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Got a letter from Janet Hutchings at Ellery Queen this past Friday saying she wants to buy my suspense story, “Road Gamble.” The letter came in an Ellery Queen envelope that bore the words “The world’s leading mystery magazine” under their logo. And this pretty much sums up how I feel about the magazine. For a commercial writer, a writer who embraces the label rather than shuns it, as so many other writers seem to do (with few exceptions, writers considered classics today were the commercial writers of their time, so we pulp writers usually have the last laugh), Ellery Queen is the Carnegie Hall of pulp writing. And if you think I mean that in a derogatory sense, think again. When I got the letter, I had one of those sappy Leonardo diCaprio/Titanic moments: I threw up my arms and roared triumphantly.

Okay, so I’m a sap. But-but-but, it’s Ellery Queen!

Short story sales to Asimov’s and Ellery Queen within ten days of each other, my first to both of those markets, has made for a dizzying time. I’ve been pretty steady the last couple of years, writing through all the highs and lows, but finally it got to me. I thought about how far I’ve come, and the writing has been tougher because of it.

In a workshop not long ago, a professional writer said to a group of us, a group that included many emerging writers, “Just don’t look down folks. You’ll be stunned at how far you’ve come.” At the time I didn’t understand why it should be so perilous to look back at what you’ve accomplished, but this past few days, I’ve come to understand exactly what he meant. It’s easy to keep climbing so long as you keep looking up. When you look down and see how far below the ground is, any thought of continuing upward flees your mind and everything inside you screams to just hold tight to the rope. You just don’t want to slip, you see. You like it up here.

But when it comes to writing, holding tight to the rope is not really an option. If you’re not moving upward, if you’re not taking risks, you’re dead. At least that’s the way I see it. You’d think it’d get easier the more your skills improve, but there’s also a lot more psychological pitfalls. It’s easy to start worrying about things outside your control, to focus on things other than just climbing that rope.

In my office there is no phone. There is no email. It’s a tiny room on the backside of the house, where I can’t even hear the doorbell. There is only me and the computer. And when I’m in that place, with the door closed, alone with only the voice in my head, everything feels right. It’s all about telling a story, doing it as well as I can, and nothing else. I like that place. You see, it’s not really about the office. It’s about building that place inside yourself and protecting it fiercely, a haven for your creativity and your ego, keeping out the wolves that would tear it down. These wolves vary from writer to writer, but you’ll know them when you see them. So if you don’t see me posting often in this blog, or showing up at writing-related conventions or conferences, or engaging in discussions on newsgroups, it’s not because I’m being anti-social. Well, at least not completely. It’s because I’m in that place. It’s a place without critics, without editors or agents, and really, without even readers.

Just me and the rope, climbing and doing my best not to look down.

I read somewhere, I forget where, that getting what you want out of life is quite simple. You decide exactly what it is you want, exactly how you’re going to get there, and then you make it happen. Simple, right? Goal, plan, execution. I’ve never doubted this as a truism for a moment, and yet it’s also obvious how hard it is for most people to implement. I’m certainly no exception. Most people have only the vague sense of what they want to accomplish in life, and of those that have a concrete goal, most either lack a plan or the commitment to make it happen. That’s why it’s so striking when you meet someone who has all the ingredients.

This weekend I went out to dinner with my friend Michael Totten, a writer who’s about to embark on a six month stay in the Middle East. Great things have been happening for Michael lately. He’s been a self-employed writer for over a year, and his blog gets over two thousand unique visitors a day. He writes mostly about politics and travel, both on his blog and in his published articles, and he always has fascinating things to say. I’ve known him since we met in a writing class at the University of Oregon in 1992 (strangely we went to the same high school, but since he was several years older, we never met), and he’s the one who introduced me to the weekly fiction writing workshop run by Kristine Kathryn Rusch and Dean Wesley Smith. Kris and Dean have been great teachers and mentors to me (much more so than any of my college professors, but that’s another story.) In fact, even though Michael writes mostly nonfiction these days, he still calls Kris and Dean his most important teachers as well.

On the way home, I was musing about all those late nights we spent at coffee shops talking about something related to writing fiction — something that seemed of vital importance to us at the time, but would probably seem pretty silly now. We took very divergent paths from that point, but we still both reached a critical juncture where we decided it was time to get serious about writing. My own commitment came at the end of 2001, spurred by my wife’s pregnancy, and I think that’s about the time Michael started to get really serious about his writing as well. His goal isn’t to be a full time fiction writer (although I’m sure he’ll write fiction again), but he does have a goal. He wants to become a renowned travel writer along the lines of Paul Theroux. Not only that, he has a plan. He’s putting himself in a place where few travel writers will go, a place that also allows him to write about politics, which he is already paid to do.

Michael and I don’t see each other much these days — in fact, we were both surprised that a year had elapsed since our last visit — but I’m still glad to count him as a friend. I’m very happy for his success. He decided exactly what he wanted, exactly how he was going to get there, and he’s making it happen. I have little doubt he’s going to get there.