Alter-cover by the fabulous Gillian Berry

I’m shaking as I write this, because I’m both sad and angry. I guess in some parts of the world they call this “frustrated.” Or “sangry.”

I’m sad that as a culture, we’re still divided this way: that some books are girly books, and some books are guy books.

I’m also angry that people still try to pretend like it’s not a problem. That’s it’s not a problem we have to have separate “women-only” book awards, because female authors get so little recognition in mainstream awards (3:10 female to male winners for the Booker). That it’s no biggie when a female author gets slut-shamed while her books get ignored. Or that books by female authors tend to get fluffy, jazzy covers; that female authors have to use pen names to supposedly be marketable to boy audiences (J.K. Rowling?).

Somehow, all this is not a “gendered” problem.

@kiersi Most authors don’t get the success they want. Or get reviewed in the Times. Plenty hate their covers.These problems aren’t gendered.

— Brendan Halpin (@bhalpin) May 7, 2013

Author Maureen Johnson did a pretty neat piece recently of books written by male authors, with the covers re-imagined as if the author was of the opposite sex or gender queer (also see the top image on this post). And boy, is it fascinating to look at.

I get that it’s not a social science experiment by any measurable standard. It’s conjecture, made up by artists, on a cute little prompt that Maureen sent out.

Regardless, the images are striking. The “boy”-ized version of Throne of Glass probably got to me the most. It’s so… dark. And serious. And totally gender-neutral. I can’t help but feel like when I look at it that yes, this is absolutely the difference between a YA book “for boys or anyone,” and a YA book “for just girls.”

Alter-cover by Ardawling

From a marketing standpoint, I totally get it. I’m not going to pretend like I don’t understand how the publishing machine works. Girls, and parents of girls, and grandparents of girls, buy book covers that look “girly.” Same for boys. Publishers know this. Marketers know this. When they are tasked with selling a book, they’re going to target their audience. (See my post on white chicks in flowy dresses dominating YA book covers.)

Therein lies the problem.

Since when did a romance book become something only women would write or read? What about, like, Goethe? I must be taking crazy pills. That guy lived his life writing romance. Not to mention Shakespeare, the origin of the best romantic comedies ever.

If A Midsummer Night’s Dream isn’t “chick lit,” I don’t know what is.

When did we as a culture decide that some books are only for girls, and some are only for boys? Maybe if we stopped marketing them that way. Maybe if authors didn’t have to change their names to sound male or un-gendered just to sell to a “wider” audience.

It totally goes both ways. I have a friend who had to shorten his name on his book because it was a “girl” book, and he was a guy author–and his publisher was worried no one would buy a “girl” book with a male author’s name on it.

Even worse: we hear a lot at writer’s conferences that “boys don’t read.” That our books must have constant, page-turning fun and action if the boys are going to keep reading. Since when? The most voracious readers I know are all guys, and have been since they were young.

The problem is two-fold. Which came first: the chicken, or the egg?

1) Boys are raised to like “boy” things. Girls are raised to like “girl” things.

2) Book publishers design their books to have a gendered appeal. More often than not, the “girl” book is obvious. (I think the same reason “pink” is a girl color, but blue can sell to both genders.)

I think it starts with raising our kids to like things based on the story and the content, not the gender of the narrator or the author. But it also starts with publishers getting out of gendered design and marketing. I don’t want my book to be sold as a “girly” book. I want it to be sold as a book about a girl who goes through life (and monsters).

Is that so much to ask?

On a personal note, I did politely ask my publisher not to put a girl in a flowy dress on the cover of my book, and they obliged. Props to you, Rain Town.

It was a hit. And I think I know why.

Sometimes we writers fall out of love with our work. It happens. It’s not because we don’t love the story or the characters anymore. Personally, I grow weary of the revision process pretty quickly. I love writing a new story; it’s thrilling, exciting, like first love. But over time, when I have to deepen my understanding of my story, my characters, and revisit them constantly–I get sick of it.

I fall out of love.

So, today, dear Eddy gave me what I call some revision therapy. He asked me:

“Tell me what you love about this book.”

I told him. I love my assassins–especially young Scorpion, missing his tongue, but still sexy as all get-out. I love my drunk Han Solo character, who goes by Lionel Harvey. I definitely love the climax of this novel; it’s scary and sad and the end of a great character arc.

But I’m not on that stuff yet. I’m still mired in the first third of the MS, where it seems like I’ve been for the last few months.

“Well,” he said, “tell me what you love about the part you’re working on.”

