Rick Boling's Blog

Today, responding to recent events on Earth, God, the omniscient creator-deity worshipped by billions of followers of various faiths for more than 6,000 years, angrily clarified His longtime stance against humans killing each other.
“Look, maybe I haven’t made myself completely clear, so for the record, here it is again,” said the Lord, His divine face betraying visible emotion during a press conference near the site of the recent mass shooting. “Somehow, people keep coming up with the idea that I want them to kill their neighbor. Well, I don’t. And to be honest, I’m really getting sick and tired of it. Get it straight. Not only do I not want anybody to kill anyone, but I specifically commanded you not to, in really simple terms that anybody ought to be able to understand.”
Worshipped by Christians, Jews, and Muslims alike, God said His name has been invoked countless times over the centuries as a reason to kill in what He called “an unending cycle of violence.”
“I don’t care what religion or political persuasion you subscribe to, or who you think your enemies are, here it is one more time: No killing, in My name or anyone else’s, ever again.”
The press conference came as a surprise to humankind, as God rarely intervenes in earthly affairs. His decision to manifest on the material plane was motivated by a deep sense of shock, outrage, and sorrow He felt over the recent increase in hate and violence around the globe.
“I tried to put it in the simplest possible terms for you people, so you’d get it straight,” said God. “But somehow, it all gets twisted around and, next thing you know, somebody’s spouting off some nonsense about, ‘God says I have to kill this guy,’ or ‘God wants me to kill those kids,’ or ‘We’re God’s chosen race so anyone who doesn’t look like us must die.’ It’s not God’s will, all right? News flash: ‘God’s will’ equals ‘Don’t murder people!’”
Many of the worst violators claim their actions are justified by passages in the Bible, Torah, and Qur’an. God admits that can be a problem . . .


“To be honest,” God said, “I have to admit there’s some contradictory stuff in there, okay? I did My best to inspire them, but a lot of imperfect human agents have misinterpreted My message over the millennia. Frankly, much of the material that got in there is dogmatic, doctrinal crap. I turn My head for a second and all this stuff about homosexuality gets into Leviticus, and, suddenly, everybody thinks it’s God’s will to kill anyone in the LGBTQ community. It absolutely drives Me up the wall. And I don’t even believe in walls.”
God praised the overwhelming majority of His followers as “wonderful, pious people,” calling the perpetrators of the murders rare exceptions.
“The vast majority of people in this world reject the murderous actions of these radical extremists and racial supremacists, just like the vast majority of Christians in America are angered by all those gun-toting, bigoted right-wing nutcases.”
Growing increasingly wrathful, God continued: “Can’t you people see? What are you, morons? There are a ton of different cultures and religious traditions out there, but the basic message is always the same: Christianity, Islam, Judaism, Buddhism, Shintoism ... every religious belief system under the sun says you’re supposed to love your neighbors, folks! It’s not that hard a concept to grasp.
“Why would you think I’d want anything else? Humans don’t need religion or God as an excuse to kill each other ... you’ve been doing that without any help from Me since you were apes! The whole point of believing in God is to have a higher standard of behavior. How obvious can you get?
“I’m talking to all of you, here!” He continued, His voice rising to a shout. “Do you hear Me? I don’t want you to kill anybody. I’m against it, across the board. How many times do I have to say it? Don’t kill each other anymore—ever! I’m absolutely serious!”
Upon completing His outburst, God fell silent and stood quietly at the podium for several moments.
Then, witnesses reported, God’s shoulders began to shake, and He wept.

