Suddenly I could hear the seas crashing at my back, promising a future maelstrom. Then I stopped, did some thinking and working back, and started – uh oh. Then I stopped, did some thinking and working back, and started there. When I first started on The God is Not Willing, I started here. These are all good signs, and I view them as part of the growing process that comes after losing an argument. And most importantly of all, I’m delighting in the pleasure of writing. My daily writing pace is good, comfortable and confident. The characters feel fully alive, fully engaged in living, and I can see the necessary steps on the path ahead for each and every one of them. I’ve found the proper scale for the narrative. I’m moving along quite smoothly on the first novel in the Witness Trilogy. This is my typically long and possibly obscure way of saying that, sure as hell, I’m behind the wheel of that Delmont again, slamming the gas pedal to the metal as the big-block 425 opens all four barrels and some ungodly surge of momentum starts building into a roar, with the brick wall dead ahead.īut another part of my mind stays coolly detached, whispering, relax, Steve, you’ve lost arguments before… Like paying dearly for something that comes assembly-required, which you never get around to putting together. If there’s no personal growth after losing an argument, it’s an opportunity missed. Its main job is to lie to protect, when often what it’s protecting is utterly irrelevant. Some may see that weakening as a bad thing. It may suck for a while, but the hide toughens, even as the iron and steel of one’s convictions rust and rot. The world doesn’t end when you lose an argument. I lost them on more personal levels which won’t be discussed here. I lost them pitching screenplays, television series, novels. In the course of my life, I’ve lost more arguments than I can count. The invitation to humility is an endangered species.
#The witness book how to#
These days, people don’t know how to lose an argument. How I wish everyone would take a long breath and do something similar.
Before I ever put a word onto the screen. And part of that process includes taking on the role of devil’s advocate, and thereby challenging my original position as ruthlessly as possible. But that’s because I’m old and I need time to think things through, time to assemble my rationale, so that I am fully able to defend whatever position I take. For myself, as a rule, I let whatever anger or betrayal I might feel cool right down before I write anything. I may not agree with whatever belief system underlies the impulse, but I do get it. When the anger or sense of betrayal shows up, I get it. And I’ve more than dipped a toe into the maelstrom, via my love of Star Trek and the essays I’ve written on the subject, so I don’t really see myself loftily excluded from all of that. Currents, eddies, whirlpools, crashing waves of delight or discontent, excitement or fury, loyalty or indignation. It’s curious, but when I try to visualize a fanbase – readers, viewers, the purveyors of entertainment in general – I see a vast swirling sea. Had a few discussions with friends, most of whom quickly advised against it (for my own peace of mind, one presumes), and they wisely cited past precedents whenever I’ve showed my inherent slipperiness to evade expectations, and how that inevitably came home to bite my ass. The car’s enough of a tank to go through that wall, but there will be a dent or two, and when the dust finally clears, there might not be a fan in sight. Whatever the author says is going to run headlong into fan expectation like a ’65 Delmont 88 slamming into a wall. Commenting on a work-in-progress is always risky.
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