P.M. Castle

Colorado Author

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To make a long story short, remain vigilant for mistakes

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Part of my day job as a newspaper editor is to, well, edit. To review copy for spelling, style and content. And sometimes make long stories short. The same holds true for my other job as a mystery novelist.

It’s a mostly rewarding task. More so when I need only a polishing cloth to make language shine. Less so when a wrecking ball is required to demolish huge chunks of text and rebuild them word by word like brick walls.

The process has turned me into something of a fussbudget, though. Actually, make that curmudgeon aggravated by the least transgression. WHAT? You used further instead of farther? Are you out of your mind? Criminy. What a dolt.

At the beginning of my journalistic career, I expressed my frustrations using the pencil with which I edited typewritten copy. My weapon of choice was a Mirado Black Warrior loaded with No. 2 lead. Not to brag, but I was a young gun who wielded it with deadly proficiency. These days, I pound away at my keyboard to correct mistakes. And grumble loudly enough the nice woman who works next door to the newspaper office probably wonders about my emotional stability. I don’t blame her.

Let me be honest. I appreciate technology and the efficiency it’s brought to newspaper journalism and book publishing. I don’t want to go back to writing with a typewriter and editing with a pencil any more than I’d want to dip a quill into an inkwell. The good old days were anything but.

I remain exasperated, however, by what I contend is another consequence of technology. Despite the very software intended to prevent them, mistakes appear more frequently in the written word. The need for speed has supplanted respect for the language of Shakespeare. Does somebody, anybody, know the differences among their, there and they’re? How about its and it’s? Capitalization has become a popularity contest. If a word looks or sounds important, by all means go ahead and capitalize it.

The problem is nearly ubiquitous in informal communications, especially text messages, but has spread like a virus to infect more formal channels.

Although I’m confident enough to lament the mistakes I detect in spelling and style, I’m less assured about punctuation marks. That’s because even experts must agree to disagree about punctuation marks.

Take the Oxford comma, for example. No. Really. Take it. Please. There are those who love the Oxford comma. I loathe it.

I feel the same way about semicolons. Abraham Lincoln considered the semicolon a “useful little chap.” I side with Kurt Vonnegut and his lesson on writing: “Do not use semicolons. … All they do is show you’ve been to college.”

Don’t even get me started on exclamation points. Perhaps F. Scott Fitzgerald put it best: “An exclamation point is like laughing at your own joke.”

The risk, of course, of writing about editing is a mistake will appear in the very blog I’ve edited. That’s not to mention the sentences I tend to leave incomplete. Entirely on purpose. For all those eagle-eyed readers out there, I welcome you to swoop right in and let me know what you spotted.

In the meantime, I’ll just keep on editing. That’s part of my jobs.

Listen up and engage like a journalist

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I’d like to believe I bring some skills to the conversations and other interactions in which I engage. If not skills, then at least experience.

As a newspaper journalist, I’ve spent 42 of my nearly 63 years on the planet getting paid to talk to people and listen — really listen — to what they tell me. That’s a lot of practice. While it hasn’t necessarily made me a perfect conversationalist, I’d assert it’s made me better one.

It’s also made me something of an anachronism in an age when people are more connected by technology than ever before, yet struggle to connect personally. It’s perplexing, because I can’t think of a more crucial ability, one that applies to nearly every aspect of life. While many factors go into success, never underestimate the importance of relationships.

I don’t claim to offer any expertise. I’m willing to lay a bet, though, some of what I’ve learned in my career applies to interactions. The next time you’re involved in an interaction — a business meeting, family gathering or just lunch with friends — engage like a journalist.

Here are four tips — call them talking points — to consider:

Be prepared. I never go into an interview without first conducting as much background research as time allows. And then planning not only the questions I’ll pose, but also their order. Think about what you want to talk about. If you need to ask for something, contemplate the reasons why. Even with a script of sorts, I don’t necessarily stick to it. Remain flexible enough to steer in a different direction and discover where that takes you. I conclude interviews by asking if there’s a question I DIDN’T pose. This affords an opportunity to bring up other and perhaps even more important information.

Ask the right questions. I’m interested in finding out not only the who, what, when and where, but also the how and especially the why. Ask people what motivates them and chances are good you’ll gain insights that prove valuable in developing deeper relationships.

Demonstrate your interest. This might be easier for me than others because I really am interested in the people I interview. They’ve got news I want to gather. That attribute extends beyond sources, though. Everyone is a subject matter expert on something. They’ve got fascinating information they’d love to relate if only someone would ask them. You might discover a shared passion that could serve as the beginning of beautiful friendship. 