I had to think about it. I love the gryphon carrying a horse around in the air–it’s such a ridiculous image, and the horse is almost too freaked out to actually, you know, freak out. She’s just stunned. I loved writing that look on her face, giving her life and personality.

I love getting to know my characters better. They’re pitted against some bandits, and hijinks ensue–and let me tell you, I love me some hijinks.

Suddenly, after this conversation, the juices started flowing again. I’m tearing up this MS and putting down new, better words like my hair is on fire.

“Your thing is good,” Eddy told me. “And you should feel good.”

It’s amazing what just a few words can do. My manuscript is good. I should feel good about it.

I do.

So tell me–what are you working on right now? Post it to the comments section, or even better, post it to your own blog–and let’s make this a thing!

A few weeks ago I blogged that it takes a village to write a book. In the post, I only mentioned how helpful it’s been working with editors, who have no problem telling us authors where our problems are and helping us fix them.

Today I want to shine the limelight on another essential piece of the puzzle: critique partners.

Often referred to as a “CP” on Twitter (and, of course, the verb “to CP” has developed from there, as grammatically illogical as that is), a critique partner is an essential part of the writer’s toolkit.

What is a critique partner?

In my experience, critique partners are best gleaned from a group of peers–fellow writers in your genre or category. (Note the distinction from beta reader, who doesn’t need any writing experience, just the ability to read and write his or her reactions.)

Critique partners can help at most levels:

- Developmental feedback on the overall arc of the story, characters, and pacing;

- Play-by-play feedback on scenes or sections that aren’t working;

- Copyediting, but I usually recommend waiting on that part until your work is at a third draft and you’re struggling with landing an agent or publisher.

A great critique partner can even help during the drafting process, reading what you already have before helping you brainstorm where the story could go, or how to reach your ideal end point.

How do you choose a critique partner?

I’ve found the most important element in choosing a CP is similar interest of genre or category (or both). If you write young adult or middle-grade, remember that these are categories, not genres. A genre would be romance, fantasy, thriller, mystery, etc. (e.g., you could have a sci-fi YA manuscript or a fantasy MG manuscript; category + genre.)

If you have a couple of potential CPs to choose from, select ones with varying genre interests and experience. Sometimes it’s immensely helpful to have a CP who specializes in contemporary YA look over your fantasy manuscript, because he or she will bring a different pair of eyes to the table. (As long as said CP can still appreciate fantasy–never choose someone who you know doesn’t enjoy reading your genre.) Of course, a CP with the same interests as you can be incredibly helpful too, especially in fact-checking and consistency editing.

I try not to send out to too many CPs at one time, or the amount of feedback can be overwhelming; I usually send to two at a time so I receive a reasonable variety of opinions.

What makes a great CP?

I’ve found great critique partners in all kinds of places. One of my top go-to people is a good friend as well as a writer. I know that he respects my work, and any critique I receive from him is based purely on his desire to see my manuscript become the best that it can be. From reading his own work, I can tell he has a keen eye and access to an advanced writer skill set.

But great critique can often come from outside our personal circles, and it’s helpful to mix it up with CPs from external arenas, too. It’s harder to know whether or not you’re getting honest feedback, which is always an issue; I always note to my CPs when I send out my work that I want nothing but the honest truth. (This requires you to have an outlook upon receiving feedback that any criticism is not personal. You need to be able to learn without having your feelings hurt. But that’s another post entirely.)

I find that without that personal connection, you can usually be sure your CP isn’t biased towards you based on friendship. Again, having a variety is helpful, and you’ll quickly figure out which CPs give you the best feedback.

Skill, honesty, and reciprocation.

With the availability of online writer communities (not to mention Twitter), it’s easy to be overwhelmed by the number of potential CPs. Try out new CPs with a few chapters, and whittle down your list to the best based on quality and honesty of feedback.

Always reciprocate. I try to read and CP twice as often as I receive feedback. Two reasons:

1. You get more out of CPing for someone else than you do receiving feedback. With the distance inherent in reading someone else’s work, it’s easier to see the common mistakes writers make, and address these flaws in your own writing. (Another reason it’s good to choose some CPs at near or the same skill level as yourself: you can help each other grow.)

When we receive feedback, we’re only getting it on that one piece of work; when we give feedback, we learn lessons that can be applied everywhere and anywhere.

2. You’ll feel like a good person, and your CPs will love you, which makes it easier to call on them in a pinch.

Resources

You can find CPs on She Writes (check out the virtual critique partner group), Authoronomy, Agent Query Connect, and Twitter.

