The Writer Magazine Article

I've been asked a lot about the article I wrote for The Writer Magazine, so here it is. I hope you enjoy it.

Bob

www.WriterMag.com • The Writer | 13
Don’t be afraid of striking out
In writing, as in baseball, you have to stick with it to hit one out of the park
I’m a Little League Baseball coach.
I’m also a writer, and the two have
more in common than you might
suspect. In both baseball and writing,
you often fail more than you succeed,
a hard but important lesson my
son taught me. When Joe turned 9, he
moved to minor-league baseball, in
which players pitch to the batter rather
than the batter hitting the ball off a tee.
It is a big adjustment.
The first game that year, Joe stepped
to the plate, and like many of his teammates,
he struck out. Paralyzed by the
thought that he might swing and miss,
he never took the bat off his shoulder.
As he walked back to the dugout, I tried
to be the good coach, shouting encouragement:
“That’s OK, Joe. We’re just
having fun here.” A few innings later,
Joe stepped up to the plate again. And
again the bat remained on his shoulder.
Again I offered encouragement. “No
problem, Joe. Good try. We’re just having
fun.” When Joe got up a third time
and again the bat never moved, my
mantra was well-rehearsed. “Hey, great
try, Joe. We’re just ...” Cutting me off,
tears in his eyes, Joe shouted, “Dad! It’s
no fun striking out all the time.”
My son was right. It is no fun striking
out all the time. It’s no fun feeling
like a failure. As a writer, I should have
been more sympathetic. I had struck out
many times.
In baseball, if you are going to play,
you must accept that you will strike out.
The statistical odds can’t be ignored. It
doesn’t mean you’re a bad player. In fact,
if you get a hit just three times out of 10,
you’re considered very good. Writing is
also a profession of failure. Rejection is,
at some level, inevitable. As writers, we
can’t become paralyzed at the thought of
rejection. We can’t fear it, or seek to
avoid it. Rather, we must confront it
head on, charge into it with reckless
abandon. We must look at rejection like
a ball player looks at striking out, that
thin line between trying and succeeding,
a line we must cross as many times
as necessary, knowing that on the other
side exist our dreams and goals.
In terms of my career, I bridged that
thin line by learning the three P’s—
patience, perseverance and persistence.
Patience
I have known that I wanted to write
novels since the seventh grade. But I am
also the product of a large family of
compulsive overachievers, and so I felt
compelled to attend graduate school
after college. I decided to attend the
UCLA School of Law, and knew within
the first three weeks of classes that I had
made a mistake, that practicing law was
not going to satisfy me. But compulsive
overachievers don’t quit. So for three
years, I gutted out the law-school experience,
and, like my classmates, I sought
out the best jobs. Before I knew it, I was
on that treadmill—and I was running.
I accepted a job at a fast-growing San
Francisco firm that suited me well, but
with each year it seemed that the treadmill
picked up pace, until I was sprinting,
working 50- to 60-hour weeks, feeling
as if I could never catch my breath. I
was named a partner of the firm early. I
was making more money than my parents.
By all accounts I had succeeded.
But I wasn’t happy.
Finally, one morning as I readied for
work, I had an epiphany. I thought of
that seventh-grade kid who wanted to
be a writer, who wanted to see his name
on the cover of a book, and I realized
that dream was slipping away. Standing
in my bedroom, my back to my wife, I
uttered five words that would change
my life. “I can’t do this anymore,” I said.
My wife never hesitated and whispered
back, “Then we won’t.”
It would take me almost a year before
I would utter those words to my partners
and colleagues. Some were genuinely
happy for me, and some later told
me that my courage had inspired them
to also change their professional course.
But it had not been courage that led
me to utter those words. It was fear. I
was afraid of looking back on my life
and realizing that I had never taken a
chance at my dream. I was afraid of
growing old and bitter and resentful,
feeling professionally unfulfilled. I was
afraid of never taking the bat off my
shoulder and swinging for the fences
because I was too afraid of striking out.
And I did not want the fear of failure
and rejection to dictate my life and how
I chose to live it.
Perseverance
In July 1999, I left the practice of law
and my home in the Bay area for Seattle.
I rented a charming, brick-walled office
—8 feet by 8 feet and windowless—that
my wife affectionately called “the prison
cell,” and I set to work.
By my calculations, I would write a
novel in a few months, and publication
would be right around the corner. Yes, I
was that naïve. So, following the mantra
of writing what you know, I created a
Off the Cuff Robert Dugoni
I was 40 years old, living in my wife’s
grandmother’s home and unemployed.
I felt like George Costanza.
14 | The Writer • February 2010
Off the Cuff
character named David Sloane, a San
Francisco lawyer who, though successful,
felt unfulfilled. Sloane, however, had
a remarkable ability to not only win trials
but get a jury to do whatever he
wanted. I called the book A Wrongful
Death. I had no idea if it was any good,
but I entered it in the Pacific Northwest
Writers Association’s literary contest
and, lo and behold, it won.
Buoyed by my success, I sent queries
out to five agents. Four rejected it, but
the fifth called and wanted a six-week
exclusive to read the manuscript. Of
course, I agreed. After six weeks, Clyde
called to tell me that the manuscript had
promise but that the second half needed
work. We set out to fix it.
Nearing Christmas, when it finally
came time to send the manuscript to
publishers, I had been gainfully unemployed
for 18 months. In that time, my
wife and I had a second child. I was nervous
but hopeful. Then I didn’t hear
from Clyde for months. “Why don’t you
call him and find out what is happening?”
my wife said. “No,” I said, “I don’t
want to bother him.” I was so happy to
have an agent that I didn’t want to screw
it up. “He said he would call,” I added.
Finally, in March, I received a 5-by-
8-inch envelope from the agency. It