Above all, listen. Intently and purposefully. My work as a journalist has trained me to listen to what people tell me — not the next opportunity to interject my thoughts. Listen not only to what others say, but also the ways in which they say it. Are they animated, reticent or something in between? Watch, too. Not all communication is verbal. I make it a point to turn off my phone before an interview so I’m not interrupted. Turn off your phone and then listen as if you’d have to subsequently write a story about the conversation.

There are differences between journalism and life, of course. Not every encounter should turn into an interview. But there are also similarities in the opportunities journalism and life afford to glean information and, more important still, establish rapport and build trust.

Want to connect? Really connect? Engage like a journalist.

I feel the need. The need for speed.

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I’m reluctant to quote lines from a movie because of the nearly ubiquitous convention of so many who do. I’m willing to make an exception, though, because these particular lines encapsulate the sense of urgency I so often confront.

I feel the need. The need for speed.

Not as a jet fighter pilot, obviously. But as a writer.

From my vantage point, everyone writes more quickly than I do. They churn out whole novels — entire series of novels — in the time it takes me to plod through a single chapter. If other writers proceed at what seems to me like the speed of light, I move at a geological scale. A few million years of character building here, a few million years of plot development there.

So it was with considerable envy I read a story by Thu-Huong Ha posted on Quartz.

She describes romance novelists as the true hustlers of the publishing industry. They’re busy not only writing books, but also marketing and interacting with fans. They must work quickly.

She quotes as a poster child of sorts H.M. Ward, a self-published author whose novels have sold more than 20 million copies. Ward says she writes two hours a day and averages about 2,500 words an hour. What? By comparison, this little lament is just 620 words. And I can assure you I spent far more than an hour writing it.

Then there’s Katherine Garbera, who writes four or five novels a year and has completed more than 100 novels over the course of her career.

I’m fortunate to know several romance novelists. I’m not familiar with how fast they write, but I’m impressed nonetheless with their prolific output. I’m thinking of you, Christina Hovland. She’s written more than a dozen romantic comedy and contemporary romance novels and has more scheduled for release this year. I recommend her work. It’s funny and compelling. And frequently steamy.

There’s an element of romance in my work, but none of the stereotypical bodice ripping found in historical romances. Or, for that matter, any rock hard abs. That’s what happens when your protagonist is a middle-aged newspaper editor whose once athletic physique long ago slid into disrepair. Besides, my characters remain pretty busy solving murders and finding treasure. That and avoiding getting killed in the process.

I suspect, though, the measure of romance in my work bears no relationship to the pace at which I write. I’m just slow. That’s all.

I attribute part of the problem to my approach as a pantser rather than plotter. Writing by the seat of my pants affords freedom and accommodates serendipity. But I waste a lot of time backtracking because I’m uncertain of which direction to head next.

I attribute another part of the problem to the habits I’ve developed in my day job as an editor and the incompatibility of two processes. I believe writing is a constructive process — assembling something out of bits and pieces. Editing is a deconstructive process — dismantling something to replace it with something better. What slows me down is trying to engage in both processes simultaneously. To deploy yet another analogy, I’m like a bricklayer who can’t move on to the next course until the one before is as perfect as I can make it.

I realize I’d be better off remembering Aesop’s fable of the tortoise and hare and the promise slow and steady ultimately wins the race. I can’t help thinking, though, of Chuck Jones’ more modern fable of the coyote and roadrunner.

I still feel the need. The need for speed. But I’m resigned to the likelihood I’ll never catch up to faster writers. Not even with Acme rocket-powered roller skates.

Can writing be hazardous to your health?

