Rob Parnell's Writing Academy Blog

"Getting paid for writing, son, is a triumph of tenacity over intelligence." I love this quote - it's one of my favorites - not least because it's one of my mother's. Mommie Dearest has always regarded writers - and me especially - as odd sorts.  The idea that we would spend a large portion of our day knocking out words has always struck her as, in her word, silly . A waste of time, basically, and not the sort of occupation for a sane person.  She may be right but that doesn't stop it from being a compulsion for me - and most other writers I know. I remember once when she came to visit me - which only happens about once a decade.  I was at a particular low point. Can't remember why. I think I'd just lost my way after a deal fell through. One of those times, you know? It was with great glee and insistence that she leaped on my misfortune and told me the situation was a God-given sign that I should give up all this arty stuff and s

I lost a day this week. Yesterday I was under the impression it was Wednesday (it's Friday today). Robyn (the lovely wife) had to battle to right me of this misconception last night until I eventually had to accept I'd lost a whole twenty four hours. I'm not sure how this happened. I have my writing week so carefully mapped out these days. I worked on my new course last weekend and all day Monday - perhaps a little of Tuesday. No problem. I spent a day somewhere in the week editing my latest novel again - after Robyn had done an edit/proof run through. She'd made notes on where she thought I needed to tighten up a couple of logic inconsistencies. Fixed those, hopefully. Oh yeah, I spent around half a day sending out hard-copy editions of my books - which sold out - had to contact the printer and get some more done because I'd run out. Plus of course I spent many hours answering the constant stream of emails that go with having a high profile Net

Today, we look at staying on top of your writing game. It's been a great week writing-wise - but it reminded me how fragile we are as humans - and how we've got to look after ourselves, even if all we aspire to is comfort and happiness. I finished the first draft of a new novel Wednesday last.  My partner's doing a proof of it now so that  it's ready for publication next week. Finishing a project brings up odd emotions.  Nearing the end of the MS last Friday, I felt a curious wave of sadness - as though I was composing farewells to old friends I would miss dearly. By Tuesday, and the completion of the final chapter 'wrap up', this feeling had morphed into elation at a job (I thought) well done.  Riding this high, I did something I never do: A complete copy edit in one go.  Took me seven hours not stop Wednesday to go through and do a final proof before handing the MS over to Robyn. I guess I deliberately wanted to get

Many people write to me about writer's block. They hate it when the urge to write drops off in the middle of a novel or a non-fiction book or a screenplay, even during a short story. They worry about what that means. Are they really a writer? Has the Muse deserted them? Or is it symptomatic of some more serious psychological issue? Some writers worry about stopping even before it happens to them. A recipe for disaster if ever there was one. Whatever the problem, my feeling is that if you get stuck, you need to go back and examine the reasons why you started in the first place. That place was most likely the strongest position you ever occupied in relation to your writing. Why did you start to write? To make order from chaos? To right wrongs? For catharsis? Or simply to enjoy the creative process? Personally, I've written for as long as I've been able. I wrote little pamphlets about hating my sister and stealing candy from the local shop at