(big thanks to Erotica For All, where this article first appeared)

The Right Word

“The difference between the almost right word and the right word is really a large matter — it’s the difference between the lightning bug and the lightning.
– Mark Twain

No insult to Mr. Twain (Samuel Langhorne Clemens to his pals), but he’s a bit wrong there … but, more importantly, a lot right.

Wrong in when writing, slaving over just the right word can, too often, grind the process to a halt. When I hit that speed bump I usually just put the word I know isn’t the perfect, ideal, and – yep – right I just highlight it so I know, when I look over whatever I’m writing I can come back and fix it later. The key to keeping up your flow is not just writing well but to keep writing. Period. It’s far too easy to let niggling details get in the way of where you’re doing, and what you’re saying: it’s far better to just keep at it and then come back and do some tweaking after.

But Sam (Mark Twain to everyone else) is damned right about the damned right word. It’s been a very strange trip, going from writer to editor and, now, to publisher: I see a lot of things I wish that writers would get into their heads – and, similarly, try to get into my own thick noggin. The number one has to be to show and not tell: in more words, rather than less, it’s far better to be evocative and imagination-feeding than completely, unarguably, accurate.

Let’s try something: the brown chair. Not much there right? We know it’s a chair, we know it’s brown. End of story. But what if I wrote, “the chair was the color of a well-worn dirt road”? Immediately you not just see the chair but might even feel a bit about it: the road, and it’s color, overlaid with an image what a chair like that might look like, feel like, smell like, etc.

It’s far better to conjure the chair, with magical language and imagery, than carry it onto the stage. You can so much with so little if you take the time to think of words, and language, that is evocative and alluring that unarguably precise. The same, naturally, goes with sex: rather than saying that, say, someone’s breasts were perfect, or conical, or whatever shape you’re thinking of, try, instead to say they were “happily rich and full, tipped by the inquisitive arousal of umber nipples.” Okay, that might be a bit too much but I think you get my point: the first was dull, boring – the second says so much more happily at that.

Additionally, I’ve seen far too many stories cross my desk (as both an editor and a publisher) where the author thinks that they have to not just set that stage but show the reader every little board and nail. I have a little joke I tell when I teach writing (smut or otherwise): avoid the scroll. The origin of the joke it the way some movies – and far too many books and movies – feel that they have to spell out the world, the setting before even showing a single character, setting, or hint of a conflict. In movies it shows up as a literal scroll of what’s going to happen. Sure, it can be good – even very well written (The Road Warrior is a perfect example) — but far too many times it goes on too long and says far too much. It is far better to simply start the story with us, the reader/watcher, right in the middle of it.

For instance, what’s more effective…

A: Robert Sharpe West was 56 years old, a little overweight, with a full shock of dark hair. His job for the Central Intelligence Agency was to take care of their problems. One of those problems was named Anne Smith. She had taken something that didn’t belong to her and so it was up with Robert Sharpe West to get it back…

B: The first bullet exploded in impact an foot from his head, two centuries of Roman architecture splintering into a dusty bloom that bit his eyes, burned his cheek, and filled the air between him and the shooter with a cloud of dust – a cloud hiding the second bullet: the one that hit the wall, again, right where he’d thrown himself, where he’d been standing before twenty years experience hadn’t screamed in his ear move, damnit, move!

Okay, that wasn’t exactly brilliant but what do you expect for something tossed off pretty quickly. But I think you get my point: the first scene is – yawn – pretty damned dull. The second, however, gets the shit across pretty dramatically. The same, of course, is true of erotica: we don’t need to know the characters’ heights, weights, job histories, what they are wearing, where they went to school … zzzzzzzz … sorry, I nodded off a bit there. What we do need to know is who they are in a way that immediately, and evocatively, draws the reader immediately into the story. Don’t worry, if it’s important you want always dribble in the facts and figures and histories and all that other stuff as the story progresses – you just don’t need to begin the story by standing on stage and reading a dry scroll. Drop us right into the middle of it, with guns – or genitals – a blazing!

While picking just the right word can, sure, slow things down, Sam (Or Mark) is more completely right than wrong: try – always try – to bring down the literary lightning, instead of describing the boring details of a photinus carolinus. A flash of brilliance, after all, is always much more beautiful that just describing a glowing little bug.

