I was sitting in one of my favorite Vietnamese restaurants during my lunch our. Within the garbled conversation and slurping of Pho noodles (pronounced fuh, not fo like “What’s up fo”?), I’d heard two middle-age men talking.

“Will they gain the life expectancy back with the time they put in the gym?” a salt-and-pepper haired man said.

“Not likely,” a chubby-cheeked man said.

“They’ve done studies where going to the gym doesn’t extend life expectancy but usually results in more injury,” salt and pepper said.

“It’s just a waste of time,” chubby cheeks said. “I have better things to do than spend my whole day at the gym.”

I wondered how much television they watched and how that was contributing to their quality of life. To some, a lot. To others who like to exercise and have passions outside of creating excuses for themselves, not much.

During my voluntary confinement in my 6 X 6 cubicle, what I’d like to refer to as my day job, my cube mate said, “I’m still carrying weight. I had him like a month ago.”

Her cube mate said, “It’s not like you’re a celebrity.”

One of the things I’ve done as a teacher, as an actor, and now a writer, is listen to what people say and do. You can read a lot about a person by what they’re saying. In both the above cases, excuses are being fed to themselves and each other about not doing something, exercise. But the excuses could’ve been anything:

“I don’t have time to pursue my art.”

“My passions aren’t going to pay for my bills.”

“It’s just a hobby. I can do it anytime. But with work, family…”

“I don’t even know where to begin. And who am I to think I can paint?”

“I don’t have them money to start this.”

I’ve definitely used excuses. What are they good for? Ultimately, excusing yourself from knowing the truth. What might that truth be? How powerful we are.

To attain anything great, we must first realize that we are capable. Once we become too entwined in our own self-doubt, we begin to create roadblocks that actually block us from moving forward.

I can’t tell you how many people widened their eyes and told me how impossible publishing a book can be. But the only way I can become a published author is to first write. If I don’t write and only focus on how difficult the road may be, I’ll never take the first step to get published. Does that mean those thoughts don’t occur in my head? No. I just focus on the task at hand, which is simply to write.

There are pundits at writing conferences that say you have to network, have a web presence, have white teef (teeth for you ghetto challenged), walk the walk, talk the talk, and be one with the all mighty universe (that would be Oprah) to get published.

Be as you wish to seem -Socrates

But none of that is important until I write. Writing to a writer is the most important task. Obvious write (right)? This simple philosophy is lost at writing conferences.

I had just gotten some feed back from a friend who is an avid reader.  And one of the things that was interesting were the questions she’d written on post it notes, placed along the pages of my book.

She had immediately asked questions about what certain things looked like, questions about the culture of my fantasy world, time line, etc. All of this within the first few pages.

There’s a couple ways I can take this. A writer should always ignite questions within a reader’s mind.  That’s a good thing. Create interest.  Reward them by giving the answers or enough to at least spark debates like the movie Inception.

A writing example would be the Davinci Code. Robert Langdon always comes across plot elements that forces us, and him, to ask questions. Why was he called to aid in a murder investigation?  He’s symbologist and the victim has a symbol carved into his chest. Did he do it?  We only met him when he got the call to help, so we’re not sure.  But we find he didn’t because of the victim’s granddaughter. She confirms the French sergeant is trying to pin the crime on Langdon . Who’s the nameless teacher?  We find out at the climax.

On and on with the questions but we eventually find out the answers.

So am I saying I’m just as great a writer as Dan Brown?

As I’ve lent my book out to people, they first see the book as not published and, therefore, not done by a professional.  They’re judging the book not by it’s cover but by it’s credibility.  As a result, they’re not patient enough to let their questions answer themselves, as I’ve made sure to do.

If she had placed the post it notes late in the book, then there would have been storytelling issues I would need to fix.  You can have certain questions linger on, like leaving the butler did it till the climax. Questions that either build the world or help move the plot along should be answered as we move along.

When we look at The Road by Cormac McCarthy, a post apocalyptic novel, we can’t help but ask questions of time, setting, and what brought this disaster? But they’re not answered.  I assume because McCarthy only wants the reader to focus on the father and the son, letting us be the judge of what brought the “flash”. But would my friend question him?  Probably not. McCarthy is, after all, a Pulitzer Prize winning novelist.

