766. The Rockstar Method to Becoming a Writer

I shared this with our students at the most recent Veterans Writing Project seminar at George Washington University. Just curious what you, dear reader, think :-)

P.S. We, the Veterans Writing Project, were on D.C. Public Radio -- check it out!

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THE ROCKSTAR METHOD TO BECOMING A WRITER
Dario DiBattista

In 2006, after not sleeping or eating much for two weeks, a couple cases of Red Bull down, I finished the first draft of my memoir. Awesome, I thought. Ready for literary glory. But what to do next?

How did many pages of writing (I learned these were called manuscripts) get edited and made into books? I checked out from my local library a book called Writer’s Marketplace and learned about agents, and the publishing biz, and why I needed an agent. I pitched about twenty agents forthwith. Nothing. I received a lot of form letters (Dear Author, Thanks for submitting… The industry is subjective… Maybe somewhere else will like your work…) which I mistakenly overanalyzed. There was nothing really to take away from them.

Dejected, I took to the internet to meet and talk with other writers, share with them my writing, and I very shortly kept feeling more and more of the same. You’re twenty-three, why are you writing a memoir? I don’t think this scene works at all; you should start over. You need to get to the action quicker. Sorry, Devil Dog, you’re story is about as interesting as a subprime mortgage. The last comment came from a very successful Marine author, whom I will leave unnamed.

My heart hurt. I stopped. The industry sucked and no one appreciated my brilliance – no one ever would.

Maybe my case sounds familiar to you. It’s probably something we all went through at some point. After a lifetime of writing shitty poetry and reading prolifically, for some reason we decided to take writing seriously for the first time, only to realize how hard of a pursuit it really is.

And then I had it – I had the epiphany. I decided to become a rock star.

To explain, let me take one of my favorite bands growing up, Phish. I’ll use Phish, because like many of my favorite artists, directors, painters, etc., Phish, like me, never were or would be concerned with creating a commercial quality of art; instead, they’ve only ever been concerned about the evolution of sound and pushing the boundaries of their artistic medium. To compare them to writers, they’ve been more like Cormac McCarthy than that chick who wrote Twilight.

The band members of Phish all had, what most will objectively agree, a significant amount of talent and skill. Trey Anastasio’s solos are often included in the 100 Best Lists of All Time. Jon Fishman created a new standard for jam and jazz drumming, which influenced a whole new generation of percussionists. And the bass player and pianist, Mike Gordon and Page McConnell, are definitely 99th percentile musicians. They could easily be candidates for advanced degrees in performance at the best music university programs in America. They’ve sold millions of albums and played in front audiences of 100,000 or more (made especially more notable, because this was at music festivals performed at by them alone).

But of course that wasn’t where they started. Their first show was in a college cafeteria in front of a bunch of disinterested college kids at the University of Vermont. Then, they played somewhat regularly at a local club in front of twenty people or less for the first year or so that they played together. Nothing great seemed on the horizon for them.

But they had the passion. They had the drive. They found that, more than anything, they just couldn’t live without music, and that passion became a commitment to each other. They moved in with each other and practiced hours and hours a day. They learned to be musicians, for real.

I could go on, but I think you’re beginning to understand my point. Although we would all love for it to happen, nothing great happens for any artist right away. We all struggle. Look up the history of your favorite writer, band, or director. They’ve all paid their dues, and worked to very hard to get where they wanted to be.

So, what does this mean for you? Well, I would say, first, commit. You are a writer. You just spent 16 hours on a beautiful freaking weekend to learn about story and telling stories. What’re you, nuts? Yes, to some extent, all of us writers are. Go with it. Say you want to be the next Hemingway, and don’t shy from that goal. Seriously. Do you think Phish said they want to play college dorms and shitty bars? No, they wanted to be rock stars. And they were.

Your possible path:

Start a blog. Think of this as your practice pad. Make a goal to write one post a week about anything on your mind. Think about stories that have been bouncing around in your sleep, current events, daily annoyances, a beautiful sunset you saw, your ex-girlfriend, anything. Write about that. Once a week. Great musicians play their scales and other warm-ups before they perform or compose their great works. You’ll find, the more you write, the more confident you become with your craft. Continually push yourself and challenge yourself. Remember technique.