Definitive Definitions 

A pal of mine asked an
interesting question once: what’s my definition of erotica, or of pornography?
Other folks have been asked these questions, of course, and the answers have
been as varied as those asked, but even as I zapped off my own response I
started to really think about how people define what they write, and more
importantly, why.

It’s easy to agree with
folks who say there’s a difference between erotica and pornography. One of the
most frequent definitions is that erotica is sexually explicit literature that
talks about something else aside from sex, while porno is sex, sex and more sex
and nothing else. The problem with trying to define erotica is that it’s purely
subjective—even using the erotica-is-more-than-just-sex and porn-is-
just-sex-analysis. Where’s the line and when do you cross it? One person’s
literate erotica is another’s pure filth. Others like to use a proportional
scale a certain percent of sex content—bing!—something becomes porn. Once
again: Who sets the scale?

What I find interesting
isn’t necessarily what the distinction between erotica and pornography should
be but why there should be one to begin with. Some writers I’ve encountered
seem to be looking for a clear-cut definition just so they won’t be grouped
together with the likes of Hustler and Spank Me, Daddy. While I agree that
there’s a big difference between what’s being published in some of the more
interesting anthologies, magazines and Web sites as opposed to Hustler and Spank
Me, Daddy, I also think that a lot of this searching for a definition is more
about ego and less about literary analysis. Rather than risk being put on the
shelves next to Hustler and Spank Me Daddy, some writers try to draw up lists
and rules that naturally favor what they write compared to what other people
write: “I write erotica, but that other stuff is just pornography.
Therefore what I write is better.”

This thought process has
always baffled me. First of all, it’s completely subjective. Who died and made
you arbiter of what’s erotica and what’s pornography? It sounds like those
drawing the line have something to prove to themselves, or hide from. They
decide it’s okay to hate pornography because what I write is erotica. More
importantly, this little fit of insecurity opens the door for other people to
start using your own definitions against you. Even a casual glance at the
politics of groups out to “save” us all from the evils of pornography
shows that they will use any device, any subjective rule (otherwise known as
“community standards”), any nasty tactic to arrest, impound, burn, or
otherwise erase what they consider to be dirty words. You might consider yourself
an erotica writer, and be able to show certain people that you are—or, more
importantly, convince yourself that you are—but to someone else you’re nothing
but a pornographer, just like the stories and writers from whom you’re trying
to distance yourself.

So I don’t I’ll tell you
that personally, I use all the terms pretty much interchangeably: Porn,
erotica, smut, literotica, and so forth. You name it, I use it. Depends on
who’s asking. If I’m writing to an editor or publisher, I use erotica. If I’m
talking to another author, I playfully call myself a “smut” writer.
If a Jesus Freak gets me out of bed with a knock on the door, I’m a damned
pornographer. In my heart, though, I just call myself a writer because even
though I write stories of butt-fucking bikers, lascivious cheerleaders, horny
space aliens, and leathermen, I’m more turned on by trying to write an
interesting story than what the story may particularly be about. Half the time
I’m not even aware that what I’m writing is a sex story because I’m having way
too much fun with alliteration, character, description, and plot! The fact that
what I’m writing may appear in an anthology or book with the word
“erotic” in the title has nothing to do with how I approach my
writing: a story is a story no matter the amount or manner of the eroticism I
may include. A good example of my commitment to writing, pure and simple, is
that I sign my work M.Christian, no matter what I’m working on: science
fiction, mystery, literary fiction, non-fiction, or even something with
“erotic” in the title.

If there’s a point to
all this, it’s that you’re in charge of your own definitions, but try and pay
attention to why you define, or why you feel you should. Erotica, pornography,
smut, dirty words—be proud of what you write but never ever forget that genres,
labels, brands, and all the rest are meaningless. If you’re a writer, you
write. And you get to call the fruits of your labor whatever you want because
you created it.

(a hearty thanks goes out to the wonderful K.D. Grace, on whose blog this piece first appeared)

Thinking Outside Your Box…

Or Writing Isn’t Always About Writing

Sure,
we may all want to just cuddle in our little garrets, a purring pile of fur in
our laps, leather patches on our sleeves, a pipe at the ready, and do nothing
but write masterpieces all day and night – with periodic breaks for
binge-drinking and soon-to-be legendary sexual escapades – but the fact of the
matter is that being a writer has totally, completely, changed.

