Zombie Ranch

If you own a copy of our first trade paperback, or you’ve browsed or been around for some of the extra content we’ve posted in the past, or been by our table at SDCC back when I was doing free “writer’s sketches” you will know this: I cannot draw. Oh I know all the refrains; that anyone can learn to be an artist. That it’s not a matter of talent so much as practice and dedication. Maybe so, but at this point it’s like learning a foreign language to me. I might be able to fake it enough to get my point across but the natural fluency of the native is well beyond my reach. What I never considered until fairly recently is that the same can apply to writing. Creative writing, especially writing dialog, seems to just come naturally to me. I enjoy it. I riff, I embellish, I play a tune and bring people dancing along. Enough of that metaphor though, since the only musical instruments I ever learned to play were piano and my own vocal chords and I am sorely out of practice with both. Which can definitely make vocal chords sore. Look, the point is that for the past few years Dawn has been trying her hand at writing and has been very frustrated with it. What’s the number one bit of sage advice she’s gotten from me and my writerly friends? “Just write.” Well, from her perspective that might as well be her telling me to “just draw.” Sure I can tell her to just barf out words onto her medium of choice and then go back and massage them into something meaningful, but she gets tripped up at step one much less step two. How do I make it look so easy? Well, maybe I do, but what’s not easy is trying to explain the process. Maybe that’s why “just write” was the popular answer. Maybe we writers are just a bitter and insecure lot who want to believe what we do is special but the general populace often doesn’t seem to think so. Think of the stereotype of every Tom, Dick and Harry (and distaff or enby versions thereof) saying that when they retire they will write The Great American Novel. It doesn’t really work out in practice, but the fact that that cliche is not retiring and composing The Great American Painting speaks to what I’m saying. So hearing someone actually admit they’re having trouble and coming to us in humble solicitude engenders a heady mixture of smug but also imposter syndrome and mistrust and we’re not quite sure how to answer, especially when put on the spot. You could tell them to take creative writing classes, but will those help? Hell, my own experience with creative writing instruction was that no one knew how to actually teach it, so they just found some narrow definition of “thing I enjoy” and graded you based on how closely you matched that. Sure, I can do edits on her rough drafts, but that invokes the adage of giving someone a fish versus teaching them how to fish. And I have to answer the question(s) for myself before I can even begin to think of helping someone else. I’ve begun to at least put together a thought or two, but for now I’ve rambled on long enough for one entry so I think I’ll save it for next time.