The best advice I can give for finding a great critique partner is to get out there, whether online or in your home town, and meet other writers.

Let’s start at the beginning, where a reviewer I follow on Goodreads posted her honest review of a vampire novel. (I’m already getting No Remorse flashbacks here, shudder.) She received a free copy of the book in exchange for her honest review. That should be where this story ends. I mean, I don’t even know why I have to go on here.

Instead of backing away and leaving it at that, the author of said vampire novel, P. J. Dominicis, wrote an email to her “literary idol” Anne Rice, asking for… I’m not sure what, actually. Emotional support, I guess? That doesn’t really bother me much; authors are people too, and reading a negative review can be a trying experience. (Though, if I were to give any advice here, it’s just… don’t read them, bro, and spare yourself the experience.)

It’s what Dominicis and Rice ended up doing with it that really pokes my palms: posting a plea for “comments” on the negative review to Anne Rice’s Facebook page, which boasts 740,000+ fans.

I’m sure you can figure out the rest. It’s like aiming a sea of junkyard guard dogs at a piece of raw meat and cutting the leashes. (I’ve seen a couple of blog posts defending Rice’s behavior, as if it’s not her fault that her fans just happened to attack and destroy. My response: this particular book reviewer has expressed the desire to never review a book again. If the consequences to writing your honest opinion are this high, what’s the incentive for real reviews anymore at all? Do we really want a world populated by fake, 5-star-spewing puppets? I don’t.)

I don’t even care what the review was about. I’m not going to read this book and then check over the review to see if I agree with the reviewer, and then tear her apart if I feel she was unfair to the book. (As many people did.) It literally does not matter what the reviewer had to say: she wrote up her honest opinion, which was requested by the author, and that’s that. End. Finis. Done. This is how the book review process works.

To quote Wikipedia:

A book review is a form of literary criticism in which a book is analyzed based on content, style, and merit.^[1] A book review can be a primary source opinion piece, summary review or scholarly review.^[2] Books can be reviewed for printed periodicals, magazines and newspapers, as school work, or for book web sites on the internet. A book review’s length may vary from a single paragraph to a substantial essay. Such a review may evaluate the book on the basis of personal taste. Reviewers may use the occasion of a book review for a display of learning or to promulgate their own ideas on the topic of a fiction or non-fiction work.

I think I’m missing the part where this is some sort of critical dialogue between reviewers and authors. Oh, right–because it’s not. And bringing your grievances to a pack of 740,000 people tastes a lot like bullying to me, even if your remarks simply say, “Comments welcome.” Yes, you are responsible for what your loyal pack does with those words.

The plot thickens. The next day, Rice posted another casual “request for comments” on a small-time book blogger’s negative review of Rice’s 1998 novel, Pandora. (1998? Really? You’re upset about a review of a book you published more than ten years ago?)

Here’s what actually happened: the blogger in question picked up a tatty, mass-market paperback copy of the book that she was planning to cut up and use in an art project, and on a lark decided to read the book first. (A note on this: you can do whatever the hell you want with a book once you buy it. It’s your property now and none of anyone else’s business. End of story.)

The blogger didn’t like Pandora very much. Which–oh, here it is again–is absolutely within her rights. SHOCKER.

Cue: rabid pack of fans flooding this little book blogger’s page with fury. Aww, poor Ricey-poo, feeling a little down in the dumps because someone on the playground said some not-so-nice things? Crushing mice under my boots always makes me feel better, too.

A number of her fans were understandably disturbed by this big time authoress’s diva-slash-bully behavior. This is my favorite reply:

Waah, indeed.

So then comes yesterday. The Romantic Times convention is going on right now, and according to @LBardugo (who was actually there when it happened, along with @trishaleighKC), E. L. James, author of the infamous BDSM novel Fifty Shades of Grey, stood up in the middle of a New Adult panel and told the panelists to stop talking about her book.

Holy unexpected badassery. The real E. L. James just stood up in the audience and shut this panel DOWN. “Stop talking about my book.”

— Leigh Bardugo (@LBardugo) May 1, 2013

I think Leigh put it best: “I just saw ‘eff you money’ in action.”

Yep.

Get rich enough, authors, and you can do whatever you want no matter the venue–and everyone will chuckle nervously and move on.

Thanks, Anne Rice, for making me feel afraid to write this, in case you post my link on your Facebook page as well.