I’m not just talking about the need to be a marketing genius and a publicity
guru – spending, it feels too often, more time tweeting about Facebook, or
Facebooking about tweeting, than actually writing – but that authors really
need to be creative when it comes to not just getting the word out about their
work but actually making money.

A lot of people who claim to be marketing geniuses and publicity gurus will say
that talking about you and your work as loud as possible, as often as possible,
is the trick … but have you heard the joke about how to make money with
marketing and PR? Punchline: get people to pay you to be a marketing genius
and/or a publicity guru. In short: just screaming at the top of the tweety lungs
or burying everyone under Facebook posts just won’t do it.

Not that having some form of presence online isn’t essential – far from it: if
people can’t find you, after all, then they can’t buy your books. But there’s a
big difference between being known and making everyone run for the hills – or
at least stop up their9 ears – anytime you say or do anything online.

Balance is the key: don’t just talk about your books or your writing – because,
honesty, very few people care about that … even your readers – instead fine a
subject that interests you and write about that as well. Give yourself some
dimension, some personality, some vulnerability, something … interesting, and
not that you are not just an arrogant scream-engine of me-me-me-me. Food, travel,
art, history, politics … you pick it, but most of all have fun with it.
Forced sincerity is just about as bad as incessant narcissism.

Okay, that’s all been said before – but one thing a lot of writers never think
about is actually getting out from behind their computers – or out of their
garret to tie in the opening to this. Sure, writing may far too often be a
solitary thing but putting yourself out there – in the (gasp) real world – can
open all kinds of doors. I’m not just talking publicity-that-can-sometimes-equal-book-sales,
either: there’s money to be made in all kinds of far-too-often overlooked
corners.

Not to turn this to (ahem) myself: but in addition to trying to do as many
readings and appearances as I can manage … or stand … I also teach classes.
One, it gets me out of the damned house and out into the (shudder) real world,
but it also, hopefully, shows people that I am not just a writer. Okay, a lot
of what I teach – from sex ed subjects to … well, writing – has to do with my
books and stories but it also allows me to become more than a virtual person.

By teaching classes and doing readings and stuff-like-that-there I’d made a lot
of great connections, met real-life-human-beings, and have seen a considerable
jump in book sales. Now don’t let me mislead you that this has been easy: there
are a lot of people out there who perform, teach, lecture, what-have-you
already so often it means almost starting a brand new career … scary and
frustrating doesn’t even begin to describe it. But, in the end, the rewards
have more than made up for the headaches.

Now you don’t have to read, or teach, or whatever: the main point of this is to
think outside of your little writing box. If you write historical fiction then
think about conducting tours of your city and it’s fascinating secrets and back
alleys; if you write SF then think about starting a science discussion group –
or even joining one. Like art? How about becoming a museum docent? Write
mysteries? Then organize a murder party – or just attend one.

You don’t have to make you and your work the focus of what you are doing. As in
the virtual world, connections can come from all kinds of unexpected directions
– which can then even lead to new opportunities … both for your writing but also
as a never-before-thought-of-cash stream.

My classes and lectures and whatever have not just brought be friends, book
sales, totally new publicity venues, but also ($$) cash!

It’s also a great way of balancing my inherent shyness with the need to get out
there and be a person – which always helps not just sell whatever products you
happen to be selling but can also be extremely good for (not to get too
metaphysical or something) the soul: sure, we all might want to be left alone
in our little garrets to writer, write, write but the fact is that writing can
be very emotionally difficult …. to put it mildly. But thinking outside of
your box you can not just reach new, potential, readers but also possibly find
friends and an unexpected support system.

Teaching may not be for you, readings may not be for you … but I’m sure if
you put your wonderfully creative mind to it I’m sure you can think of a way to
not just get the word out about your work but also enrich yourself as a person.
It might be painful at first, but – believe me – it’ll be more than worth it.

Before I begin (yet
again), a bit of disclosure: While
the following has been written in an attempt to be professionally and
personally non-biased I am an Associate Publisher for
Renaissance E Books. 

Now, with that out of the way (one more time)…

#

Wanna hear something scary?  The build-up might be a bit slow but, believe me, the punch
line is more than worth it. 

