I just realized that the 3-book sale to St. Martin’s puts me at 12 total sales, and it’s still May. My goal by the end of 2006 was a baker’s dozen, lucky 13. I have a few things in the works that will probably put me over that by a bit. Something I seem to consistently do when I set a goal is surpass it. This is a good trend. I’m a huge believer in setting concrete goals because it does make a difference.

Another trend I like is that since Nov. of 05 I’ve been working exclusively on proposal. I wasn’t sure how that would work for me since my stories are sort of organic and the very beginning tends to be messy, but I’ve also gotten much better at synopsis and blurb writing and I think that’s helped. I wasn’t sure how a pile of contracts would make me feel. It’s not what I expected. I’m experienced and confident enough in my writing now that I know what I can deliver so instead of stress what I feel is secure. I’m employed! I like that.

I’ve enjoyed knowing that a book is already sold when I’m putting in the time on it and it has helped me gear the story to fit the publisher’s requirements ahead of time, so there’s a lot of benefit to doing business by this method. For instance, in the upcoming Night Music, an email exchange with ED clarified a couple of things that will save me what could have been a hair-ripping revision because we planned ahead together on it. Likewise, discussions with my new editor at SMP helped me plan and shape WWW to fit from the synopsis stage, before I began writing.

Which leads me to elastic art. A story has a core you can’t violate, I believe that. But outside of that, there’s an awful lot of bend and stretch. A story can be lengthened or shortened, this or that element emphasized or toned down, and it’s easiest to do this kind of shaping in the planning stage. Much harder to do after it’s finished and you have to go back and painstakingly restructure, revise, rip apart and reassemble.

This is where the middle way of writing comes into play, I think. There’s one extreme that’s all about being an Artiste and another extreme that is all about chasing the Allmighty Dollar, writing what’s perceived as “what the market wants” when the writer believes it’s worthless trash.

Ray Bradbury describes this very bluntly as dishonesty. It’s dishonest to have literary pretensions (although if you’re truly literary, that’s different) or to write what you loathe because your agent or editor or critique partner says it’ll sell. Honesty is in the middle. Telling your story as well and as truthfully as you can.

Honest fiction has guts and legs and stamina, and a lot of flexibility. When I work with a story to shape it to fit certain criteria, that doesn’t make me less creative. I think it takes lot of creativity to shape the elements and structure of a story so that it is a coherent whole, a pleasing work of art, and also fits with a publisher’s needs.

Yes, I do think of my stories as works of art. I’ve never believed that “commercial” “genre” and “art” are mutually exclusive terms. A book is a magical thing. I never sit down to work without feeling a sense of awe about what I do. I’m not serving french fries, although there’s probably some zen way to turn even that into an art form. I’m writing fiction. Books. Stories. I sit down and go to work and I probably resemble a gardener clearing weeds and hoeing and staking and hauling a wheelbarrow around more than I do an ivory tower sort of artist, but the sweat doesn’t make it any less creative.

Just like shaping the structure of a story while remaining true to it’s core doesn’t make it hack work. Art is elastic. It’s not so fragile that it will break and shatter if it isn’t handled with kid gloves.