Thanks for making the honest book bloggers I trust to help me make my buying choices feel afraid to write their opinions.

You’re a real star.

No work is ever wasted. If it’s not working, let go and move on – it’ll come back around to be useful later.

This was one of my favorite posts on the subject so far, because it’s personal and near to my heart. I’ve worked on a number of manuscripts that had to be set aside for various reasons, and I’ve spun my wheels more times than I can count trying to figure out what happens next. And the work and the distance always grants me new, helpful perspective.

In this post, I introduce a character that is feature in most authors’ lives: The Nag-bot.

When you’ve written something and it just feels wrong, in a way you can’t explain? That’s her. When you leave your computer but can’t stop thinking about your manuscript—everything that you need to fix, everything you could add to it to solve your glitch—that’s her.

Read the post, “Rule 17: Sometimes Walking Away Is Just What Your Story Needs.”

Happy Monday!

Some time ago, Pixar’s Emma Coats tweeted twenty-two storytelling tips, and aggregated them into a single post called “22 Story Basics I’ve Picked Up In My Time At Pixar.” They have done a few circulations of the internet since then, because they are brilliant.

Writer/editor Kate Brauning started a pretty neat blog challenge recently, and graciously gave me the opportunity to guest post for her while my blog was down. The challenge? Write a post a day about each of the twenty-two rules.

The first one I wrote was for the very brilliant Rule #5: Simplify. Focus. Combine characters. Hop over detours. You’ll feel like you’re losing valuable stuff but it sets you free.

Check out my post: “Rule #5: Narrowing Your Focus.” This one was so much fun–I think you’ll like it.

A lot of the twenty-two rules pertain to drafting, to plotting, to character development. This one, however, is really a rule that will follow you into revising, into your second and third and fourth drafts. Why? Because it’s all about refining. Narrowing the scope of your vision, cutting out the garbage and honing in on the things your readers will love and remember.

Then, yesterday, I jumped in to fill in for Kate again with Rule #16: What are the stakes? Give us a reason to root for the character. What happens if they don’t succeed? Stack the odds against.

Read the post, “Rule #16: Stakes and Sweat.” (Great title, Kate!)

A lot of writing is really just clinical abuse. I’m pretty sure that if our characters were real people, most of us writers would be sitting behind bars.

More likely than not, I’ll be doing another guest post for her soon–so be sure to bookmark her blog!

Photo by Erin Kohlenberg - Flickr, Creative Commons

I’ve been writing “full time” since November 2011. I teach online classes and write marketing copy to make ends meet. When I’m not busy making enough money to live, I write. (And rewrite, and revise, and edit, blah blah blah.)

Over the course of this journey, with my first book coming out in August, I’ve discovered a few things I wish I could have told myself years ago. Not even just when I left my job in 2011 to go freelance–but back in 2010 when I wrote the first draft of my “grown up” novel. Back in high school when I decided I wanted to write for life. Back in middle school when I cranked out stupid amounts of fan fiction (not even kidding–500,000 words in total). People liked my stuff and I thought I was set.

What I wish I could have told myself back then?

1. It’s going to be really hard.

Everything about publishing is hard. Writing a draft is hard. Getting feedback (and learning to really listen to it) is hard. Finding an agent is hard. Wooing a publisher is hard. Going to conferences and meeting people and putting yourself out there is hard.

Letting real people read your work is hard.

Getting feedback that is truly critical? Really hard. And sometimes genuinely painful.

2. Your ego is going to be crushed–over and over again.

The first requirement for being a writer is to not be fragile. One of my writer friends was telling me the other day about a pitch session she had with an agent–where the agent basically told her, “This book is unpublishable.”

Well, instead of crying and giving up, she took it as a challenge. A challenge to get that book published anyway. Instead of weakening her, it gave her strength.

You have to have that inside of you to be a writer. People will criticize you. Probably because your work needs work–it always does, especially the newer you are to it.

3. You will have to learn how to learn.

I went to a panel of young adult authors last night, and one of them said probably the best piece of advice for a young writer that I have ever heard: Go to college. Get a degree in whatever you want. The point is that you learn how to think critically; you learn how to learn.

Because you won’t start out your writing journey as an amazing writer. Nobody does. It takes a lot of practice, and it takes a lot of dedication. You have to be able to learn from mistakes, to learn from criticism, to learn from other writers and blog posts and books and even yourself.

