The skies are blue and cloudless today. No chance of rain. In case you were wondering.
 
If you’re a writer and you want the best, truest and only advice I can give you on how to be a better writer, here goes: The first rule of Writing Club is, there are no rules. Don’t tell yourself there’s only one way to succeed, or you need to do whatever **** did. Pick your own writing path. If you don’t like where it leads you, pick a different path. If nothing seems to work and you’ve lost your joy for the process, quit.
 
Oops, that last word slipped in unexpectedly. (That happens with these posts, doesn’t it? Glynn and I outline our novels, but these words are frequently spur of the moment.) Life is too short to spend weeks, and months, and years on something that no longer brings you any happiness. When writing becomes a chore, put your pages away and do something else. On occasion, I have. I may yet again.
 
(The guy on the left? H.P. Lovecraft, as I choose to imagine him.)
 
When it comes to writing tips, that’s all the wisdom I have to share. Fortunately, there are some wonderful writers out there willing to offer us all much, much more advice. So let me share a little of it.
 
R.L. Stine believes writers should never use WAS as a verb. If John Steinbeck had been alive to follow those words, think how much better his novels would be. (Kidding, J.S., kidding!) Speaking of John Steinbeck, he believed writers should abandon any hope of finishing their creations and keep writing, anyway. A few decades later, Elmore Leonard commanded that our particular tribe never begin a novel – or, I’m guessing, a blog post -- with the weather.
 
Did I mention the humidity here? Twenty-seven percent today. In your face, Elmore Leonard. (Glynn loves Leonard’s work. Don’t tell him about this, okay?)
 
The Writer’s Digest team implores us to make the last 10,000 words of our novel so fascinating that the reader’s only disappointment is that the book is over – but, having said this, they follow their advice with a marketing pitch. Unfortunately, the WD marketing pitch wasn’t interesting at all.
 
If their advertisement had said, “Also, make the first 10,000 words of your novel so interesting that the reader must go to the second 10,000 words…and then make the second 10,000 words so engrossing that the reader must go to the third 10,000 words…but, by the third set of 10,000 words, what the hell, just pump something out ‘cause nobody reads the middle section” – well, I might have hit the link and pursued their marketing pitch. After all, I’d feel they might have something interesting to share with me, even if it was a little deranged. I could enjoy that.
 
H.P. Lovecraft also had some advice to offer. You probably remember the name, since I’ve mentioned him here in a previous post or six as my go-to author for reading comfort. Or maybe you'll have heard about him because he’s hugely famous. One or the other.
 
I found 316 pages of his wisdom when my friend, Sue, sent me a link to an absolutely free (if you have a kindle) book that came out under his name. It’s called Writings in the United Amateur, 1915-1922 and I say this as a huge fan, it’s mostly interesting as a historical oddity. There are a few Lovecraft poems and many, many story critiques, but I won't be grabbing it when I have trouble sleeping, I'll tell you that. Even at the beginning of the book, I had my doubts that this was a keeper. Lovecraft starts by telling the reader, “The desire to write for publication is one which inheres strongly in every human breast” – and I immediately had my doubts that he was correct. Yes, his statement applied to me. Most days. It applied to Glynn. Not on NFL Sunday, perhaps, but for six days of the week. But did it apply to everyone? Say, to Glynn’s sister?
 
I emailed her and asked. She very kindly wrote back, “I don’t have a deep desire to write for publication” although, as it turns out, if there’s someone out there who’d like to write her fairly interesting life story, she’s open to negotiation.
 
I then texted a family friend, who texted back “?”, as if that was an adequate response to any text message other than, “What is the appropriate symbol for question mark”. I called the Good Witch but her cell phone was turned off/busy/dead, and I was too lazy to go over to her house for her answer. However, since she spent ten minutes yesterday complaining about finding the right words needed to fill out her nephew’s birthday card, I’m guessing she’d disagree with Howard. If I discover differently, I’ll let you know.
 
But here is where Mr. Lovecraft and I do agree: “All attempts at gaining literary polish must begin with judicious reading, and the learner must never cease to hold this phase uppermost. In many cases, the usage of good authors will be found a more effective guide than any amount of precept. A page of Addison or of Irving will teach more of style than a whole manual of rules, whilst a story of Poe’s will impress upon the mind a more vivid notion of powerful and correct description and narration that will ten dry chapters of a bulky textbook.”
 
It’s the second rule of Writing Club. To be a good writer, you have to be a reader. If Lovecraft’s suggestion has given you a sudden urge to read a little Edgar Allan, you can go here to get his complete works as a 99-cent download. 
 
A little something to enjoy on a bright and cloudless day like today.

Glynn is a stud. Maybe not so much in regular life, or so he says, but at doll conventions? Oh, my, yes.
 
