless.

You stop for a bite to eat in a quaint little burg just off the highway while on a road trip. The streets aren’t exactly deserted, though the few people you do see return your gaze with icy glares of their own. On second thought, you aren’t hungry after all. What’s a few more miles?

Alexa/Siri suddenly speaks from across the room, answering a question you hadn’t asked. The room falls silent as your brain starts churning this over. If she is always listening, what else does the AI know?

You’re tossing and turning beneath the soothing fabric of your sheets in bed. Yet for an unknown reason you have awakened ever so slightly with a sense of unease. Your fluttering eyes catch glimpses of a small figure standing by your bedside. Now sitting up, you turn to see your child staring at you with a sleepy gaze. You wait for them to speak as your heart beats irregularly.

An elevator lurches as it starts its descent from the top floor of a high-rise building. It’s empty, other than you, of course. The pocket computer that is your cellphone has amazing reception all around the country, except in the elevator for some unknown reason. You look up at the surveillance camera wondering if anyone is truly manning the security desk, and if they’re awake.

While out about the town you have an encounter with someone claiming to know you. They know your name and even specify where you met. You have no recollection of this person despite your best efforts. Are you losing your mind? Or is something dastardly afoot?

If none of these rendered your spine tingled or your flesh speckled with goosebumps, don’t worry. There’s more in this horrifyingly macabre mind. However, I’ll save those for our next meeting in the confines of the imaginary world we create when writer and reader connect. In the meantime, I’ll return to the written page, pen in hand—my weapon of choice—to bring your fears to life, if only in your mind.

Because I know what scares you, even if you don’t.

I’ll see you on the written page and perhaps in your dreams. Thanks for reading. Remember to follow your dreams, even if they terrify you.

Stephen Michael Roth

When Plans Change

As I write this I’m sitting propped up in bed, listening to midnight waves crash on the beach while my wife sleeps soundly beside me (I didn’t use the word snore, but thought it). Even on a family vacation the need to put pen to paper or fingers to keyboard is a strong one. When it calls, I listen. By the time this is posted I’ll be back in the land of Oz, ready to start the grind that is editing a novel. For now, however, my mind is on the beach and how plans are nothing more than a sandcastle built during the day that will undoubtedly be washed away at the coming of the tide.

Someone asked me if I was still writing the blog recently. I responded with “not really.” If you’re a follower of the blog and have missed it, I’d like to apologize for its absence (and thanks, by the way). The truth is I haven’t been maintaining the website with even half-hearted attention, let alone writing new blog posts. The reason for that will be explained in the coming paragraphs. It wasn’t a planned absence, but one of necessity.

The previous ten months have taught me a lot about coping with situations that not only didn’t go according to plan but weren’t in the plans in the first place. In June of last year my wife was diagnosed with a tumor at the base of her brain. She survived thanks to emergency surgery performed by the team of doctors and nurses at the University of Kansas Medical Center. Life is a bit different than before—difficulty swallowing has been the biggest struggle for her—but enjoyable, nonetheless.

Then we received unexpected news. She was pregnant with our fourth child. It was hard wrapping our collective brains around having another child at our ages (we’re at that age where only senior citizens think we’re young, but our kids think we’re geriatric). Four kids. All looking at us as the responsible adult-type person who shall be the biggest influence on their lives. Sure, we had talked about an addition a few years ago, but moved onward when nothing materialized.

After the initial shock wore off—which happened around the time of the first ultrasound—we were excited about our new addition and ready to embrace the challenges of a six-person family. Our three daughters are ready to help by changing diapers, feeding bottles, and generally loving the new baby, even if it is a stinky boy.

A two-week hospital stay in an unfamiliar city wasn’t in the plans, neither was the physical therapy that followed. Adding another child might have been a plan (I would prefer to think of it as a vague idea at best) three years ago but had faded from the forefront of our minds. That’s how life works, as I’m sure you’re aware. Sometimes life throws obstacles that you aren’t prepared for, leaving you to adapt or face the consequences. Other times there seems to be a bit of a delay in the realization of certain plans coming into being. It can create a certain hiccup in our giddy-up due to the poor timing. Yet isn’t a delayed result on a plan—or dream if you get where this is going—better than none?