4. You may not succeed right away, and maybe not for a very long time.

Sometimes your first manuscript won’t get you an agent. Or your second. Or your third. Maybe it’s not the right idea at the right time. Maybe you haven’t mastered execution yet, even if the idea is great. Maybe your writing style still needs finesse and work.

Push through it. Write that next manuscript. Practice, practice, practice. My first MS got rejected like crazy. I set it aside and wrote another one. And another one. I had learned so much by that third MS that when I came back and pulled my first one off the shelf, I was shocked at how bad it was, and how much I could improve it.

5. You have to actually write.

Don’t just talk about writing. Actually sit in front of the computer/notepad/typewriter and do it. If I could go back in time and tell myself anything, it would be to never criticize a first draft. To just let it be born as it is, and come back and refine it later (or rewrite it completely, which is something I do, agh). Because if you let yourself review and critique every single word?

You’ll never get anything down on paper.

Again: practice, practice, practice. Just writing those crappy first drafts will teach you so much about writing better ones. About writing better second drafts. And third drafts. And learning how to set something aside when you have done everything you can–this is a skill. I’m serious. It is. Knowing that point when to walk away is a skill you will have to learn and develop over time.

Oh, and that dedication part.

The worst part about writing is everything you will have to give up in order to do it. I’ve stayed home on Saturday nights writing when my friends are out having fun. I’ve spent entire days writing while my boyfriend sits in a corner, ignored. I’ve let my house get messy and dirty and skipped meals.

Because that’s what it takes if you want to succeed and make your dream come true. Work hard. Give up some things.

It’s difficult, I know; you’ll learn during this process whether you really want to be a writer or not. You might even be one of those sick people like me who loves it. Writing is its own reward. If you manage to push through all the dreary stuff and see your book on the shelf–well, there can be a lot of other rewards out there for you, too.

If I were to tell my younger self anything, it would be this: being a writer takes dedication, commitment, and genuine passion. And staying home a lot.

Begin at the beginning and go on till you come to the end; then stop.

- Lewis Carroll

Think about the opening of the last book you read, or the last movie. I, personally, had a cold last week, and during my incarceration on the couch watched How to Train Your Dragon.

A good story starts at the beginning–not before, and not after. The first scene of How to Train Your Dragon is actually one of my favorites: the little viking town where Hiccup lives is attacked by dragons. It’s the very same attack where he shoots down Toothless, the “dragon” in the title, and the story starts to unfold.

Just because a work is a full-length, 90k manuscript doesn’t excuse you from starting at the beginning. The last book I read was a New Adult contemporary romance (if you want to know it was Beautiful Disaster, by Jamie McGuire, about which I have many mixed thoughts–more to come next week).

The opening sequence of the novel? The first time the hero meets her love interest. Because that is where the story starts.

Nope, Not Before

Why has this one simple, easy, fairly straight-forward rule been so hard for me and many other writers? There’s a strong temptation to start just before the beginning. You know, with a bit of healthy backstory, to establish the status quo before the inciting incident hits like a Mesozoic-era meteor.

But why bother? Why risk possibly losing the reader’s attention with anything before the beginning of the story? Pull the reader right into the thick of the excitement, and begin at the event that starts the chain reaction that’s going to carry us through to the finish.

It’s scary at first to cut out all that back story you’ve worked so hard to imagine and create. We’re usually told to fold it in later. Well, I think that’s good advice. Keep that back story. It’s good that you know it, inside your head, so you can use it to inform the rest of the novel. The reader will pick up the essential pieces of back story naturally as the story progresses.

Not After, Either

In the middle of trying to avoid starting too early in the story, the temptation is often to start too late. (You just can’t win, right?) I don’t remember who said this, but an agent posted a tidbit of professional wisdom on Twitter a few months ago and it’s stuck with me ever since.

“If something traumatic has happened to a character to set them on their current path, SHOW IT TO US. Don’t skip the good stuff!”

You can get away with hinting at the life-changing event if your story is Memento. Otherwise, let us experience it alongside the protagonist! Include us in the catalyst moment for this character’s transformation–that way we’re with you 100% when we see the train wreck that unfolds afterward. The reader is now invested in the outcome.

Aarrggh! How do you know where to find that magic starting place?!

Of course, the trick in all this is knowing which scene is “the beginning.” Pinpoint the catalyst: what is the action or consequence that starts us rolling forward? Which is the very first domino piece to fall in the series of unfortunate events to come?

Once you can pick this scene out in a line-up, start there. Then let all that pretty back story you wrote up and squirreled away somewhere reveal itself into the scenes to follow.