When we went to this year's big doll show, I soon noticed a little swagger in his step. When I asked him why, he told me the babes were checking him out. The "babes" that may or may not have been watching him were in their sixties and up, but still. Since I hope to be there one day, I only have respect for those ladies. Plus, they love dolls, I love dolls, we're on the same page.
 
As a side note: In regards to Glynn's general studliness, it should be noted that there wasn't much of a male population at the show. In the couple of hours that we were there, I didn't see many men who were under 70-years old. Most of the ones I did notice appeared somewhat bewildered, as if they weren't certain how they ended up there and, having ended up there, didn't know what to do next. A couple of them had the sad eyes of the condemned. There weren't too many guys who looked like they were enjoying themselves.
 
The male of the species is missing out, if you ask me. Doll collectors are fun, interesting people, and they have such wonderful toys. Plus, there were so many amazing things to see! Everything I looked I found a treasure, from 1930's Shirley Temple dolls to Mattel's Barbie as Wonder Woman or Poison Ivy (2003/2004). I could have spent a fortune there.
 
Unfortunately for me, my eyes were bigger than my budget. If my eyes had been the same size as my budget, I would have had teeny, tiny eyes. (If you wonder how large a human eye SHOULD be, this post will tell you it normally clocks in as the size of a gumball. The same post will tell you many other eye-things, too...did you know you could sunburn your eyeballs?...so it's worth a gander.) Fortunately for me, I met a gifted doll maker who was thinning out her collection to make room in her studio.

Thanks to her, I was able to bring Peggy Carter home --

Oh, relax Disney/Marvel MegaCorp lawyers! I know you aren't collecting royalties from the doll above, and that's because she isn't REALLY Peggy. You get your cash from the official Agent Carter offering --

Here's the thing: my Peggy was created years before the movie version came along. For another, I like my doll much better. Also, my doll cost less than the Funko POP action figure currently being offered on Amazon.com ($8.85. I knew you were wondering.)
 
All in all, I had a lovely day. Hanging with my peeps, I barely thought about the terrible writing advice I was recently given -- but that will have to wait 'til next week.

​Somewhere among these many posts, I believe I talk about Gourd Chicken. Is it awful that I don’t remember all of my blog posts? There are days when I wonder if I’ll forget Glynn’s middle name – which is a scary thought, since “Glynn” IS his middle name.
 
I may have discussed Gourd Fish, instead. Just so that we're on the same page, this is Gourd Chicken:

​This is Gourd Chicken, dressed up for Halloween:

…which is so ridiculous, I had to share it with you. I kind of want to dress up as Death Head Chicken for the holiday, too.

Onward.

One of the many other things I’ve apparently forgotten to talk about here was Carolyn See’s Making a Literary Life: Advice for Writers and Other Dreamers. For those who do remember things, I’d been sick, I went looking for an H.P. Lovecraft anthology to read, and I found Ms. See’s book, instead.
 
It was a book Glynn had picked up, of course. He’s drawn to books about writing, even if he tends to read and discard. Our bookcase had three such volumes the day I went looking. There was Norman Spinrad’s Staying Alive: A Writer’s Guide – Glynn was a big fan of Spinrad, back in the day – and Dean Koontz’ How to Write Best Selling Fiction – which is dated, possibly fatally so, but is an honest attempt to tell a writer exactly how to hit the top of the charts by a scribe who has done so many times – and See’s book.
 
I knew why my partner had saved Spinrad and Koontz, but I didn’t know why he’d kept Making a Literary Life. I picked it up, read the synopsis on the back, and still didn’t know. As far as I knew, Glynn hadn’t read See’s novel, The Handyman, or any of her other works. I flipped through the pages, enjoyed the first few paragraphs I read, flipped again, and discovered that this award-winning author had worked on the t.v. series, Barnaby Jones. Not only had she worked on B.J., she and her partner had received an assignment to do a second episode. I loved that See wrote literary stuff but wasn’t above pounding out an episode of a run-of-the-mill television show to pay the bills.
 
(If you’re a huge Buddy Ebsen fan, or you own the entire Barnaby Jones DVD collection and don’t think there was anything run-of-the-mill about your favorite mystery program, I'm not saying you're wrong. Do know that Ebsen discussed his show in his book, The Other Side of Oz. The actor enjoyed the series, loved that it ran for years, and spent the residuals with a smile on his face. As well he should, since those are lovely things. Ebsen was the best thing on B.J. But he also felt comfortable quoting Walter Grauman, the director behind Barnaby’s first television appearance: “I don’t know,” (Grauman) mused. “This show has got every cliché, every gimmick that’s ever been on any other PI show. There’s nothing new in it.”)
 
