How to write a novel...(The Secrets)

So you want to know how to write a novel? The secrets behind writing a novel everyone wants to read and talk about for years to come.

You will read, "You have to read your genre and what everyone's doing..."

Go away. No you don't. Because there are so many indie authors out there, whose style is right and whose style is wrong?

You have to devote X amount of hours to writing...

Says who? The person who wrote the article? It may work for them, but will it work for you? So you wasted three hours staring at the computer, (playing farmville, mafia wars, laughing at those funny pictures), and got nothing accomplished. If you don't feel the need to write, then don't waste your time.

You have to write for the market...

*Scratches head* There's a market? Since when was there a market for vampires that sparkle?

Write what you know about...

Yes, that could work.

Write about what you don't know about...

Yes, that could work, too. It's called being creative.

Now, how about writing about absolutely nothing you know something about?

Confused, yet?

You have to buy...

No, you don't HAVE to buy anything.

There is no one way direction when writing. Everyone believes they have their own style. They do. Whether it's a style everyone else wants to read, that's nothing thing.

In my world I can do (on a weekly basis) what so many receive honor for doing, once in their life time. Who cares how long it takes you to write that novel. Is your novel part of a series? If so, wait until you have them all written before releasing them. Say you have a high demand, but it's taking you longer to finish the second one. Will the pressure ultimately make the rest of the books go where they weren't supposed to?

Everyone is too much in a rush to get their story out there. Why? Unless they're completely polished and ready to go, why throw crap out there? Very few are actually able to edit their own work. I am not one of them. I have 20+ manuscripts waiting to be seen by an editor. They are done, with titles, covers and all that fun stuff. Sure, I could put it out as unedited. Why? Would you give a potential boss an unedited resume?

Yes, I may or may not throw one but ONLY one unedited out there and see what happens. But, that's just me.

There are a lot of people telling you to do something and do not do something. It may have worked for them. Will it work for you? You can try it. But, will it be you? Probably not. I don't want to pick up the same book by a different author and it be close to the same thing.

In fact, I don't read my genre. There are very few books I have read. I don't want to be influenced. I type faster than I can read.

So, here is my version...

Write as if you were writing to your kids. (Would you want them to read half the crap that's out there?)
Write for fun. (If you write for work, because you have to, you'll be missing something of importance in your story.)
Writing is about the reflection upon you. Open up and have your characters the things you wished you could do. What is popular today, by the time you're done, will be a thing of the past. Why do the same thing as everyone else? Who knows, you may be the next big thing.

Bi-Polar Chapter 2 (Birth of an Author - Polar)

I don’t remember too much of my grammar school days. I was an outcast. I was picked on. Whatever I did wasn’t good enough. I was always striving at perfection because I wanted my parents to be proud of me.

I slowly sank into depression. I never showed it. If you ask anyone: I was the happiest-go-lucky kid. Deep down inside, I wanted to feel that way.

I remember lots of therapy appointments. I hated each one. It was always someone new. I hated repeating my stories. I hated how I was treated. I was treated as though I wasn’t normal and I was a freak of nature.

If I ever opened up on how I was feeling; ‘You’re not supposed to feel like that.’ Was what I was told. I was told I was too young to have such strong feelings and emotions. How do you think a child is supposed to respond to that? I withdrew from the real world, even more. If no one could understand me, what was the point of wasting my breath?

So, I stopped talking. I sat there, silent, for each hour I had therapy. In my mind, I vowed that’s what I was going to continue to do. And, I did. I refused to open up to anyone.

There were times to where I dreamed about how I would kill myself. I tried the extreme, I failed. Imagine my surprise when I failed at it. I felt even more horrible. I became lost in books and dreamed of a life that I only wished existed.

I remembered being bullied. I remembered being picked on. I remembered what I wore, where we were, what was said, what was done, and who picked on me. That was my entire childhood existence.

All I remember in grammar school is I had my best-friend. He lived right down the street and we did everything together. He leaned on me and I leaned on him. I did have a boyfriend in third grade (I think). We dated the entire school year. I was bullied out of being with him. Why? I felt like I wasn’t good enough for him. I felt he didn’t deserve to be teased, because of me. It killed me inside when I broke up with him because I really did like him.

That was my grammar school.

The Birth of an Author (Bi-polar)

I was never in denial. I was always told there was something wrong. Seeing therapist after therapist, medication after medication, I knew there was nothing in modern science that could help.

I wasn’t myself when I was on the medications. I was a drone that went along with the flow. That wasn’t me. I was beginning to lose all focus of how I perceived the world. I stopped taking my medications.

I refused to see the world how they wanted me to see it. If I couldn’t see it for what it was, then why was it worth living?

I was diagnosed too early to remember. I do remember when I was on the pills, the teachers loved it. I wasn’t vocal and I sat there pretending to pay attention. My friends hated it because they said I wasn’t scared of anything. I would be more daring and live life on the edge.

My grades started to suffer. Which made me even more depressed because I felt like I couldn’t do anything right. Several attempts at suicide, feeling even more of a failure because I couldn’t succeed at that. I gave up.

I made everyone believe I was taking my medicine. I was a great actress. I played the part as though I was on the happy pills. During each session, they said I was doing better and making great progress. I went about my business and lived life. For the most part, I was happy. When they learned, I wasn’t on my medicines; they changed their tone and said they knew it.

I called bullshit and said then why go years in saying I was making progress. They didn’t like that. I pissed off a lot of people because I didn’t fit into the norm of the disease. Back then, I didn’t know what the importance was for them wanting (needing) me to be on happy pills. When they clearly saw I wasn’t happy.

I will admit, by looking back, I had (and still have) highs and lows. But, not according to how they say I should have them. Wouldn’t you be pissed off if you couldn’t go on a much anticipated school trip because your-so-called best friend told a lie? Wouldn’t you pissed off if you found out that your fiancé was having an affair with your best-friend? Wouldn’t you be pissed off if you worked your ass off at a job and you were fired because of discrimination?

They acted like my life should be nothing but a kid amusement park. They acted like I shouldn’t be upset – ever!