So perception is key, and I did ask her to just read it and tell me if she enjoyed it. She said she did, but the post it notes stopped abruptly. Either her questions got answered or she didn’t finish the book. Knowing her, she didn’t finish. And I’m all right with that.  I can’t make everybody happy. I can only make me happy.

And no.  I can’t compare myself to Brown. How can one perfect cherry blossom be better than another?

A movie based on the most beloved children’s book opens this weekend. I remember reading Maurice Sendak’s book Where the Wilde Things Are.  I was taking a short break at work and saw this picture:

In an interview, Sendak was asked what he’d say to parents about the movie being too scary for kids.  His response?

“I would tell them to go to hell. That’s a question I will not tolerate.”

I love that.  Not that I want people to go to hell.  Nor do I believe in a hell, but one that we create for ourselves.  That’s a topic for another post.

I’m tired of parents, or people, telling an author, film maker, or storyteller what their story should or shouldn’t include.  First of all, it’s not those people’s story to tell.  Second of all, authors usually don’t know where their inspiration come from.  What they do know is they have to be loyal,honest, to the stories that are given to them.  Any conformity the author makes, outside of story structure, can destroy the story itself.

J.K. Rowling has been bombarded with upset parents and church groups for writing her Harry Potter novels.  Her books have been on many banned book lists.  A sign that an author has made it. Her response has been the same when questioned about her dark material.  She’s told them not to read her books.  Adventures of Huckleberry Finn written by Mark Twain has been banned.  And that has been considered a great American novel.

If a parent, or anyone, who finds a movie, book, TV show, anything offensive, then ignore it.  Time is too precious to focus on what you don’t like.  Focus on what you do.

Even when a story comes to a writer, and it goes against traditional story structure, then the writer should go with their intuition.  Take the hit book to movie Slumdog Millionaire.  It uses flashbacks to tell most of the story.  I can’t tell you how many books, teachers, and professional writers state flashbacks are a big no no.  It simply takes the threat of death away.  But it worked.  It worked so well that tension was still a driving force in those flashbacks.  That’s because other’s died.  But still, it worked!

Follow your passions.  Follow your intuition.  Great thinkers and leaders do.

About a month ago I got a rejection letter from a big time New York agent.  I’d met him at the San Francisco Writer’s Conference.  He’s been in publishing for years and is an author himself.  On theagent panel,writers had the opportunity to ask them questions on the industry.  If you’re a writer, listen to it.  It has valuable information.

There was a question asked about prologues, and that agent said he hated them.  Other’s liked them, so it shows you how subjective this industry can be.

One of the most vivid images that came to me before 7th Province:  Nightfall came to being was the prologue.  I didn’t even know it would be a prologue.  The thing it did was set up the whole story and character arc, grounded the hero, and it allowed the reader to care for him.  From that scene the 7th Province world exploded.  As it happened, it was the first scene that I wrote.

Man, I remembered being extremely excited.  To this day it’s my favorite scene.

So when the agent expressed his hatred of prologues, I was stunned.  I was going to submit my manuscript to him.  What was I going to do?

The most grossest thing ever.  Yes, I used ‘most’ and ‘grossest’ in the same sentence.  I got rid of my prologue.

“What the hell are you doing?” my gut said.

“I’m succumbing to what others think about me,” I said.

I pitched my book to the agent.  He seemed to like it and asked for my first fitty pages (fifty for those who didn’t get it).  Victory!  I spent the next four weeks revising my book with no prologue and sent it off.  Four weeks later, I received the rejection letter.

For the most part, he liked it.  Then he said the one thing that kills any story.  He didn’t care about the hero.  If a reader doesn’t care about the hero, the main character, then there’s nothing at stake.  Why continue reading?

Go with your gut.  In life going with your gut, your heart, can be the most important thing you can do.  If you can’t trust your own heart, how can you expect others to?  I’ve always trusted my vision in the story.  I’ve always taken others advise with a grain of salt, rewrote when I saw fit.  But when it came to my prologue, my favorite scene, I slammed the door in its face.

Never again.

However, the only time I wouldn’t trust my gut is if my emotions resided outside of being content or happy.  If someone bumped me on the street, and I got pissed off, I’m not going to follow my impulse to beat up the guy.  That’s my ego getting in my way.  If I was happy and content, my impulse would probably be to excuse myself, and we’d go on our merry way.