Obstacles. Delays. Changing plans. The past ten months of life have mirrored my writing life as of late. The plans in that writing life could be described as ambitious dreams to those not inside the mind of this writer. A modest career as a writer with a small but loyal fanbase without the added hassle of working a “real job” was the plan (if you read dream here, that’s fine, just keep that four-letter word to yourself). By the way, most dreams are about handouts and charity that people haven’t earned; what I want I have already devoted a lifetime of hard work to achieving.

Those plans of a career in writing were made by a single man many miles down the shoreline of the beach that is life. Now I walk amongst sandcastles and water toys as a married father of three, with a fourth on the way, yet the plan remains. There have been rejected short stories by magazine editors, rejected novels by literary agents, and more self-doubt than one person should be able to produce. Obstacles.

Included in the larger plan (that’s really a goal) was a series of smaller bullet points to achieving said plan—because plans should always have bullet points and goals should always have steps. Bullet point number one was getting my first short story published in a literary magazine, which was achieved with greater ease than I can fathom in hindsight. I wrote and submitted five short stories to literary magazines at the age of nineteen. These were the first stories I had written with the forethought of having another living soul lay their eyes upon them. One of these was selected for publication. Seven long years would separate publication number one from two. Self-doubt can cripple a spirit under those circumstances. Indeed, mine has suffered breaks and sprains, but somehow survived. Eventually, the publications came after I had worked out just what type of writer I was going to be. Delays.

The bullet point regarding building a respectable resume of publications took longer to achieve than I ever dreamed. Yet I consider it done. Next, I turned to the novel, which had always intimidated me as a writer of the artform that is the short story (yes, I believe it’s an artform at its core). I won’t bore you with the details of my failures as a novelist (look at some of my previous posts if you’re interested) but will summarize instead. I wrote three middle grade horror novels and queried two of those—the third was a sequel to one of the other novels. More than a hundred literary agents received a query regarding those novels. One full request and a pass was the result. I have it upon good information that my queries were solid. It’s either the writing or the story.

Earlier I wrote about self-doubt in an earnest and open manner. Years reading other writers—both traditionally published and non—have taught me that I am capable of a traditionally published writing path. Egotistical or self-awareness, I’ll let you be the judge (and I would counter that Stephanie Meyer is proof that a traditionally published author needs only a miniscule amount of writing talent). The ability to write a coherent sentence isn’t an elusive skill. Millions of people around the world possess it. Many of them are fledgling writers as well. If you possess the ability to write a sentence without tripping over your fingers, voice and story are more important.

If writing ability isn’t the problem (and I assure you that it isn’t) then it must lay with either voice or story. In writing middle grade horror, I’ve gone with a straightforward and readable voice (sounds boring, right?). Honestly, it could be the voice, though I’m not sure I’d fix it within the boundaries of that genre. When it comes to the elements of story in those two novels, well, I feel like I brought my two best batters to the plate in a key situation and watched them strikeout. Those were the best stories that have ever spilled out of this head for that genre. If they weren’t good enough, fine. Change of plans.

It’s true that I have always enjoyed writing middle grade horror—still do, in fact—and my weary bones have always felt comfortable in its macabre waters. Yet I have also envisioned a reality that allowed me to publish both middle grade and adult horror (Yes, that is a bit farfetched and dreamy, but, hey, aren’t your dreams?). Even while writing middle grade horror I still maintained a connection to adult horror by writing short stories (by the way, nothing is harder than writing a 140K word novel then turning around and trying to squeeze an entire story in less than ten percent of that). With the failures of my middle grade stories, I decided to switch things up. I would focus on horror.

That brings me to the reason I stopped maintaining the blog/website. Trying to salvage something out of my writing career by switching to adult horror required my full attention. I tried to maintain the blog for a few weeks, but it was in vain. I wasn’t meeting my weekly wordcount goal, thus something had to give. Family time or the blog; that’s what it boiled down to. Yes, that stinks, but it was the right choice.