Rejection is a part of any writer’s life, but don’t despair, even the best have received their share. Here are a few examples of best-selling books by now famous authors that were rejected numerous times, along with comments made by the rejecting editors.
Herman Melville's masterpiece, Moby-Dick , was rejected by multiple publishers, some of whom had creative suggestions for the author. Among them was this, by Peter J. Bentley of Bentley & Son Publishing House: "First, we must ask, does it have to be a whale? While this is a rather delightful, if somewhat esoteric, plot device, we recommend an antagonist with a more popular visage among the younger readers. For instance, could not the Captain be struggling with a depravity towards young, perhaps voluptuous, maidens?"
Kenneth Grahame (author of The Wind in the Willows ) once received a rejection that stated: “This is an irresponsible holiday story that will never sell.” Of course, the adventures of Mole, Rat, Toad, and Badger went on to become one of the best-selling children's tales of all time.
“An endless nightmare. I think the verdict would be ‘Oh don’t read that horrid book.” This is from a rejection of H. G. Wells’ tale of alien invasion, The War of the Worlds , which is still in print 121 years later.
Many readers of Joseph Heller’s satirical book about World War II, are probably not aware that he named it Catch-22 as a way of memorializing the 22 rejections it had received. In one of those rejections, the editor stated, “I haven’t the foggiest idea about what the man is trying to say. Apparently the author intends it to be funny.”
“…overwhelmingly nauseating, even to an enlightened Freudian … the whole thing is an unsure cross between hideous reality and improbable fantasy. It often becomes a wild neurotic daydream … I recommend that it be buried under a stone for a thousand years.” Sadly, for this editor, Vladimir Nabokov’s Lolita became one of the 20th Century’s most revered novels.
Finally, here are a couple of my favorites, sent to apparently struggling writers by less-than-sympathetic editors.
"I am returning this otherwise good typing paper to you because someone has printed gibberish all over it and put your name at the top."
"Unfortunately, it falls to me to inform you that we will not be publishing your novel. While it is customary to reply with a form letter, in this case I felt I had to say a few words. First, please do not submit any future work to our offices. Second, both myself and my assistant are considering legal action against you for wasting our valuable time with your relentless tripe. Among the areas in need of vast improvement are: descriptions, character development, dialogue, plot, grammar, syntax, analogies, sentence structure, scene transitions, research, and manuscript preparation. Should this novel have been published, it would likely have resulted in the end of modern book sales."

I have never been much of a joiner, whether it be social, professional, or fraternal organizations. Many beginning writers I’ve known, however, were just the opposite. They attended every conference and joined every writers club or professional guild they could find. There is nothing wrong with this, except that it takes up time that might be better spent writing.

Legend has it that writers are a lonely bunch. And, for the most part, that legend is true. Because our profession requires intense concentration, we often work in isolation, unable to regularly enjoy the comradeship of our peers. It is for this reason, I believe, that many writers become group-oriented when there are groups to join. I once joined a small fiction writers group, and found the experience to be worthwhile. The four of us would gather once every two weeks and read our fiction to the others for criticism. This worked out fine until I found that the obligation to come up with fiction to read every two weeks was interfering with my ability to meet editorial deadlines.

I have since retired from journalism and now write only fiction, so I no longer have to deal with strict deadlines. And, today, were I able to find other local writers as talented and knowledgeable as the ones in that early group, I would jump at the chance to resume those biweekly gatherings. Unfortunately, although I know many who would qualify, they are spread all over the country, making physical meetings impossible.

I still enjoy the company of other writers and editors, but having become somewhat geographically isolated in my old age, those relationships are, of necessity, carried on by phone, e-mail, or through social media. There are a few I communicate with sporadically, plus a small group of critical readers (you know who you are) that provide invaluable commentary and advice on my novels as they evolve. And there is an even smaller group of old writer friends, from whom I occasionally seek advice on story ideas, the ever-evolving rules of writing, or the complexities of publishing and marketing. But when it comes to large writers clubs or associations, I don’t indulge.

Early in my journalistic career, I attended a few meetings of such clubs, and found that the majority of their members tended to do a lot more talking than writing. One thing that amazed me was that so many of the attendees of such meetings had never submitted their work to an editor, or even attempted to self-publish. Instead, they were content with complaining about how tough the publishing world was for new writers. I don’t dispute that fact; far from it. With the proliferation of free or low-cost electronic publishing, the competition is far greater than it has ever been. However, complaining about it and commiserating with others is of little or no value to anyone who aspires to become a professional writer. Occasionally, if a club or association brought in a guest speaker that I believed might be interesting or helpful, I would attend a meeting, but I did not have the extra time to stand around discussing the pains of writing or the idiocy of editors.