Anyway, back to Literary Life: Carolyn See and her partner were in a plotting bind. They’d placed Barnaby Jones in a strip-mall parking lot. He could see two bad guys in one of the mall stores. He needed to sneak up on them, catch them, take ‘em to jail, but he’s old, slow, and not as strong as the bad buys. Since the show is called Barnaby Jones, not Those Lovable Bad Guys in a Jewelry Store, it's important that he succeed. The writers’ problem was – and these are See’s italics – “But how come he can see them and they can’t see him?”
 
I wanted to know, too, so I carried the paperback to my bedroom. Wheezing as I went along, I made some hot tea, propped up my pillows, folded back my blanket, and settled in for the afternoon. Opening the book to the page I wanted, I read See's solution:
 
“I can’t remember how Barnaby managed to catch those crooks”. I was so mad, I closed the book and went to sleep.
 
When I woke up, Literary Life was the only thing within reach, so I gave it another try. It’s an interesting book, with some sincere and heartfelt advice, and was worth my time. I enjoyed it enough that I went looking for online reviews of her novel, The Handyman. There are some wonderful reviews, but I soon discovered that Ms. See passed away this summer. Too soon, I think.
 
​And not wanting to leave this column’s minor mystery unsolved, I asked Glynn why he’d kept this third book of writing advice. At first, he looked at me blankly. Then he said, “Oh. Haven’t read it yet.”
​ 
I told him he’s going to love the section on Barnaby Jones.

​If you’re wondering, the Good Witch was not impressed with last week’s blog. As it turns out, I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone I was doing an infomercial, and the *bam* only made things worse. I was supposed to slip the pitch in all sly-like, but she couldn’t tell me exactly why. Just that I was. Apparently, there are rules to such things.
 
Then she wanted to know if sales had gone up (despite my faux pas) and I had to tell her, I didn’t really know. I don’t check our story sales. You should have seen her eyes roll.
 
It’s been that kind of week.
 
When I told Glynn I had the perfect title for our next story – a title which is presently doubling as the headline for this week’s blog – I think he wanted to roll his eyes, too, but he knew better. He didn’t want another week of Taco Bell Fresco Burritos for supper. Instead, he reminded that we’d just polished the full outline for the next novella in our “One Bride” series. Just in case I might have forgotten.
 
Then he mentioned that, over our month-long break from the series, we’d made some significant progress on our mystery novel. It’s zooming along, it’s well over halfway completed, and it’s penciled in as our next-next project. As if I was unaware.
 
Knowing all of this, I still pleaded my case. Lovecraft Goes West, which is what he called it, would be a one-off. I told him I visualized it as a short story, maybe 6,000 words at the most, taking less than a month to complete. We’d put it out there, it wouldn’t matter if it sold ANY copies (sorry, G.W.), but the ridiculous idea would be out of my head. I’d have scratched that particular itch.
 
An itch that is still unsatisfied, I tell you now.
 
In my heart, I realized my partner was absolutely correct. Not only do we need to tackle our current projects, I truly want to do so. They excite me. Except…well, those projects are going to take months to complete, they just will, and it would be fun to do something that came together more quickly. Especially if it was silly.
 
Before I made my plea, Glynn had been looking at that day’s newspaper. Wednesday’s FRAZZ comic strip happened to address the very topic we were discussing. In the strip, the adorable school custodian (named Frazz, I’m guessing) is wiping a table while talking to a cute little girl, whose name I don’t know. I hadn’t read the comic strip in the past and, after this incident, it’s not at the top of my reading list for the near future, either.
 
Anyway. In the first panel of the strip, the little girl says, “If you chase two rabbits you won’t catch either one.” She’s only a little girl. They haven’t taught her about the proper use of commas, yet.
 
Yes, through some cosmic coincidence, Glynn was able to use a comic strip to further his point. I feel a little bitter; you don’t see me using PEARLS BEFORE SWINE as a way to argue that we need more vintage Barbies in the house. But fine, I get it. The Universe was making a point, and I’ve accepted it. We’ll complete Flora’s story, then the mystery, THEN Cthulu. If someone else hasn’t jumped in to write the thing first.
 
To soften the blow, Glynn mentioned that maybe I could use the first panel of FRAZZ for the image of this week’s blog. It would be fun, it would be fitting, and I wouldn’t have to scramble to find a picture to post. I thought that was a solid idea, so I emailed Jef Mallett, the artist, to see if he’d give us permission. I never heard back. My guess is, Jef is occupied, busily chasing one rabbit. And good for him.
 
So I went looking for a public domain image that might fit and found the lovely Adventures into the Unknown cover at Comic Book Plus. It's no FRAZZ, I admit, but it's a lot of fun.