looked suspiciously small for a contract.
Inside I found a card with a picture of
Clyde and the words “In Celebration.”
Needing no further prompting, I called
his assistant. “Please tell me that Clyde
is having a birthday,” I said. “I’m sorry,”
she said, “Clyde died.” “Oh, my God.
Was it sudden?” I asked. “Yes, about
three months ago. I’m sorry no one
called. ... And no one here does the kind
of ‘boy books’ you write. Good luck.”
I was 40 years old, living in my wife’s
grandmother’s home and unemployed. I
felt like George Costanza from Seinfeld.
Persistence
The first thing I did was reconfirm
my goal. I said, “God, you gave me the
talent to write. I know that. I’ve written
all my life. I’ve written my way through
Stanford University and worked as a
reporter for the Los Angeles Times. No
one has ever said, ‘Son, you suck. Have
you ever thought of accounting?’ ”
The next thing I did was evaluate my
work. I realized that while I could write,
what I didn’t know was how to write a
novel. So I dedicated myself to learning
the craft. I immersed myself in the writing
business. I joined a critique group. I
began to attend writers conferences—
not to win competitions but to learn
from others. I pulled writers aside and
asked them all kinds of questions, including
what books on the craft they
recommended. Then I bought the books
and studied them until the pages were
falling out of their spines.
I realized that I had been making all
of the mistakes that agents and editors
could spot in a moment. My query letter
didn’t explain the theme of my novel,
and the synopsis was so long and convoluted
that they never read it. The opening
sentence of my first chapter didn’t
hook the reader, and the opening chapter
wasn’t compelling. I had flashbacks
and biographies that slowed the first 50
pages to a crawl. I had too many characters.
The plot drifted. I asked my wife to
give me more time, and she agreed.
It is said that we make our own opportunities
through hard work, and I
believe that. But sometimes we also
need a little luck. At a party I almost did
not attend, I met an agent from the U.S.
Environmental Protection Agency. He
told me about an investigation that had
gone to trial and had become a seminal
case in the history of the EPA. That case
would become the subject for our nonfiction
exposé, The Cyanide Canary.
This time, however, when I sat to
write, I was armed with all of my hard
work. When I sent the book proposal to
10 literary agents, all of them wanted
the book. When an agent with the Jane
Rotrosen Agency called from her cell
phone to tell me she was getting on a
plane and asked me not to sign with
anyone before she landed, I knew that
was the agency for me.
We sold the manuscript, and it appeared
that I was on my way. But then
the editor who bought and loved Canary
soon thereafter left the publisher,
as did my publicist. Enthusiasm at the
house fell, and the book came out of the
gate like a three-legged horse.
Undaunted, my agent and I turned
our attention to my novel A Wrongful
Death, as well as two others I had completed.
She sent A Wrongful Death to an
editor generally considered one of the
best in the business, and again I allowed
my expectations to be raised. When my
agent called to inform me that the manuscript
had been rejected, I couldn’t
hide my disappointment. The next day
Jane Rotrosen called me, and she would
give me the best advice of my career:
“You have to be a bulldog in this business,
kid. You got to be a bulldog.”
I committed to being a bulldog.
Shortly thereafter, two publishers bid on
my first novel. Both were enthusiastic
not only about it, but about my writing.
I signed a two-book deal, and A Wrongful
Death became The Jury Master. It
made the New York Times bestseller list
and stayed there for three weeks. Damage
Control followed, and hardcover
sales surpassed The Jury Master.
Even after that success, however, I
have had to endure some anxious moments,
but I don’t panic anymore when
they arise. I have confidence in myself
and in my agent. When I signed with
Touchstone, a division of Simon &
Schuster, the publisher changed my
third novel’s working title to Wrongful
Death. Fate? Perhaps. All I know for certain
is that I never would have had the
chance to see any of my books to publication
had I never taken the bat off my
I did not want the fear of failure and
rejection to dictate my life and how I
chose to live it.
continued on page 47
www.WriterMag.com • The Writer | 15
shoulder, or quit when I first struck out.
My son Joe also never quit. He committed
himself to becoming a better
baseball player. He took hitting lessons.
He went to catching clinics. He hit in
the backyard until his hands hurt. When
he turned 11, he was named the starting
catcher on the Kirkland Little League
All-Star team and led the team in hitting
and runs batted in at the tournament
that year. More important, he smiles a
lot when he plays, even if he strikes out,
and now he tells me he has a lot of fun.
So do I.
We get through life with hard work, a
little luck, and the kindness of others.
During one particularly bleak moment
in my career, a good friend, Michael
Collopy, now one of the premier portrait
photographers in the world, but
once an executive at IBM, shared with
me advice that his father gave to him
when he expressed his desire to leave
the corporate world to pursue his art. “If
you follow your dreams, the money will
come,” he said. “Follow the money, and
you’ll lose your dreams.”
You have the ability to follow your
dreams, to overcome your fears of striking
out and to cross that line between
failure and success. You may have to
cross it more than once. Like me, you
may have to cross it many times. It won’t
be easy. You will strike out. When you
do, remember: Be patient. Things don’t
always happen on your schedule. Be
persistent. Those who succeed are almost
always those who have first failed.
Persevere. Those who give up have no
chance of success.
You have to be a bulldog in this business,
kid. You got to be a bulldog. Choose
to be bulldogs.
Robert Dugoni
Robert Dugoni is the New York Times bestselling author of The
Jury Master, Damage Control and Wrongful Death. His next
novel, Bodily Harm, will be published by Touchstone/Fireside
in May. Web: www.robertdugoni.com.
Adapted from Robert Dugoni’s speech at the Pacific
Northwest Writers Association’s literary conference.

