Visions in the storm

“But you’ve got a vision.”

If a vision was all it took I’d be a rock star by now. All those years writing songs in my head – I had a vision. But I’m still sitting here behind my computer churning out words for a handful of people to read.

Until the software is developed that allows instant transference from brain to world an idea is not enough. Other skills are needed, be they technical (knowing how to play an instrument) or collaborative (knowing people able and willing to do the playing for you).

A story is perhaps the easiest thing to transfer from mind to reality. We are, after all, taught how to write at school. Computers are all around us. The skills required to either hand-write – because you can still pay for people to transcribe a longhand document onto word-processor – or key in a story are basic and more or less universal. Music, on the other hand, is an order of learning higher.

And so is art. This is my vexation. I have another vision: to design the perfect cover for my own work. I have the image. The idea is real, to me; real enough so I can sketch a design, a rough idea. But taking that from outline to finished project is, at present, beyond me.

These days a writer is not just a writer. They also have to be publisher, designer, accountant, publicist. Some of these skills will come easier than others – but they all take practice, application and, most of all, time: time that could be (better?) spent honing the fundamental skill of writing. I am impatient. I want to get on. I want to write. I can’t afford Photoshop, let alone apply myself to going through the tutorials form rank beginner to competent amateur. I don’t need to be a professional, but I need to create the illusion of professionalism.

A vision isn’t just important, it’s essential. Nothing can be achieved without that shining idea of a final outcome. But don’t mistake an idea for the finished product.

Vision + inertia = nothing.

Vision + graft = result.

The ruiners of bliss

Last week I explained in my usual half-assed, rough-and-ready way, my intention to self-publish. Now I need to confront my demons. I’ve never done anything like this before. I’ve no experience and no talent. And I want to do it properly. In my way stand three great enemies. They must be vanquished before I can proceed. They are:

  • Ignorance
  • Impatience
  • Indolence

and they are the ruiners of bliss.

I’m not bothered about formatting. Although the word ‘Styles’ with regards to MS Word still fills me with trepidation, and though I’ve never been closer than a basilisk’s glance from Createspace or any such software, I can cope with technical demands of formatting. Just tell me what to do and I’ll do it, even if it means going through my manuscript paragraph by paragraph and uplifting a chunk at a time.

No, what fills me with fear is the idea of creating a cover.

I have no artistic talent. I have no skill with Photoshop or any of the other magnificent cover-generating softwares. I have ideas – some possibly even good – and I know what I want. I can see the finished cover in my mind. But how to get from a vision to a reality? I am ignorant. And I don’t want to spend months learning new skills when it feels like a distraction from my real work. Nor do I want to pay to have it done for me. It’s not so much that I resent spending money (although I do), but that I want to do it myself – at least the thrashing-out of the plan, the original outline, which someone better than me subsequently polishes up.

I am also afraid of approaching a stranger. There is a touch of the misanthrope about me. People are scary.

I am ignorant of the ways of art. I am indolent in that I don’t want to take the time to develop said skills. And I am impatient to get it done whilst I have a bit of free time and a mind focussed on the project.

I am also determined not to put out a half-assed job. There are a lot of bad covers out there. I don’t want my work to be considered in their ranks.

So what do I do? The real enemy is not the task in front of me. It is in my head. That strange combination of cluelessness and possessiveness. This is my baby. I just have no idea how to present it at its best; shit, snot and vomit-free.

I want it all. I want a great job done without taking any time to learn how to do it and without spending any money. Is that really too much to ask?

A decision

Oneiromancer is with my beta-readers. I am entering the long, dark, tea-time of the soul and the only answer is more work. After the adrenaline rush of finishing a draft I just want to bury myself in a new project – at least until the feedback comes straggling in and I’m enveloped in another round of editation.

So it’s time to self-publish.

I still like the idea of going through the traditional agented route. I write with the hope of finding a backer who’ll take me onto bookshop shelves. The good thing is that it’s becoming more and common for authors to take both paths; self- and traditional publishing are complimentary, not competitive.

The truth is that I don’t have the time or the energy to push my back-catalogue any more. This is work I believe in, that I’ve spent countless hours on. So I’m faced with a choice: I can put those novels into the bottom drawer and forget about them, or I can try and push them out myself.

I’m not doing this for riches – I’m not so naïve – or for acclaim; I know how few connections I have and – perhaps more to the point – I know how lazy I am, how easily distracted. I’m not planning a great marketing campaign or to spend my weekends shivering ignored at car-boot sales. I’m not even planning on getting hard copies – ebooks are my way forwards, even though it seems like sales have peaked. My sense of timing is, as ever, impeccable.

But I want to get my work into the public domain. I want to call it finished. I want to fill my Twitter-feed with rampant self-promotion and egomaniacal desperation and delusion. And I want to know how it’s done; to go through the process of cover design and formatting and all the other things that I know only from the outside.

And I want to do it without spending any money.

It will be an adventure. It will be a challenge. It will be an experience. And even if I fail, even if I decide it’s all too much for me and I can’t do it to a sufficient standard for it to be worth doing at all, I will at least know that what I’ve been saying on this blog – all my discussions and criticism and analysis – has been based on ignorance and idiocy.

Or I can learn new skills; develop myself and (possibly) my brand, and have new things to talk about on this blog. I can confirm or confront my preconceptions and be able to talk authoritatively about things I’ve so far only guessed at. Either way it will be worthwhile.

And you get to join me through the process. Aren’t you the lucky ones?