My friend and sometime antagonist Don Merritt advised me quite a while ago that when seeking more readership for a blog, we need to strictly define our topic. He, for instance, has split his blog in two. One blog is on writing. The other is where he tackles anything that's not about writing.

As yet, I haven't followed his advice, because I  don't see a distinction between writing and engaging the spirit. I see writing, and living as a writer or I suppose any sort of artist, as spiritual exercise. Any artist will admit to at times slipping or plunging into a condition wherein we seem to receive the story, image, character or whatever. And all who have experienced this condition find it far more pleasant, and more likely to produce quality work, than laboring with the mind.

If someone contends that what I call inspiration is no more than a connection to a different part or function of the brain, I won't argue. I'm not trying to define or explain, only to get inspired more often and perhaps more deeply. 

William Blake felt so inspired, he claimed everything he wrote came straight from God. Writers of what we call scripture probably felt the same. Maybe they were nuts. Maybe not. 

Robert Pirsig, in Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, argued that Quality is real, absolute and elemental. In my approach to the world, Quality and God are the same, and to truly seek Quality in art (or in life) is to seek God. I thought of italicizing truly, but decided that might feel preachy.

Anyway, I'm not ready to spilt my thoughts or my blog in two. 

About a year ago, a voice in my mind advised, "Play more golf." Since it came so clear and I liked the message, I decided the speaker was God. If you think I'm crazy, that's okay.

So I asked, "Yeah? Then where do I get the time and the money? " All that came was a whispery chuckle. 

The past year, things have gotten ever busier, and money has found ever more means of escape. If I play golf once a month, I feel extravagant, though golf has long been a kind of therapy. At least it's the best means I've found for allowing my mind a break from all other pursuits, ambitions, trials, concerns, and tribulations. Which is why, I presumed, God would suggest I play more.

But the obvious answer isn't always correct. Here's my latest answer:

Golf is largely a mind game. The attitude with which we approach a round, or a shot, decides its success. One part of attitude is setting a goal. At least a hundred times I've asked myself, should I attempt to shoot par and measure my performance against that standard, even though I'm bound to fall short? Or, should I attempt to shoot bogies (one over par)?

An eighth grade teacher must've thought I was troubled by the pressure of having a mother who taught in our school. She took me aside and gave this peculiar advice: "Don't worry about getting A's. B's are fine. They'll get you wherever you want to go." 

B's are like bogies. All through high school and college, until graduate school, I aimed for B's and rarely got disappointed. And I've gone through life as a bogie golfer. I come home from games feeling slightly uplifted if I scored an 87 (three under bogie), and slightly dismayed if I shot 93 (three over). That, I'm finding, is a lousy attitude. A fellow who has played the game for as many years as I have shouldn't settle for bogies. 

Since each new hole is a new game, I can choose to address each one as a potential par or as likely bogie. If I choose the former, I get dismayed more often. Choose the latter, I get uplifted more often. And each of those conditions translates into better or worse concentration, meaning more or less tension, the primary mental elements of the golf swing.

But yesterday, the voice came back, with such clarity that I decided it was feeding me the reason it told me to play more golf. This time it said, "Go for birdies." 

For those who avoid the game I'll explain. A par three hole is short enough so you should be able to reach the green in one shot, where you can finish with two putts. A par four hole, you should be able to reach in two and finish with two putts. But if you hit the right shot to the green, and use only one putt, you score birdie.

"If I always go for birdies," I asked, "won't I be discouraged most of the time?" God knows, a discouraged golfer gets tense and loses concentration.

"That depends," I heard. "Why get discouraged unless it's the last hole you'll ever play?"

Those, I believe, are words to live by. There is always, or most always, the next hole. 

I'm no longer the following the advice of my eighth grade math teacher. Every hole I play, I'm going for birdie, even though I know I probably won't get one. But I'll be choosing optimism. And making that choice eighteen times a round will affect my attitude about other pursuits.

My dad was an optimist, or he tried to be. But his ventures usually landed him in a mess. He went broke plenty of times. Which made my mom, of the Great Depression generation, ever more pessimistic. She was a fervent believer in Murphy's law, and advised me, in ways both subtle and blunt, to prepare for the worst. Hence my affinity for bogies. 

Should I live long enough, and should I play enough golf with this new dedication, and should I succeed in bringing new optimism to each hole, no matter what I suffered on the last one, I'll begin to see optimism overcome the less productive attitudes. And we all know optimism is healthier and more likely to prompt creativity and inspiration. Right?

One of my bad habits is assessing the value of each day as it passes by what tasks I've accomplished. Someday I may kick the habit entirely. For now, though, I'm  going to alter it, on account of a realization. 