When I get home from this crazy multi-family vacation, I’m going to settle in and read the first draft. Hopefully, another fulfilled delay can be added to my writing career, with my first published novel. Traditional publishing is my medium of choice, but either way this novel will see readers unlike the middle grade novels that will never see the light of day. It’s time to be read.

The midnight waves have done their duty in lulling me back to sleep. May your dreams be as pleasant as mine are in paradise. And remember to always follow your dreams, even if they terrify you.

Stephen Michael Roth

Staying Focused

At the end of this past summer my middle child moved out of the upstairs bedroom she shared with her younger sister and into what had been my downstairs office. With the room taken over by an eight-year-old, my office moved into a corner of our master bedroom. I did get a new desk out of the deal, so don’t feel too sorry for me. However, being on the main floor of the house hasn’t been an easy transition, especially with three kids and a wife doing remote learning from home (my wife is a teacher). Focus hadn’t been a problem in the dungeon, but of course, I had the house to myself in those days. Now, the struggle is real.

Focusing on your writing without distractions is integral to the health of your story. Writing is about making a connection with a reader when boiled down to the basics. That reader has come to the written page ready to have their imagination tickled by your prose. Checking Twitter every five minutes does them a disservice. The least you can do for that reader is come to the blank page with the respect it deserves.

The following is a list of methods that have helped me focus over the years. This list is by no means complete but is simply a reflection of the methods I have tried. Some of these I still do, while others I don’t. Whether you do or don’t is, of course, your decision.

Close the door

I know there are writers out there that need the hustle and bustle of a café to inspire them to write. However, most writers don’t fall into that category, instead requiring quiet and solitude. If you are lucky enough to have a home office (unlike me) then use it. Whether your writing space is in a home office, the corner of a bedroom, or the laundry room like a young Stephen King, make sure that space has a door. Then close it.

Turn on music

Playing music can eliminate the array of noises that accompany writing in a house with other people. In his book On Writing Stephen King mentions writing to rock-n-roll music, which makes a ton of sense if you have ever read a King novel. I think this suggestion should come with a note of caution. Several years ago, I listened to music while writing to help drown out the distractions of the outside world. However, it became a distraction in itself when I stopped writing to sing along with the music. The problem progressed to the point where I was scrolling through the list of songs in search of my favorites. As you can imagine, I don’t listen to music while writing these days. If you decide to try this out yourself, I suggest lyric free music.

Meditate

Some of you might be scoffing at the notion of meditation. However, a few minutes of quiet contemplation can help relieve the stress of the day thus far, expelling it from the writing experience. In my own personal experience, I have found that my writing sessions go better when I have meditated beforehand.

Eliminate midsession distractions ahead of time

When I sit down to write I have already checked my email and the web has been sufficiently surfed. I already have a big cup of coffee on hand. When I’m introducing a new character, whether major or minor, I try to have a name already chosen and ready for use when I start my writing session. I try to do as much research as possible ahead of time. All of this is an attempt to eliminate distractions during a writing session. Like a beaver damming up a river stops the flow of water, distractions eliminate the flow of words.

The cellphone DOESN’T enter the writing room

I stumbled upon this method on accident. Before a writing session last week, I realized my cellphone’s battery was low. My charger was in the kitchen, so I hooked it up and went to write. During that writing session I realized how often I pause to check something on my cellphone. How many likes does my tweet have? Oh, someone commented on Instagram, I should check it out. To say it had been a distraction is an understatement. If you’re serious about your craft the pocket-sized computer can wait until you’re done.

Any of these five methods are worth a try if you want to improve your focus. I have one last method which I haven’t tried but is still worth passing along. Inform your friends and family that you wish to remain undisturbed while writing. In your house, for instance, you could do this by telling them that if the office door is closed then you’re working. In the case of friends, a text message would suffice. Of course, keeping a daily routine would help to remind everyone that between the hours of 8-12 Stephen is hard at work and not to be bothered.