Informal writing courses, conducted outside a traditional college or university setting, are another thing I see as borderline when it comes to aiding a writer’s career. Before I became a professional journalist, I took a couple of these courses at local community colleges and found them to be little more than ego-support groups (something that is not all that bad for severely rejected writers in the early stages of their careers). The instructors can be anyone from a published author or journalist who happens to live nearby, to someone who has placed three articles in non-paying publications and is trying to supplement their income. In the latter case, you may be subjected to a lot of misinformation, as these ‘teachers’ no doubt get most of their material from conjecture, not experience. If they are gleaning information from books on how to write, those books are available to you as well, and a newcomer to the profession will have little practical experience to add.

If your goal is more social than professional, then by all means, join as many writers groups as you can find. If, on the other hand, your goal is to learn from true, critical evaluation, I recommend you stick mainly to small groups of writers whose intelligence you admire and whose opinions about your own writing are expressed honestly and without reservation.

“Critics spend their occupational hours scrubbing the polish off that which causes the spine to tingle, while spending their leisure time frantically polishing that which is already yellowed by too many applications of cheap wax.” - Michael (Crazy Mike) Scrivner
During a recent debate over a bit of poetry, a dear friend and professional poet made a statement about the difference between craft and art, which I will paraphrase here:
This is the kind of work I classify as folk-type, artless, sincere...of heart not art. It doesn’t have breathtaking imagery, metaphor that opens new doors of perception, language that sings in harmony...none of the elements that characterize original poetry, poetry of power. It’s like the difference between craft and art. I notice immediately if the craftsperson doesn’t have corners neat, seams straight, edges smooth, colors harmonious, etc. With art (regardless of genre) I react primarily to the emotional impact of the piece, and only secondarily to the craft elements. If the artist has sent me a powerful message, and I realize she/he has broken (or bent) the rules of craft, I am even more impressed with her/his artistry. I use the same criteria in looking at writing: if it informs me efficiently, it is evidence of good craft; if it moves me in a unique way, it is art.
My response to these opinions was as follows:
I find it a little elitist to place any sincere, creative effort in a class lower than art, or at least to insinuate that it has less overall value. Being a craftsman myself (in wood, words and other media), I have always been angered by those who criticize anyone’s effort at artistic expression, whether that expression be accomplished with a hammer, a brush, a pencil, a loom, or plant dye on rock faces. Perhaps the best spoof of critical hypocrisy can be found in the movie LA Story , when Steve Martin is describing the emotional impact of a large painting, pointing out all the artistic nuances the artist has incorporated. When the camera finally turns to the picture, it is essentially blank. That satirical skit depicts the way I think of art critics in general, no matter what genre they are criticizing. They become so enamored with their own scholarship and purported depth of knowledge, they cannot help but fill up page after page with interpretations based on their own opinions rather than any kind of prima-facie evidence or factual knowledge.
As for craft being a mode of informing the observer efficiently, and only art being able to move one in a unique way, I also disagree. In fact, it really depends upon the observer or user (Art is in the eye of the beholder). I have been moved in unique ways many times by observing the intricate perfection of the woodwork in a classical guitar, the curve of a piece of handmade furniture, or the perfectly efficient design of a tool, all of which would only be considered examples of fine craftsmanship. On the other hand, I would not hang the Mona Lisa in my house on a bet, nor would I pay more than flea-market prices for a Faberge Egg.
The critics’ answer to this, of course, is that I have not experienced enough, or studied enough, or taken enough art appreciation classes to understand and appreciate fine art. Pardon me, but that’s a load of horseshit. It is only those whose confidence in their own opinions is so weak, who must justify them with long lists of academic accomplishments and/or claimed expertise. To me, critics serve a purpose only if one learns their likes and dislikes and makes a value judgment based on comparing those likes and dislikes to their own. When it comes to being the standard-bearers of true artistic value, they are about as useless as male nipples.
Another question arises in the debate over what is and what is not art: is there art in nature? After all, we scientific types tend to think of nature and evolution as being a set of scientific happenstances; the result of fundamental laws and chance at work. In which case, Mother Nature would be seen as a craftsperson. On the other hand, some of the most beautiful painting, writing, sculpture, etc., comes from trying to faithfully copy or depict the beauty found in nature. And if there is no art in the original, there is little hope of art magically appearing in a copy. In that case, only a few of the abstractionists could be considered real artists.
So what is art and what is craft? Is there some magical artistic line a craftsperson may eventually cross, even though they have never attempted to do anything but perfect their craft? Or is that territory forbidden to those who refuse to study and learn the opinions of critics and the history of true art. Is there ‘accidental’ art? Can a craftsperson occasionally cross over that line without knowing it, simply by chance? Perhaps a backwoods mechanic with a third-grade education and a blowtorch could unknowingly create a piece of metal sculpture that would rival in its ability to move the soul the works of Michelangelo or Van Gogh or DaVinci. I guess that would depend on the soul, but would it ever be recognized as anything more than craftsmanship or ‘folk art?’ All the while ‘real’ artists are shooting paint-filled balloons with guns, swinging on ropes to spread random colors on huge canvases, or painting depictions of Campbell’s Soup cans.