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Add to death and taxes another certainty in this world. At least in my world. Writing is difficult. Damned difficult.
As if any additional consternation were required, there’s evidence writing also can be dangerous. Deadly even.
I suspect one thing has everything to do with the other.
I like to complain to anyone willing to listen I’ve long suffered for my art. Of course, that depends on the definition of suffering. And especially, I suppose, on the definition of art.
I’ve stared at a blank computer screen unable to contrive even a single coherent sentence until my eyes burned in their sockets. I’ve smacked my forehead over stupid mistakes so often I’ve risked concussion. Worst of all, I’ve read through my flawed first drafts with sufficient disgust to make nausea a nearly chronic affliction and Pepto-Bismol a staple.
Still, I didn’t worry until recently that writing could be a dangerous occupation. Not dangerous as in bomb technician, mountain climber or tightrope walker dangerous. But potentially hazardous to your health. Enough so that perhaps word processing software should come with a surgeon general’s warning.
I came to this conclusion after reading a post by Emily Temple, managing editor at Literary Hub. She recounted with no small measure of gallows humor some of the famous fates that awaited famous authors as a result of their writing.
George Orwell, the author of “Animal Farm” and “1984,” compared writing a book to “a long bout of some painful illness.” Sure enough, Orwell grew increasingly sick as he wrote, coughing up blood and losing weight. He ultimately succumbed to tuberculosis.
Ayn Rand turned to amphetamines to help her meet deadlines. But drugs also left her emotional and paranoid. By the time she completed the manuscript for “The Fountainhead,” she was close to a nervous breakdown.
Then there’s my personal favorite — French novelist Honoré de Balzac. He ate coffee grounds on an empty stomach to stimulate his writing and reportedly died of caffeine poisoning. Try not to think about that the next time you gulp down your fourth cup of the day.
Cautionary tales of this sort give rise to a question: Why write? If it’s really so difficult and so bad for you, then why write?
In my experience, it doesn’t get you girls. And it doesn’t make you rich, although I’m still grasping onto hope for that prospect.
Here’s the paradox of writing: There’s nothing else I’ve encountered that’s half as rewarding.
The moments of delight that arise from a well-turned phrase, an unexpected plot twist and ultimately a good story well told more than make up for hours of frustration, doubt and even loathing.
Yet another famous writer — Ray Bradbury — put it in other and better words: “Writing is not a serious business. It’s a joy and a celebration. You should be having fun at it.”
Is writing difficult? Unquestionably. Can it be dangerous? Apparently so.
But is writing also rewarding and even fun? I’d answer yes. With certainty.

Group efforts make writing fun

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Writing constitutes a mostly solitary endeavor. Armed only with a pencil, pen or computer, a writer faces alone some fearsome challenges. Empty pages and blank computer screens. Gaping holes in plots. Worst of all, the doubt that comes on little cat feet and sits looking over disappointment and frustration on silent haunches.

Fortunately, writing also involves group activities. Writers gather over coffee or beer or Zoom meetings. They commiserate, for sure. But they also compare processes. What motivates them and what doesn’t. Best of all, writers in critique groups offer their appraisals of works in progress. Sometimes scathing. Sometimes flattering. Always honest.

I’ve experienced writing both on my own and in the company of others. There’s joy in singular achievement, in crafting a well-turned phrase or compelling scene. But there’s also shared enjoyment in collective efforts. For a journalist, there’s nothing like the camaraderie of a newsroom and joining in the hurly-burly of deadlines. For a novelist, there’s nothing like the camaraderie of a critique group and joining in the inspiring exchange of ideas.

I’ve been especially fortunate over the past year to gather with a group of writers in weekly Zoom meetings hosted by Kevin Wolf, a novelist who’s received praise — and awards — for his published works.

Participants in the group are an eclectic bunch, as creative as they are diverse in what they write. Meetings feature readings from compelling memoirs, chilling horror stories, intriguing fantasies and thrilling westerns replete with gunslingers. Private detectives hunt down killers, intrepid women journey across the American West and children frolic in neighborhood adventures. An accomplished poet shares compositions at once clever, funny and thought-provoking. The author of a series of guidebooks for national parks offers excerpts both educational and entertaining.

I’m envious of the flagrant talent. When I read from my mystery, I’m reminded what it must have been like for the guest who followed the Beatles on the “Ed Sullivan Show.”

Writers in the group offer criticism, but always in constructive fashion. Would that really happen? Have you considered having your character do this instead? What sounds and smells could you add to further immerse your readers in the scene? There’s a point to it all: Here’s how I believe your work might read even better.

That’s what makes group activities so rewarding for writers. There’s the admission we all struggle, but also the assurance we’re struggling together. The encouragement becomes addictive.

We also celebrate milestones. Entries in contests. Pitches to literary agents. And the ultimate milestone: the completion of projects.

To that end, here’s a shout-out to three participants in my writers group who’ve recently completed projects: Axel Gearman for his memoir “Two Ways Out of Stockton,” James Kaiser for his guidebook to Rocky Mountain National Park and Jason Van Tatenhove for his horror novel “Colorado’s Chance: The Firewalker.” Those books are available on Amazon, by the way. I highly recommend them.

James’ remarkable guidebooks also are available at bookshop.org. For more information, visit his website at https://jameskaiser.com.

It’s comforting to know as I continue my journey to write and publish mysteries, I’m not alone. At least not all the time. I’m grateful for the company.