It begins like this: I’m in the middle of my all-time
favorite part of writing – publicity and marketing (and, yes, that was sarcastic)
– of a new book of mine called Stroke
The Fire: The Best Manlove Fiction Of M.Christian, which
isbasically my own personal best-of-my-very-best
queer erotica, and I’m doing one of those round-robin guest blog things and a question
comes up, “How long did it take you to write the
first draft?”

Well,
without going into the silly details of how I work I answered that, since the
book is made up of stories I’ve written since I first started writing, technically
the book was started in 1994.

Got
that?  Well, here it comes: that
basically means that the book was 18 years in the making … now that is a terrifying thought.

What this has
to do with this Streetwalker is that it got me thinking a lot more about
publishers and publishing – and, believe me, after (sigh) 18 years I’ve had
more than my fair share of them. 
That, plus the wonderful comments I got on my previous installment,
really got my wheels turning.

One of the big
revelations I had as my wheels cranked was to agree with many of the comments
my first publisher Streetwalker got: a publisher should, naturally, be
considered on the quality of its materials and presence.  After all, if a publisher is sloppy
with its contracts and site and so forth that doesn’t bode well.

But I also have
to say that a misspelling here or there shouldn’t necessarily be enough to make
a writer walk away: typos, do, after all, happen to the best of us.  Some have suggested doing research on a
publisher before signing and while that may, on the surface, be a good idea I
can’t help but think of all the great books, films, etc., that have gotten
petty, spiteful and – let’s use the word – stupid comments on places like Amazon,
Netflix, and all the rest. 

An excellent reason
to use the word stupid, by the way,
is that the world of writing, editing, and publishing is extremely small and it
is far too common for a person to jump from one publisher to another – so
venting bile at one target may, actually, hit a lot of targets … and too
often targets that you might not want to have hit sometime in the future.

So reviews are
not a good judge of a publisher – though I do think chatting with other writers
who may have worked with a publisher is a good idea, if just so you know what
to expect – what really does make a good publisher?

A very common
mistake a lot of writers make is that they feel a publisher should be a
writer’s best friend.  That’s not
to say that that a publisher shouldn’t be supportive and enthusiastic about
their authors – that’s actually extremely important – but just that there is a
big difference between being someone being a friend and suggesting that you
swim in shark infested waters.  A
good publisher should be encouraging but also have the experience and business
sense to know what is good for their writers – and so be able to tell them
things like: “We love it.  We
think it’s wonderfully literary.  We
want it.  But don’t expect it to
sell a lot of copies.”

I’ve said it
before but those cranking cogs have brought up how important it is that a
publisher, beyond anything else, is a business – and the business, so to
speak, of any business is to make money … not just for the company itself but
to be able to pass along that success to its authors as well as allow it to
grow through things like expanded marketing and advertising.  By the same logic, a bad publisher is
one that doesn’t take responsibility for a book’s failure: after 18 years I
still have nightmares about giving a publisher exactly what they wanted – only
to have the book bomb – and my craft being blamed for its failure.  A mature and professional publisher
understands that while they may know a lot there is still a universe of things
that can happen – good or bad – to a book, and that tossing away an author only
shows insecurity and irresponsibility. 
A good publisher should be there to pat a writer on the back when things
go wrong and tell them to keep working. 
That’s not being a best buddy: that’s just understanding that writers
are resources — and that keeping a resource is simply good for business.

The ebook
revolution — no duh — has changed everything, but it’s sad that a lot of
publishers out there haven’t changed the way they operate: they put pressure on
writers like every book could be their last – when the financial risks and
stress are now considerably less; they focus on trying to make one book a best
seller – when a single title is far less important than having a good quantity
(and quality) of books so when one sells they call do; they are pathologically
addicted so social media to the point where the writer ends up spending more
time tweeting than writing – when it’s clear than while social media is
important it is not the only way a book achieves success … and that, once
again, sometimes it all the social media in the world won’t do squat.

A good
publisher understands and encourages their authors to do marketing – but never
at the cost of writing the next book. 
Readers, after all, can only buy a book once: so putting a few royalty eggs
in one very small basket makes no sense – far better to put a few royalty eggs
in a lot
of very small baskets.

18 years … it
makes my blood run cold but I hope what’s come out of all this  time are some pretty good stories, a few
book books, more than a few scars — and what I hope may be a certain degree of
wisdom. 

Part of being a
writer – especially a professional one — is being able to grow and learn.  Who knows where you may be in 18 years
but I hope that my reflections here and in other Streetwalkers may make your
own journey a bit smoother.