(A quick note: I don’t think “beginning” and “inciting incident” are the same thing, necessarily. They can be–but they aren’t always. The Simpsons is often a really good example of this. The dominos start falling quite a while before we hit the one moment that starts Homer on his quest to become hugely overweight so he can stay home–or whatever.)

For some reason, this question of whether or not to title chapters has come up on Twitter a lot lately. I first debated it last month, when I was revising a book and realizing that my chapter titles really contributed nothing to the book as a whole. They were troublesome to write–they had to be pithy and relevant–and kept changing as my chapter order/content changed.

I tried to think of the number of books I’ve read this year that did or did not use chapter titles; what I figured out? 95% of them don’t.

Okay, well, that’s pretty clear. Most authors are choosing to avoid titling their individual chapters. Books with multiple points of view, such as Beth Revis’s Shades of Earth–that one made sense to me because the narrator’s name (Amy or Elder) is listed at the top of each chapter. So, that sort of takes the place of the title.

The other books I skimmed were books with relatively short chapters–5-15 pages each. That also made sense, because it would be quite a chore to label 30+ chapters.

Then I stopped on Daughter of Smoke and Bone, by Laini Taylor. This one not only has titles–they are brilliant titles.

So why? Why do they work for me? Why do most authors avoid them?

My hunch is that, going into writing a book, the writer’s first instinct is to summarize the chapter in the title. Well, there are a couple of problems with that.

1. You don’t want to give away the surprise in the title.

2. You don’t want to set up expectations that would detract from the reader’s buildup of suspense.

3. You don’t want to be so mysterious that the reader spends the time he or she should have spent enjoying the story, trying to figure out the meaning of the title.

However, in Daughter of Smoke and Bone, I discovered many reasons that chapter titles absolutely can work. What I observed:

1. The title added something to the reader’s understanding of the chapter. E.g., the chapter is about the hero investigating a haunted house. The chapter is titled “The Trespasser.” It adds a new dimension to what the hero is doing–investigating a haunted house, but also trespassing on private property.

2. The chapter title reveals an element of motivation or character that is not revealed in the chapter. Taylor uses chapter titles that are sentence-like in structure (still quite short, 2-5 words) that give us some framework or detail with which to enter the chapter. It sets the reader into a particular frame of mind that changes how the reader interprets the chapter–intentionally.

3. It’s clever. She’s very careful about not being too clever, but sometimes her chapter headings are funny in the context of what we already know about the story. It’s good comic relief if the chapter to come is serious or dramatic.

What are your thoughts about using or not using chapter titles? Do you title your chapters? Why?

The Night Circus

As I move into the critique stage of my current novel, and my August book release finishes up with the editor over at Rain Town, it has become clearer and clearer to me that no single person is responsible for the great books we read and love.

Today I read a fabulous post, “On Writing and Publishing Paths,” by Erin Morgenstern–author of the seriously delightful, magical, spectacle of a novel The Night Circus. And the takeaway is one that I hope every aspiring writer takes to heart: a manuscript rarely emerges from a writer’s mind a finished product.

I’ve been on the receiving end of query rejections, form letters and personalized responses alike. “They don’t get it,” is something we’re tempted to think. “They’re blind to my potential.”

As Erin writes:

…I got my manuscript to the point where I didn’t know what else it needed and it seemed like the right point to start sending it out. I did. It got requests because I had a query letter that made it sound like it had a plot when it really didn’t. It also got a lot of rejections.

I didn’t know what else it needed.

Every author has been there. You reach a point with a piece of writing where you just cannot fathom what else to do with it. Agents don’t want it, editors turn it away, and we are forced to wonder what else we can possibly do when we’ve done everything we possibly can.

The moral of Erin’s story?

And then my messy, plotless manuscript reached people who politely informed me that it was messy and plotless and needed a lot of work. But they also said they would be interested if I worked on it more and basically completely rewrote it.

I could have decided they were wrong and not listened and turned around and self-published the manuscript I had because at that point I was in a bit of denial about the whole messy plotless thing.

I’m really, really glad I listened.

Erin Morgenstern

Getting a book published is stupid hard. Even if you dodge agenting, like I did (I’m still headed that way–but my path has zig-zagged, as many authors’ paths do) you still have to go on submission, wait for editors to decide if they like it (oh, you mean, like querying agents all over again? Yep), and then perform whatever series of edits they request of you, even after you sign the contract.