I realized that the tasks don't matter so much as the good ideas that come. 

When we analyze stories, we're wise to consider the climax, (the turning point upon which the success or failure of the character's quest depends), not as an action but as the thought or decision that propels the character toward the necessary action. 

Likewise, a valuable accomplishment won't happen unless a good idea sets it into motion.

Now, a good idea isn't worth much unless it's somehow acted upon. Lots of folks are flooded with good ideas and intentions to bring the ideas to life but never find the motivation to proceed.

But for those of us obsessed with carrying out what good ideas we're given, if we don't accomplish a single task, so what? We're not drones. What we're about isn't tasks but good ideas. The tasks will get done by and by.

Besides, this outlook makes me feel lighter.

1-11-10

To conclude this discussion on becoming a bestseller, let's return to the comment that sparked this discussion, which, in case you're just tuning in, began with the November 27 post:

"A Perelandra College writing student recently commented she wants to be a bestselling author so she can enlighten or awaken people."

In the film Citizen Kane, Kane's oldest friend comments that getting rich is no big trick; all it takes is to want money more than anything in the world.

What that means for this discussion is, the more passionately you want to succeed and are willing and able to sacrifice, the better your chances. Nothing can guarantee you'll become a bestseller. But your odds will increase to the degree that you:

• prioritize writing above all other pursuits

• study the craft

• study the elements of the bestsellers you most admire or want to emulate

• find a genre with whose priorities and essential themes you agree

• determine what draws readers to that genre and use that knowledge in planning and composing your stories

• pinpoint the readers you believe will become fans of your work, and discover ways to reach them

• find time and energy to study book marketing and apply what you learn

• diligently seek the right agent and publisher

Or, you could just sit down and write what comes naturally and get lucky. It happens. I've heard at least a dozen bestselling authors attribute their success largely to luck. But they may only say that to sound humble. When you hear fiction writers talk, keep in mind we're professional liars.

My wife and a friend have a thriller idea they want to explore. Neither of them have written any long fiction. They talked about their chances of making a fortune with this story, and her friend remarked, "I mean, it's not rocket science."

When she passed that remark on to me, I said, "Yeah. He's right. It's probably harder."

Most of us aren't going to become bestsellers, but that's no tragedy unless that ambition is the only reason we write.

I could list a number of reasons I've spent my adult life as a novelist. You've got your own reasons you might want to list. That way, you won't be disappointed if you don't succeed in reaching some goal you never even set as a goal.

If you hope to write a bestseller, it's wise to create a story people claim they couldn't put down, or that it kept them up reading all night. A page-turner.

Here are some clues about writing a page-turner, from Kurt Vonnegut, Michael Connelly, Robert Crais and Raymond Chandler.  

Mike Connelly gave a talk in which he mentioned that he tried to put a question on every page of his novels. If we ponder the kinds of questions we can offer, we can recognize a whole world of possibilities. Plot questions major and minor: Did the butler do the murder? Is the fellow in the beret an accomplice?  Character questions: Why does Joe sneer when referring to his ex? Questions prompted by detail: Where did Myrna get the scar?

Someone dedicated to breaking the best-seller code might go to one of Connelly's novels and compile a list of the questions that arise page by page. 

Last year at Murder in the Grove, a swell conference in Boise, Idaho, Robert Crais gave a keynote talk and informed us that he had learned from Raymond Chandler's letters that Chandler attempted to put something interesting on every page. And, according to Crais, Chandler wrote in longhand on steno pads so that the small pages would force him to include more interesting stuff. As what's interesting and what's not is mighty subjective, I won't expand on this technique except to suggest that we'd be wise to consider what interests the type of reader we're seeking. Some enjoy literary allusions, while others would rather read about autopsies or the firing range of a certain gun. 

Recently at the Men of Mystery luncheon in Irvine, California, Mike Connelly talked about a method Kurt Vonnegut proposed. I recalled Vonnegut's visit to the University of Iowa. Three times, in a class, at an open lecture, and again at a party after the lecture, he stressed that the most important factor in creating dramatic tension was building a character with whom we can sympathize and showing that the character desperately wants something he can't readily obtain.

That's sound and standard advice. But Mike added a twist. He said Vonnegut proposed that on every page a character should want something.

Let's say on page 32, Maurice wants a hamburger. Page 33, he wants a kiss from his mother. Page 34, he wants to stop in a liquor store for a lottery ticket.  As the story proceeds and the wants add up, not only do the questions (will he get what he wants) build and sustain tension, we also come to know Maurice darned well.