Before I begin (again),
a bit of disclosure: While the following has been written in an attempt to be
professionally and personally non-biased I am an Associate
Publisher for Renaissance E Books. 

Now, with that out of the way (again)…

The last time I wrote an intro like the above it was for my
Streetwalker column Self Or Not? – about why I feel that,
even though it can be very alluring, I still recommend writers work with a
publisher rather than go the self-publishing route.

After writing that column I’ve been thinking, a lot, about
what makes a good publisher … especially these days.  Not to (ahem) brag but I’ve been in the
biz for quite a few years and have worked with a lot of publishers – both when
books were printed on (gasp) actual paper, as well as in the new digital age,
so I think I can say a bit about what makes a good publisher.

As always, keep in mind that this is somewhat subjective:
what I like in a publisher may not be
what you like in a publisher … but
the somewhat is there because, tastes
aside, it’s a publisher’s job to get your book out so, hopefully, people will
buy bunches of copies.

The world – as I mentioned – as totally changed, and so has
what publishers not just can do but should be doing.  It may sound a bit … emotional, but I like a publisher I can
talk to – and who talks to me. 
Sure, many publishers are simply too busy to answer every email
immediately but that they get back to me eventually is more than enough to keep
me happy.  I’ve dealt with far too
many publishers who I have to write, write, write and write again to get an
answer to even the simplest question. 

Sure, I think its very important to work with a publisher
who respects you as an artist but more than anything they should understand the
business of publishing.  I’ve had some great experiences with
very supportive publishers – only to be disappointed that even though they tell
me I’m (ahem) The Greatest Writer Who
Ever Lived they totally drop the ball in getting my books out.  These days it is absolutely crucial to hit as many sellers as
possible: amazon is fine and dandy, the publisher’s own site is expected, but
if they don’t get books onto places like Barnes & Noble – and especially iBooks
– then that can mean a serious cut in revenue.  The same goes for print versus ebooks: the cold reality is
that that print books do not sell as well as ebooks … so a publisher that
focuses on print rather than ebooks is, to be polite, way behind the times.

Publicity and marketing is a very sore point for a lot of
writers in regards to publishers. 
Not to kick a hornet’s nest, it is very important to have a publisher
that at least tries to get the word out about your book  – but that in no way means that authors
should just kick back and complain. 
Yes, you should be annoyed by a publisher that does nothing to promote your book but if they are working hard – or as
hard as they can – then get out there and add to their efforts. 

By the way, if the only thing a publisher advises you to do –
publicity and marketing-wise – is Tweet or join Facebook … well, let’s just
say that there are a million other ways to get the word out rather than doing
what everyone else is doing.  Yes, a
digital presence is essential – if anything to give you’re a place to see, and so
buy, all your books – but the simple fact is that your friends on Facebook are
not the people who will be buying your books.  A good, smart publisher will be working to reach actual
readers and buyers through not just traditional channels but through a wide
range of alternative methods.   

More than anything publishers are businesses and, as such, they have to operate effectively,
efficiently, and intelligently.  That
means that they can’t give their writers 100% of their time … mainly because while
they are trying to find new authors, getting books out, working on promotion
and marketing, but they also always keeping an eye on the bottom line.  Sometimes I feel if a publisher is
spending too much time with me – the
flipside of being totally ignored – I worry that they should be doing more for
the company rather than obsessing over just one book (even if the book is mine).

Experience in a publisher is essential, but only if that
experience has been educational: if a publisher tells me that my book needs
anything  –  (different cover art, new title,
different marketing strategy) – I will do what needs to be done, but only if I
feel that the recommendation comes from looking, and understanding, what sells
a book.  I hate to say this but
I’ve run into a few publishers that want to be PUBLISHERS (meaning they are in the business only to boost their ego)
and not a publisher (who is trying to create a successful company): the
former’s advice is usually based on trying to look like they know what works rather than really understanding the
business.

I could go on – and will in my next column – but this should
at least give you some food for thought. 
If you have any comments about any of this, or want me to chat about
anything specific in regards to publishing, leave a comment or shoot me an
email: [email protected]. 
I promise to answer … though it may take me a bit of time.