And that part is no walk in the park, either. Getting professional feedback from a professional editor is like watching someone take a sculpture you were really proud of, mash it up in a few places, and then point at you and say, “Now fix it.”

Except that the thing you make after that? It’s so much better.

True story: I gave up on my manuscript once. It was last January, when I was getting rejections from agents and sweating to death in a second-floor apartment in Buenos Aires. I rewrote and rewrote and rewrote the same chapter over and over, hoping that some revision somewhere would please an agent enough to at least request a partial. I ran it into the ground, and then promptly hurled my computer across the room.

Then I think I went downstairs and ordered a ham and cheese sandwich and argued with a waitress in Spanish but that’s besides the point. I literally gave up. I shelved the manuscript and started writing a new one. And when I had thought that I hated writing it turned out that I could love it again if I just let myself breathe in a new world, and meet new characters, and spin a new fairy tale.

I got an email two weeks later from RainTown Press saying they had decided to pick up my book and we were set to sign a contract. And let me tell you, that was only the start of the journey.

I’m so proud of that book now. Those first professional edits were scary and at the same time, exactly what I needed. She told me everything that my book was missing, all my characters that needed merging and missing plot that needed buffing that would really make the book shine.

Don’t be ashamed or afraid of letting others help, and don’t turn away their advice on what your manuscript needs. Like children or pets, we become blind to our manuscripts’ flaws in our total love for them.

A book takes a village.

News item #1: Rob Thomas is making a Veronica Mars movie! If you haven’t heard of Veronica Mars, here is a post about why it’s amazing, and why Veronica remains my favorite teenage heroine in book, movie, or TV history.

Of course, because the push for a movie/new TV series starring our favorite snarky blonde was purely from rabid fans (like myself), Rob had the great idea to fund production of the movie via crowdfunder giant, Kickstarter.

Here is the hysterical video that goes along with it:

Awesome, right? “Well, you gotta hand it to Rico. Eight years without breaking character.”

“I hear that on Flash Point, he plays the SWAT commander as Keith Mars playing the SWAT commander.”

Okay, I’m done, I promise. Wait, except that IT MADE ALMOST A MILLION DOLLARS IN ONE MORNING and of course, going over the Kickstarter goal of $2 mil is ideal because nudity and car chases.

Big news item #2! I got an email from the PR group at Random House, I’m assuming due to the post I wrote last week about their new ebook-only imprint Hydra (and sister imprints Flirt, Loveswept, and Alibi) and how it’s pretty much designed to screw hopeful authors.

Based on all the critical feedback they received, Random House has updated the contract options now to include two different packages. See the note I added to the post here.

And finally, news item #3: At last, I’ve received my copies of Marie Lu’s Prodigy (sequel to Legend), the final book in Lauren Oliver’s Delirium book series (Requiem, what a dreadful title), and am working my way through the sequel to Cinder (read my review here), titled Scarlet. Looks like I may also get it signed tonight by Marissa Meyer herself!

So look for some book reviews headed your way soon. (And speaking of book lottery, you’ll also notice Forest of Hands and Teeth and The Girl Who Circumnavigated Fairyland in a Ship of Her Own Making–both titles I ordered months ago and completely forgot about, because Amazon sucks. I want to thank everyone who recommended these books to me, especially as I am trying to build my middle-grade library.)

Happy Wednesday!

UPDATE: I received an email from Allison Dobson, Director of Digital Imprints at Random House, regarding recent changes made to the Hydra, Alibi, Lovestruck and Flirt ebook-only imprint contracts (based on what I’m sure was a torrent of critical feedback). Read about the changes here, on the Writer Beware website (or see the full, official PDF here).

Essentially, they’re offering two packages: one that’s a more traditional advance-and-royalty deal, and another that’s still the original “profit sharing” deal with some important changes. No longer will Random House charge a setup cost or a fee for the sales/marketing/promotion; that’s part of the package, up to a certain amount.

So, I think that addresses a lot of the concerns raised in this post (and by other critics on the web)–but I am still leery of this emerging trend.

Read on.

This is a bit of a gossip post because sometimes, I think it’s important to spread certain gossip–especially as it pertains to large publishing houses (corporations) screwing writers who aren’t aware they’re being screwed.

Let’s start with Author Solutions. I’ve followed this gal, Emily Suess, for some time now; she’s written a long-running series of posts about Author Solutions, and how they are just a terrible company. And I don’t mean only their terms. They’re a vanity press, which essentially means they charge you to publish your book (though that silliness is fairly standard in the vanity press market). I also mean their behavior: sock puppet accounts on Twitter, harassing bloggers who call them out on their practices, swindling authors out of what royalties they could get… I could go on.

