Robert Crais: Michael Phelps to my Ryan Lochte

Here’s the order I do things:  I read and then I write.

I wake up every morning, brew a pot of coffee.  Do my sit-ups.  Weigh myself.  Then, I read.  As I’m reading, I jot down notes (in pencil) of super cool ideas.  Then, I only write when something I read is amazing…when the writer knocks the top of my head off with a flying roundhouse kick.

I write on the computer for a full single-spaced page, usually.  Then, I’m back to reading.

I feel like a cheater.  Why?  Because I think of myself as a swimmer but not the lead guy—one of those guys in second or third or fourth place—riding the wake of a Michael Phelps.  Does Michael Phelps ride anyone else’s wake?  If I was a bona fide genius, shouldn’t I just wake up with the story-lines fully-formed in my head?

Michael Phelps

Right now, I’m swimming in the wake of Robert Crais.  God, the man is a genius.  Short lines.  Terse dialog.  But there’s so much character packed into these little lines.  He’s a funny guy.  Lullaby Town:  highly recommended.  New York Times Bestseller.

I know that a writer is super-amazing if I look them up on the internet…just to see what they look like.  (Crais:  handsome, fiftyish, rugged with a passing, round-faced resemblance to Robert Deniro)  They’re good, also, if I want to write like them.  I try not to do this.  This will take me off my game.  Anyway, it’s impossible.  I write long sentences.  Crais, short.

Should I feel like a hack that I can only write if I read?  Does this make me second-rate?  Or am I Ryan Lochte, swimming in Michael Phelps’s wake—biding my time, building my strength?  I got my eye on you, Robert.

Ryan Lochte

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