Just like a good publisher should 😉

It’s a huge no-duh that we live in an Information Age: from
high speed Internet to 4G cell networks, we can get whatever we want wherever
we want it – data-wise – at practically at the speed of light.

But sometimes I miss the old days.  No, they weren’t – ever – the Good Old Days (I still
remember liquid paper, SASEs, and letter-sized manila envelopes … shudder), but back then a writer had a damned
long time to hear about anything to do with the biz. 

If you were lucky you got a monthly mimeographed newsletter but
otherwise you spent weeks, even months, before hearing about markets or trends
… and if you actually wanted contact with another writer you either had to
pick up the phone, sit down and have coffee, or (gasp) write a letter.

No, I’m far from being a Luddite.  To borrow a bit from the great (and late) George Carlin:
“I’ve been uplinked and downloaded. I’ve been inputted and outsourced. I
know the upside of downsizing; I know the downside of upgrading. I’m a
high-tech lowlife. A cutting-edge, state-of-the-art, bicoastal mutlitasker, and
I can give you a gigabyte in a nanosecond.” 

I love living in The
World Of Tomorrow.  Sure, we
may not have food pills or jetpacks but with the push of a … well, the click
of a mouse I can see just about every movie or show I want, read any book ever
written, play incredibly realistic games, or learn anything I want to know.

Here it comes, what you’ve been waiting for … but
… well, as I’ve said many times before, writing can be an emotionally
difficult, if not actually scarring endeavor.  We forget, far too often, to care for ourselves in the manic pursuit of our writing ‘careers.’  We hover over Facebook, Twitter and
blog-after-blog: our creative hopes of success – and fears of failure – rising
and falling with every teeny-tiny bit of information that comes our way.

I miss … time.  I miss weeks, months of not knowing
what the newest trend was, who won what award, who sold what story to what
magazine, who did or did not write their disciplined number of pages that
day.  Back then, I just sat down
and wrote my stories and, when they were done, I’d send them off – and
immediately begin another story so when the inevitable rejection letter came I
could, at least, look at what I’d sent and say to myself Feh, I’ve done better since.

I’m not the only one. 
Just this week I had to talk three friends off rooftops because they looked
at their sales figures, read that another writer had just sold a story when
they’d just been rejected, heard that the genre they love to work in is in a
downward spiral, that they’d been passed over (again) for an award, or that
someone else had written ten pages that day … and all they’d managed to do
was the laundry and maybe answer a few emails.

It took me quite a while but I’ve finally begun to find a
balance in my life: a way to still happily be – and now we’re bowing to the
really-dead Timothy Leary – turned on, tuned in … by dropping out. 

Far too many writers out there say that being plugged in
24/7 to immediately what other writers are doing and saying, what their sales
are like moment-by-moment, or the tiniest blips in genres, is the way to
go.   While I agree what we
all have to keep at least one eye on what’s happening in the world of writing
we also have to pay a lot more attention to how this flow of information is
making us feel – and, especially, how it affects our work.

By dropping out, I mean looking at what comes across our
desk and being open, honest, and – most of all – caring about how it makes us
feel.  You do not have to follow
every Tweet, Facebook update, blog post, or whatever to be able to write and
sell your work.  You do not have to
believe the lies writers love to tell about themselves.  You do not have to subscribe to every
group, forum, or site.  You do not
have to hover over your sales. 

I’ll tell you what I tell myself – as well as my friends who
are in the horrible mire of professional depression: drop out … turn it off.  If the daily updates you get from some writer’s forum make
you feel like crap then unsubscribe. 
If you don’t like the way another writer makes you feel about you and
your work then stop following them. 
If the self-aggrandizing or cliquish behavior of a writer
depresses you then stop reading their Tweets, blog posts or whatever. 

You do not have to
be a conduit for every hiccup and blip of information that comes your way.  You
Are A Writer … and, just like with flesh-and-blood people, if something diminishes
you in any way, punches you in the emotional solar plexus, or keeps you from
actually writing, then Turn It Off.

This is me, not you, but I don’t follow very many writing
sites.  ERA, here, is wonderful, of
course … but beyond the true, real professional necessities, I only follow or
read things that are fun, educational, entertaining, uplifting, and – best of
all – make me feel not just good about myself and my writing, but want to make
me sit down at my state-of-the-art machine and write stories.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is what it’s all about …
and everything else either comes a distant second or doesn’t matter at all.