Hello. Is it me you're looking for?

Okay, okay. I'm not a big Lionel Ritchie fan, far from it, but the lyric seemed appropriate given the length of time between my last blog. But I have an excuse, sort of. I was coaching two basketball teams, promoting Wrongful Death, finishing Bodily Harm and trying to complete two book proposals for upcoming David Sloane novels. On top of that, I'm traveling quite a bit, as the schedule on my website can attest.

San Diego. Who wouldn't want to go to San Diego in the winter. My first time at the San Diego State Writer's Conference and I must admit it was a blast. I met a lot of people from all around the country and had a great time teaching and doing the Sunday morning keynote address. Here's the lesson. You never know how successful a writer's conference will be for you until months and sometimes years down the road. Don't focus on "getting and agent" so much as learning the craft. If you learn the craft and create memorable characters doing interesting things, the Agent will take care of itself.

San Francisco. Speaking of another great place to go in the winter, my old stomping grounds. God I love that city and I'm excited to be a first time invitee to the San Francisco Writers Conference. My thanks to Mike Lawson, Elizabeth Pomada and Laurie McClean for the invite. I'll be teaching a seminar on Writing the Legal Thriller, but really, its all about writing Genre fiction. Looking forward to hearing Steve Berry speak as well. Have you read his books? If not, you're missing out. Great stuff. There's a good reason he is a perennial New York Times Best Seller. The man can flat out write, and you won't meet a nicer guy.

Chicago - My kind of town. I'll be returning for the 5th annual Advanced Fiction seminar. This is a two day intensive, class participation workshop. In addition to the 120 page workbook, you'll have one of the best weekends of your year. I guarantee it because I always do.

Wrongful Death. The paperback comes out this month, with an absolute killer of a cover. I'm excited as ever about this book.

Bodily Harm. Below is the Press Release for the third David Sloane novel. I couldn't have written it any better, so why try when you can cut and paste. Enjoy.

For Immediate Release
“John Grisham, move over.” —The Seattle Times

“Smart and savvy with more muscle than the average legal thriller. . .
Dugoni has put the thrills back in the genre.” —Nelson DeMille

New York Times bestselling author Robert Dugoni delivers a searing courtroom drama in his newest thriller, BODILY HARM (May 25, 2010; Touchstone; $25.00/hardcover; 978-1-4165-9296-9). When parents lose their six-year-old son to an esteemed pediatrician’s seeming negligence, they turn to attorney David Sloane for justice.