I believe it is precisely because of the elitists and critics that many people abandon their quests to become artists. I, for example, long ago resigned myself to being a simple craftsman, with little hope of ever becoming a true ‘artist’ in my writing, woodworking, or drawing. After all, what I do is so dependent on craft, there is no realistic hope of my ever achieving what the critics would describe as ‘art.’ It is fortunate, for me, that I don’t do what I do in order to impress the critics; I do it because I have to—because something deep inside me requires it.
It is, I suppose, an inbred trait of the human animal, to criticize, to look down on others and their work. Else how could we ever feel superior, feed our enormous egos? Just as God needs the Devil to justify his/her existence, so do we need our inferiors to make us feel important.
I am reminded here of a conversation I once had with an anthropologist friend. When I asked her what was the most interesting society she had ever studied, her answer was immediate: American society. I could not really argue with this, though I did bring up some points, like the clicking tongues of the Aborigines, or the architectural marvels of the Incas, the Greeks and the Egyptians. I next asked what she believed was the most intelligent species on Earth. Again, the answer was immediate. It needed no thought or reflection, and was completely unequivocal: the human species.
The point I am trying to make here goes back to the critics, the academic evaluators, those who consider themselves and their opinions so infallible as to leave no room for discussion. Those for whom research is only an opportunity to prove their points, not a quest for truth.
How, I asked my friend, could she be so sure that intelligence of a higher degree did not exist somewhere else on the planet? If it did, she responded, we would have heard from it; we would have seen its works. Our superiority was evident in the way we had ‘conquered’ nature, turned it to our use, employed science to provide us with all manner of sustenance and pleasure. If there was a higher intelligence, where was it? Why do we not know about it? Why does it not rule the world?
I was, to put it mildly, flabbergasted that someone so intelligent, so learned, could be such a fundamental elitist. Perhaps it is my extensive reading of science fiction that allows me to step outside the ‘box’ of human experience and imagine a species intelligent enough not to need all those demonstrative material things; not to need to prove anything to us or to any other entity. Or perhaps there is a species that long ago established an equilibrium with nature, after eons of fighting it only to lose again and again. A species that has evolved, both accidentally and purposely, both physically and mentally, into a form so compatible with nature and so understanding of the negative consequences of assuming superiority, that it would no more make its accomplishments known to us than it would commit racial suicide. Indeed, a species that did not even consider itself superior, but only wanted to continue reaping the rewards of eons of trial and error, of learned adjustment combined with natural evolution.
I then asked my friend if she had considered that only a tiny fraction of the inhabitable volume of Earth was ours to see. That of the planet’s two basic environments (water and air) ours was by far the smallest. I asked her if she realized that the age of the Earth was such that numerous entire species, societies, even world-dominant life forms, could have come and gone without leaving so much as a trace of their “achievements,” and that the descendants of those entities may have learned something along the way about how to enjoy life and carry on longer than their poor, stupid predecessors. She scoffed at this idea and continued to cling to her opinion that visible or documentable works were the only criteria by which we should judge species superiority.
I wanted to go on, to carry the argument to its logical end, but I saw there was no chance; that she (meaning the human race) was it! No ifs ands or buts about it. So I took the rest of my argument home with me, not wanting to cause a more vehement confrontation.
The fact is, I could be entirely wrong and she entirely right, but that’s not the point. The point is, her egotistical presumption of species superiority belies any claim to truth, simply because the truth cannot be found through bias, but only through a clear evaluation of the facts as they are understood. Even at that, truth is more akin to approached infinity than to an evaluation of facts at any given point in time.
Still, allowing that my conjecture may carry some degree of truth, I would say that one integral part of the success of the society of dolphins and whales might be that they long ago gave up on their egos, killed off all their critics, and learned that there really is no difference between craft and art.
(Needlepoint by my mother, the artist, Nina Belle Boling)