Best of luck staying focused and keeping that writer to reader connection strong. Remember to follow your dreams, even if they terrify you.

Stephen Michael Roth

The Pros & Cons of Genre Hopping

The act of genre hopping is a hotly debated topic when brought up on social media. Some are strongly for a writer’s creative freedom, while others feel writers should stick to a single genre. First, I would like to differentiate genre hopping from the simple act of switching genres, as the latter is a singular act while the former is a repeated act. Is genre hopping a good idea? I think it falls in a gray area between good and bad that involves the writer making up their own mind. Like most things in life there are pros and cons; let’s explore those.

The Pros of Genre Hopping

Creative freedom

Creativity is the reason why a lot of us get into the act of writing, at least I know it was for me. Yet sticking to one genre can stymie the creative brain when writing about the same subject day after day. Turning to a new genre can help explore ideas and plotlines you might not have considered in the realm of another genre. Having the freedom to write what we want when we want to write it is a big deal for some writers. I know in my own writing life there have been times when the best idea for a story doesn’t fall into the general niche I have come to place myself.

Freshness

Freshness and creative freedom go hand in hand; however, one could argue that the two are separate factors (plus, I really needed another pro point). Writing the same genre every day can be akin to Ground Hog Day for some writers. Hopping to a different genre to freshen up your point of view, especially if the switch isn’t permanent, can do wonders. You may find yourself revisiting the old genre with a revitalized outlook. A daily routine of the same genre writing can grow old and stale to some and a quick change to something else might be just what the creative brain needs to stay on task.

A New Audience

Hopping to a different genre can reach new readers that might otherwise be unfamiliar with the writer’s work. Some of these new readers might consider reading outside the genre if they like the writer’s voice. I must be honest here regarding my opinion on this pro point. Attempting to reach new readers with the hope they will follow you isn’t something I would consider a good reason for genre hopping. There are few writers I would follow no matter the genre they wrote. Stephen King is an example of one such writer, while J.K. Rowling is an example of one that I haven’t followed. If reaching a new audience is a big deal for you and you don’t care about any carryover reading, consider writing under a pseudonym.

The Cons of Genre Hopping

Familiarity

I believe that in order to write in a genre a writer should first know that genre. This entails reading other writers in that genre as much as possible. After all, if you don’t read inside a genre then how will you know if the story you’re writing hasn’t already been written by another writer. Let me be blunt for a minute. In my opinion, it takes a rather large ego to think you can wrap your brain around the ends and outs of more than one genre at a time.

Alienating Your Old Audience

For this con we will assume that your move to another genre is out in the open rather than under a pseudonym. Readers can have particular tastes when it comes to their reading preferences. For instance, I read almost exclusively horror, though I do alternate between middle grade and adult often. Any deviation from that genre is carefully selected. As I stated earlier, I have made exceptions for some writers and not for others depending on the writer’s voice and the overall story that they wrote outside the genre. I would never abandon a writer for trying something new and different, choosing instead to wait for the next release in the genre that I enjoy. However, I’m not so sure that every reader would agree with me.

Lack of Focus

Hopping from one genre to another multiple times can create a perceived lack of focus in other people’s eyes. A reader or, say, a perspective literary agent might wonder if the writer knows what they want. If you’re not trying to attract a literary agent or are writing purely for the creative outlet, then this con doesn’t apply to you. If you are trying to attract an agent, well, it could serve you well to show some discipline and stick with one genre.

In the end whether you chose to genre hop is a personal decision that every writer has to make for themselves. Don’t base your decision off the musings of some guy of the internet (including this guy), but rather on what fits you. Personally, I prefer to focus on one genre with laser-like precision at a time when it comes to novels. When I genre hop it’s usually in the realm of the short story. If I have hopped around for several short stories, I’ll make sure the last short story is in the same genre as the novel I’m planning to write. That’s what works for me, you could be different. Thanks for reading.

Stephen Michael Roth