In his return as “the lawyer who does not lose,” Sloane is on the verge of another victory, but something about the malpractice case has bothered him from the start. And his uneasiness grows when toy designer Kyle Horgan confronts him on the way to the verdict to claim responsibility not only for the child’s death but also for the fate of a second little boy in central Washington.

When the toy designer vanishes, leaving behind only a ransacked apartment, Sloane teams up with his longtime investigative partner (and former CIA operative) Charles Jenkins to reexamine the deaths and dig deeper into Horgan’s claims. They are forced to enter the cutthroat world of toy manufacturing—where hundreds of millions of dollars are staked on finding the next “It” product. Sloane must dodge a vicious and calculating killer, exonerate the doctor, and overcome a devastating personal loss that nearly destroys him—all while keeping in check his overwhelming desire for revenge.

Sound enticing? Hope so.

Okay, got to run. Basketball practice tonight. Keep writing.

Bob

Saying Goodbye to a Friend

We buried our 15 year old Rhodesian Ridgeback, Nick, yesterday. He was my wedding present 15 years ago and so he spent every day of his life with my wife and I. The words fifteen years old and Rhodesian are not supposed to go together. Dogs that big don't live that long, but Nick did. He survived melanoma, a 6 pound tumor, epilsepsy, you name it. My wife said it was because we used to run him every morning on the beach or at Fort Funston in San Francisco. The vets were always amazed at how strong his heart was, even to the very end. But I know it wasn't the running.
It was love.
My wife loved that dog more than any person could love an animal, and he in turn loved her. He simply wouldn't go. He would not leave her behind. We had to make the decision for him, yesterday, when he could no longer get up, would no longer eat, blind and had another tumor growing in the bridge of his nose. His heart, however, continued to beat like a lion. Amazing.
I cried yesterday, and I cry as I write this piece. In all honesty, that dog deserved better than he got from me. I was raised in a family of 10 kids, we didn't have much room for dogs and they were treated as dogs. When he came into my home he promptly ate two electric razors, chewed holes in two of my better suits, ate two leather watch bands and, oh yes, my wedding ring attached to one of those bands. No, we never found it.
My wife, however, loved Nick as if he were a child. No person could have loved an animal more. Nick fell under a lucky star when my wife picked him out of the litter, the runt, the puppy that no one else wanted because he had an overbite and small hips and never would be a show dog. I'm betting Nick outlived every other sibling in that litter, probably by a good many years.
I in turn came to love Nick as a friend. Some say that animals are "dumb." Maybe because they cannot speak, but Nick taught me that they are often more intelligent than people. Nick loved unconditionally. He didn't judge and he always forgave. Everytime I came home he would be at the door, tail wagging, just happy to see me. And he was fiercly protective of my kids, often getting between them and any stranger who came to the door or approached on the street. In the end, when he could no longer get up, he'd still manage to raise his head and acknowledge that I was home. What more can you ask for in life?
So Nick taught me much about friendship and about love. He taught me that pets can be more than just a pet. They can be a family member, if we will allow them. He also taught me that we can never go back in life, that we can only go forward, and how important, therefore, it is to go forward with kindness and love.
I will miss him. Not exactly like I miss my Dad, but I will miss him just the same. I already do. It's hard to walk into the house now and not see him, sitting in his bed, looking up at me.
We buried him on my wife's beloved farm where he loved to run. We picked a spot under an old growth cedar he seemed particularly fond of. If he could have spoken, I think he might have chosen the spot himself.
Rest in piece Nick. It is hard saying goodbye, my friend.

Michael Jackson, Elvis and Mortality

Anyone else feel like they lost a bit of their childhood with the news this week? Was there a boy out there who didn't have the Farrah Faucet poster in his room, or marvel at the talent of an eight year old boy? My sister had the Thriller Poster in her room and my disabled brother was enamored with "Michael Jackson." Yes, he was troubled, maybe more than that.

I look at the photos on television and I wonder how a good looking 18 year old man could become an unattractive 50-year old woman? I wonder where was the person in his life that could have stepped in and straightened him out? Where were his parents, or his friends, his spouse. But then, I remember my parents talking about Elvis, what a talented young man he was and how he grew up to be so troubled and how he too died alone.

Neither could go out during the day and resorted to medication to help them sleep. What a lonely, sad existence. Do we need any more illustrations to prove the old adage that money cannot buy happiness?

So much talented wasted in the end.

Dads and Sons

I lost my father last Father's Day. It was only fitting given that he had 10 children. He had a flair for the dramatic, my father. He was born on Christmas Day and was quite a guy. With so many kids he worked a lot but he always tried to be at our sporting events to support us.