There are few (very few) professional writers who do not rewrite, either on their own or to comply with an editor’s request. In fact, I personally know of only one—the prolific science-fiction author, Isaac Asimov—who insisted that his submissions be published without editorial changes. For the vast majority of professional writers, rewriting is an integral and important part of the writing process, not only to proofread and correct errors, but to assure that what they have written makes the kind of sense they originally intended.
The rewriting process allows you to correct grammar and punctuation, check word meanings, and spot common mistakes like doubled words (the the – said said, etc.) or repeating the same long word several times in close proximity. Unless you are an expert in English composition (and even sometimes if you are) you will probably find that your early drafts do not always convey your thoughts as clearly as you hoped they would.
If you are not educated in the mechanics of writing, don't despair. Many famous writers were not adept at the fundamentals when they first started out. Most beginning writers depend on "how it sounds," but just because something sounds wrong doesn't mean you will always know how to correct it. In these situations you can turn to reference books or to the Internet. Online dictionaries and Thesauruses abound (my favorite can be found at www.dict.org ). For other questions, a simple search for, say, “capitalize [word]” will bring up dozens of answers. Just be sure that the source you chose is one of authority, such as a university website or a respected style book like The Chicago Manual of Style. 
Unfortunately, as with fashion, the “rules” of style for various types of writing change over time. A good example of this can be seen in the use of commas. In days past, commas were used much more frequently than they are today. In some cases I see this as an improvement; in others, not so much. When writing non-fiction, adhering to current trends is probably a good idea, whereas in fiction, it’s more a matter of choice. If you read a lot of fiction you will see that punctuation and grammatical style vary widely, even among best-selling authors. 
I never eliminate commas or other punctuation marks simply for the sake of reducing their number. My rule of thumb is: if punctuation of any kind unnecessarily impedes the flow of the prose, I remove it. On the other hand, if the intended meaning of a phrase becomes difficult for the reader to grasp without the punctuation, I leave it in. When punctuation (or the lack of it) makes me wonder what an author meant to say, I often find myself having to reread a passage, and that can become irritating. Creating beautiful prose is an admirable goal; but when you sacrifice clarity to achieve that beauty, the result can sometimes confuse the reader. My goal has always been to make whatever I write as clear and easy to understand as possible, because the last thing I want is to leave my readers scratching their heads.
Some folks scoff when I tell them I often spend many hours rewriting a single paragraph, but it’s true. Finding the perfect word or phrase to precisely convey my thoughts is of paramount importance to me, particularly when I’m writing about complex subjects or emotions my characters are feeling. 
I would estimate that composing the first drafts of sentences, paragraphs, or chapters takes up only about 10% of the time I spend working on a novel. Another 15% is dedicated to research, character studies, and developing timelines (a reference that helps me remember when and where things happened). The bulk of my time—the remaining 75%—is spent correcting and rewriting. Some of this rewriting is done at the suggestion of half a dozen critical readers and editors, but most of it occurs before I allow anyone to see the manuscript.
To some aspiring writers, rewriting may seem like a chore, a burdensome and boring task that only prolongs the already lengthy process of preparing a piece of writing for publication. But most professional writers will tell you it is an absolutely essential part of the creative process, without which your chances of success will be reduced to near zero.