Join a writer’s group. Pick a group of your favorite friends, maybe some of your new friends here. Keep in touch. Work on something very seriously and consistently for a month, and then submit them to each other. A good friend will tell you what you don’t want to hear. It’s important that you’re honest with each other. Phish’s drummer and bass player often argued about whether the kick drum should be full or half-swung on a song they performed a hundred times before. They were always striving to help each other improve.

Read your writing. Once your writing is good to go, there are, no doubt, plenty of open mics in your area where you can share your work with the world. Think of these as your cafeteria shows. These are necessary before you can sellout college amphitheaters like David Sedaris. Pay your dues. Be proud to do it.

Submit. Start small. I published first with a small online travel website, and then used that clip to pitch a Washington Post blog, who later, because they were thrilled with my work, invited me to write an op-ed which probably was read by a million people or more. But none of that happened without 700 blogs that I wrote for practice, several writers groups and classroom workshops, etc. The clip that most attracted my literary agent, by the way – that first one. Sometimes writing just needs a home. It doesn’t have to be a mansion. Just a place where it can be seen.

Remember, Phish played tiny bars, which became clubs, which became regional theaters, and finally festivals of thousands of adoring fans. It took a very long time. I’m pretty sure, if you were to ask them, if none if it worked out, would they still play music, they’d still say yes. This is a writer’s life :-)


All content ©Dario DiBattista 2012. All posts are for display purposes only and not to be considered published.

765. Body Bags

Body Bags

How am I to decide whose parts are whose?
The mortuary Marines will need
to piece together the remains,
and what's never recovered
will be shaded black on their paperwork.
But there are so many parts,
and I can’t tell who's Taliban,
or civilian,
or a brother I loved.
I pick up the blackened fingers
in the gasoline mud,
and the pieces of the charbroiled carcass
that don’t crumble when I lift them;
I grab the thigh-less legs,
boots still attached,
and the jawbone.
I hold the body bag over my shoulder,
unimpressed by the weight
of what remains
of mighty men.





Photo attribution: http://www.flickr.com/people/nukeit1/




All written content ©Dario DiBattista 2012. All posts are for display purposes only and not to be considered published.

764. Cycle of Operations

Cycle of Operations

Cocking clean adolescence,
Feeding murder machine,
Chambering tri-colored rage,
Locking sights on the scene.

Firing closed system,
Unlocking oiled hate,
I, extract stories of spine;
Eject soul, at a cyclical rate.







All content ©Dario DiBattista 2012. All posts are for display purposes only and not to be considered published.

763. Facebook and the Political Process

These are the thoughts in my head when I scroll over my "newsfeed" these days:

Almost any political graphic to me is just pure propaganda. And I'm a tad annoyed how some people think a single image, a few "facts," or a quote out of context is going to change my vote on anything.

I know how to read books and do research. I've taken the time to contemplate political thought and theory and see firsthand how government works. I consider the main issues that are important to our nation and their possible solutions. If your argument is so simple it can be articulated in the ways above, it's probably not the best argument you can make.

I think we need to get back to having real political conversations and real political discourse instead of always trying to shock or gimmick each other into believing what our side wants the other side to believe. Democracy shouldn't be about bullying and manipulation and cherry-picking facts -- it should be about stimulating reason and promoting realistic progress.

I'm not saying don't participate in the political process in the ways above if you so choose and it makes you feel like you have a voice. I'm just saying, maybe there are better and more effective ways to communicate your beliefs. Maybe, if you challenge yourself enough to be able to articulate your beliefs as well as you can, you'll find your ideas will change and your understanding will grow and evolve :-)

This blog post is not directed at any one of my friends in particular. I'm just sharing my beliefs like many of you are, too. I won't get offended if you won't ;-)

762. Finally Moving On

If you've ever wondered why my blogs are numbered, it's because I've literally written this many blogs since I first started in 2005 (and many more for other sites). This blog, my blogger blog, starts at 701. The previous ones were on my myspace.

Anyway, here's your last chance to read all the embarrassing stuff I wrote when I was crazy after coming home from war. January 1, 2012, I will finally delete my myspace. You laugh, but blogging changed my life. I needed writing.

www.myspace.com/theechooftheburstofashell

761. Dario's Guest Blog for the USMC!

You can see the post on the Marines official blog here!