This past weekend my son and I were scheduled to go to Moses Lake for a big 12 and under tournament. He hurt his foot two weeks ago and we figured he bruised it. Played five games on it and did really well, even hit a three run homer. But in an abundance of caution we went to the doctor on Friday. Doctor came in and said, "When did you break your foot."

Joe handled it well. He really wanted to play this weekend, but we held him out so his foot will be healed for the all-star tournament. We debated going to the tournament at all, but then I realized why wouldn't we? How often do you get to share three days with your son - sleep in a tent, be in the dugout with him, eat all meals with him.

On the ride home, with a trophy in the car, Joe said, "Thanks for taking me, Dad."

I replied, "Thanks for going with me. You know, Joe, I know you were disappointed not to play, but I really appreciate your maturity. I never had this kind of experience with my dad, but these are memories I hope we both have for a lifetime."

His response? "I know I will."

ON-line writing tip: Sorry I've let this lapse. Okay, you have a protagonist and he or she has received her call to adventure and decided to step forward. Now what will be at least three obstacles he or she will encounter on his quest?

Anyone see Transformers? I watched it last night. The plot was one of those plots where it looked like someone told the screenwriter, "No, it needs to be longer so we can squeeze in more action scenes. Come up with yet another obstacle, even if it really makes no sense to the plot you've already developed." Watch it. It's a good lesson on plotting and how not to do it.

Service, Fort Lewis and Fathers

I signed last Saturday at the Fort Lewis PX. In May I had appeared at the base to give away free copies of Wrongful Death on Armed Forces day. Simon and Schuster also provided two organizations with free copies of the novel to be sent to Afghanistan and Iraq.

Being on base is always a moving experience. It is a world within a world, one that most civilians, myself included, don't fully understand. For anyone who wants to criticize the military, I would invite you to visit one of the military bases and talk to the men and women who are deploying to Iraq, and now to Afghanistan again. Talk to their families. It is a sobering experience. I spoke to one woman from Germany who met and married her husband while he was stationed there. The week before he had deployed to Afghanistan. She was a lovely woman, happy and very interested in the book. I was surprised to learn that her husband would be gone for a year and even more surprised when she returned to introduce me to her three children, the oldest just 12.

I lost my father last Father's Day, June 15. This one year has felt like ten. I can only imagine it must feel the same way for so many of these military families, with one very significant difference. I have achieved peace knowing my father is not coming home. These families go to bed every night wondering if their father, or mother for that matter, will be coming home. It is a sobering thought for all of us.

God bless those soldiers and their families who are making the sacrifice every day. Maybe wars are political. But the soldiers aren't. They're mothers and fathers and wives and husbands just like all of us.

May they all come home safe.

On the Road Again, Willie Nelson, "Beefcake" and Bookreporter.com

I can't get Willie Nelson out of my head - "On the road again..."

Thanks to all who have come out and seen me in Chicago, Spokane and Seattle. After an appearance at the Bellevue University Bookstore tonight at 7:00 I hit the road tomorrow for Portland, San Francisco, San Mateo, San Jose, Los Angeles, San Diego, Phoenix, Tucson and Denver and finish with a couple more parties here in Burien and Kirkland. It's been a lot of fun so far and I'm looking forward to more of the same back out on the road. So come on out and ask me questions or just say hello. The venues are all posted on my website.


Beefcake

In Portland I'll be participating in a photoshoot for a calendar to benefit the Oregon Writer's Colony and its efforts to renovate its historic meeting house. The theme is for writers to "bare" their inner writing soul so rumor has it there will be some skin showing. I told them they'd have to shoot me in the dark so "beefcake" doesn't become "beefycake."
All in good fun and for a great cause.


BookReporter.com
Wow, check out the link to the review from Bookreporter.com. I'm grateful that the reviewer enjoyed the book, and understood the book so well. I know that Joe is a lawyer by background, so the review was especially gratifying.

http://www.bookreporter.com/reviews2/9781416591009.asp

Writing Tip of the Week

Okay, you have your protagonist in his ordinary world and you've incited him into action. You now also know what is the end game, his ultimate goal. Draw a horizontal line with each event on the line. 2/3 of the way down the line, write in what is the climax of the story. Note this is not the ending, but the climax, that defining emotional moment like the verdict in The Cyanide Canary or when Dana Hill discovers who killed her brother in Damage Control. It's the wow moment in the book and from there it will be a race to the conclusion. Don't know the climax, yet? You really should, because next week we'll start to fill in that time line you're creating.

Best to you all,

Bob Dugoni