Skinny people piss me off! Especially when they say things like, "You know sometimes I forget to eat." Now, I've forgotten my address, my mother's maiden name, and my keys. But I've never forgotten to eat. You have to be a special kind of stupid to forget to eat.
They keep telling us to get in touch with our bodies. Mine isn't all that communicative but I heard from it the other day after I said, "Body, how'd you like to go to the six o'clock Zumba dance class?" Clear as a bell my body said, "Do it and you die, bitch!"
I had to give up jogging for my health. My thighs kept rubbing together and setting my pantyhose on fire.
I know what Victoria's Secret is. The secret is that nobody older than 30 can fit into their stuff.
Time may be a great healer, but it's a lousy beautician.
The reason why most women over fifty don't have babies? They would put them down somewhere and forget where they left them.
If men can run the world, why can't they stop wearing neckties and brownnosing their bosses? How intelligent is it to tie a noose around your neck so you can go to work and kiss someone else’s butt?
The trouble with some women is that they get all excited about nothing … and then they marry him.

Writers—especially fiction writers—are constantly alert to story possibilities and character ideas, whether at a baseball game, a restaurant, or riding on a rollercoaster. Often, we find ourselves contemplating stories at seemingly inappropriate times, such as when we’re entertaining guests, or watching a school play. A wandering mind is one of the hazards of creative thinking, and even though it is a common trait among serious writers, we sometimes have to suffer through the misconceptions of those around us.

When your spouse or significant other sees you sitting on the front steps, staring into space, it’s only natural for them to assume you are loafing. Most non-writers don’t understand that much of the writing process goes on silently, inside the mind, before your fingers ever touch a pen or a keyboard. It’s a good idea to explain this to those you live with, so you don’t end up feeling guilty every time your brain takes a time out from the world around you.

Though I don’t subscribe to the old adage that says you must set aside a certain time each day to do nothing but write, I do believe that writing something every day is healthy for a writer. This could be an entry in your journal or diary, some personal correspondence, or maybe a poem. After not writing for more than a couple of days, it’s hard to get the literary engine warmed up again.

Vacations are a good example. This is supposed to be a time when you leave your work behind and relax. That works fine if you are leaving behind a regular job, but writing puts you in the category of "artist," and most artists cannot actually leave their art behind when they go on a vacation, especially when the surroundings are creatively stimulating, as are most vacation spots.

A guitarist for example, would probably not leave his or her instrument behind when going to the mountains, and a painter would most likely take a sketchpad along when vacationing at the coast. Writers are no different. That’s why you should always carry a note pad, or some kind of recording device (your smart phone probably has a recording feature) in order to write down or record ideas, scenes, descriptions of characters you meet, and interesting snippets of conversation.


In many cases these random scribblings or recordings are never used. However, they act to keep the juices flowing at a low ebb, and make it easier to begin writing again once the vacation is over. This is not to say that you should never attempt to clear your mind of all things related to your writing career, but leisure, quiet, and soft ocean breezes are simply not conducive to doing this. Deliberate loafing invariably turns into "creative loafing," simply because it leaves the mind free to explore.

I’ve found that the best way to relax without thinking about writing is to involve yourself in activities that demand so much thought and/or physical exertion you have no choice but to give them your full attention. Such activities differ for each person, but might include things like hobbies that require concentration, good films, or competitive sports (except, perhaps, golf). Basically, anything that does not take on a monotonous flavor, like riding a bicycle, walking through the woods, swimming, or listening to familiar music.

Poetry and personal correspondence are also things that can take your mind off work. Though they are forms of writing, I think of them as the dessert portions of my career. Though I’ve written hundreds of poems, I’ve never tried to sell one, nor do I plan to try (I once entered a poetry contest, and the result convinced me that I wasn’t a poet). But writing poetry does allow me a freedom of style and content I do not normally have. The same freedom applies to personal correspondence. Not having to adhere to anyone’s rules provides a welcome relief from my normal routine. It is somewhat like the classical guitarist playing a little folk music at a campfire sing-along—not as taxing as a regular performance, but creatively stimulating and pleasant.

It is important to draw a balance between family, social life, and career. There are dozens of stories about writers whose obsession with work destroyed their most intimate relationships. Because a writer is free to work anytime, many are driven to work all the time, and this is no healthier than incessant loafing. The "workaholic" syndrome is not exclusive to corporate executives; writers, are just as susceptible to the pitfalls of overwork.

However you choose to relax, make sure you find some time every day to do so. Not only will it help clear the cobwebs from your mind, it will help keep you healthy. Too much work, as we all now know, can lead to several forms of stress-related illness and, though it used to be fashionable for writers to die young, early death (at least for me) has gone out of style.