Why Do We Celebrate Today? (The Marine Corps Birthday)

It’s likely been happening all day that some of my friends on Facebook have looked at my page and become confused. It’s not his birthday, is it? Dario’s born in December right? Christmas isn’t it? How could I forget that?

This is a scene that has been happening all morning and will continue happening all day as we Marines take over the web, the airwaves, and a significant portion of all telephone communications to wish our brothers and sisters a “Happy birthday.”

Yes, this is a scene that is playing out all over America, and all over the world. Two old salty gunnys from Brooklyn are probably sitting in a park today, wearing scarlet and gold jackets, their Marine tattoos wrinkled underneath, and reminiscing on celebrating the Marine Corps’ Birthday in the chilled landscape of Korea.

A World War II Marine is in D.C. today with his wife, shrinking in stature underneath the epic Iwo Jima Memorial, the giant statue commemorating the flag-raising on Mount Suribachi during that famous battle, our national colors flapping in the November breeze. Hand in hand, she’ll kiss him on the cheek and say, “Happy birthday, love.”

Vietnam Marines are at their local VFW hall, motorcycles parked outside, mugs raised, trying not to spill too much beer on their beards as their birthday celebrations continue on.

Younger Marines, veterans of the recent wars, are tweeting their love for their Corps and texting their buddies, “Hey, bro. Thanks for watching my back.”

And a lieutenant in Helmand province, Afghanistan, today is concluding his patrol brief by saying to his platoon, “Let’s make this happen. Happy birthday, Marines.” They’ll lock and load and continue the fight. They’ll carry our honor on this day.

So why do we do this? Why do we celebrate with such fervency the day the Corps was born by an act of the Second Continental Congress? Why does this date linger in our minds?

It’s because of our camaraderie. It’s because of the forged bonds of hardship. It’s because we are not as lean and not as mean, but still Marines. It’s because of that lieutenant and his platoon. We do it for those of us who are no longer here to raise their glasses in celebration, and our friends who will die tomorrow. Maybe we do it because, even at 236-years-old, we’re happy to report that our Corps still lives on, as powerful, professional, and determined to protect freedom as ever.

And we’ll be here until there is no enemy anymore. Just peace.

Semper Fidelis,

Dario “D-Boh” DiBattista

Iraq War Veteran
Corporal, USMCR 2001 – 2007
www.dariodibattista.com



All photos below courtesy of LCpl Michael McMaugh, 1st Marine Division Combat Camera







RIP Gunnery Sergeant Fontecchio (above image)

760. That Kind of Blog

Well, years later from first getting into this whole writing thing, I would hope I'd be past these self-aggrandizing and self-absorbed kind of blog posts; but I do think it's important for a writer to bare their soul from time to time. And there's some things I just need to share tonight. It's not for you as much as it is for myself; but maybe you can relate to my problems, too? Maybe you'll be comforted by me talking about my failures and sadness? (Yes, dear reader, it's that kind of post.) Either way, you've been warned about this blogs' content.

Here we go:

It's a Saturday night, 11:18 pm, I'm all alone. And for the first time in half a decade that really bothers me. I've felt the tinge of a possible depression building up for quite a while now. I feel like it's being exacerbated by the fact I'm 27, almost 28, and no one I want wants to be with me. Rejection's an old hat I wear with comfort, unfortunately. But every now and then -- like every half a decade -- someone new comes along and makes me feel like I'm possibly worth a damn. The kind of woman whose smile becomes my purpose for living. And when she gives it to me, well, shit, it all suddenly makes sense. Damn, Dario. If you can make this angel smile, then you're doing something right, man!

And around these rare women, I feel like all the struggles, all the mistakes, all of my faith in something better, have been paid for and rewarded. But then she pulls away from me -- disinterested, tenuous, afraid of getting too close, and maybe with some other boy. And I feel like the fist of karma has punched me again. How long will I pay for my past actions?

How long until my penance has been paid and I can be happy?

I've struggled forever it seems. Maybe I'm a masochist. Maybe I'm not fated for a positive life. Maybe everything I've built my life around has been a big fucking farce, because I thought my dreams would lead me to a different place.

Sometimes I just wish it was always black. At least then, I'd always know what to expect.