So, a while ago, Author Solutions was acquired by Penguin. And the whole publishing world turned their heads in unison and said, “What the hell?” An actual true-blue publishing house had acquired a vanity press. It’s scary, when you think about it: a publishing house, one that pays authors for their work, who foots the bill (as they should) for editing/cover design/marketing, is acquiring a vanity press that works exactly the opposite way.

Okay, well. Money is money. I get that, especially as far as print publishers are concerned. They’re scared. They’re scared of e-books, they’re scared of self-publishing, blah blah blah. I was slightly rattled by the acquisition, but then I moved on with my life.

But Penguin wasn’t the only Big Six house to jump on board with this shady cartel of self-publishing imprints (Author Solutions owns like, a dozen of these–Xlibris, iUniverse and AuthorHouse are just some). Not long after, Emily posted on David Gaughran’s blog (I love this title: “Penguin’s Solution for Authors: One Racket to Rule them All”) that Harlequin, Simon & Schuster, Harper Collins and others had hired Author Solutions to build self-publishing imprints of their own.

As if the market couldn’t get any more confusing for writers looking for non-traditional publishing solutions, now all the big publishing houses are getting into this sketchy business.

Well, finally, a New York law firm is investigating Author Solutions for a possible class-action lawsuit.

Unfortunately, Author Solutions scratches the surface of what I think is an endemic problem in the publishing industry: Meet Hydra (as well as Alibi, Flirt, and Loveswept), Random House’s new digital-only imprint family.

John Scalzi had this to say about it in his post, “Note to SF/F Writers: Random House’s Hydra Imprint Has Appallingly Bad Contract Terms”:

* No advance.

* The author is charged “set-up costs” for editing, artwork, sale, marketing, publicity — i.e., all the costs a publisher is has been expected to bear. The “good news” is that the author is not charged up front for these; they’re taken out of the backend. If the book is ever published in paper, costs are deducted for those, too.

* The contract asks for primary and subsidiary rights for the term of copyright.

It’s just so deeply troubling to me to see legitimate publishing houses targeting naïve, hopeful writers with this kind of garbage. This language (very seductive, isn’t it?) is direct from Random House’s announcement page:

Under this program, authors will have a complete and unique publishing package. Every book will be assigned to an accomplished Random House editor and a dedicated publicist. They will also have the invaluable support of Random House’s experienced marketing and digital sales teams, who know how to reach out to and expand each book’s dedicated readership. Not only will authors benefit from working with the finest cover designers to ensure irresistibly eye-catching books, but they will also be offered the unique advantage of social media tools and training that will allow them to connect directly with their readers. To reach the widest possible readership, every title will be available for purchase at major e-retailers and will be compatible with all reading devices.

Wow, sounds pretty nice, huh? Oh, except for the part where the contract essentially leaves you with nothing. Where the publishing house that has traditionally footed the bill for publishing a book (as they should, considering they keep most of the profit) they are now trying to pass those costs on to the author–who, by the way, is the one who produced the work in the first place.

This is what I see self-publishing becoming, and it scares me. Not because I want to go that route myself–as anyone who knows me is already aware, I work with a traditional publisher now, and I don’t intend to change that in the future.

It troubles me because I know writers who want to go this route, and I’m afraid for them. I’m afraid for them getting screwed. I’m afraid for the snowball effect, for the slippery slope this could lead to for traditionally-published authors, too.

Obviously, that’s a dark and far-reaching prediction–big authors like John Scalzi would take their business elsewhere, or use their significant traction to self-publish on their own terms.

Still, I can’t help it. If these big publishers are not only buying up Author Solutions imprints like trailer trash on Black Friday, but starting their own imprints designed to screw authors, what’s the next frontier going to be?

The blog has been radio silent because I went on vacation. As in, I peeled myself away from the computer, left the manuscript print-out I’ve been slaving over lying prone on the ottoman with slightly curling corners, and got the hell out of Dodge.

It was a while ago when my Significant Other said, “Whoa, Kiersi, you need to take a day off.”

And I was all, “Sure, I’ll take tomorrow off.” And then it would sort of half-happen. There were deadlines to meet, manuscripts to revise, new ideas and concepts to lay out in Scrivener. Too many things to do to take a day off.

I didn’t even realize it, but it was fraying me like the rope between a water buffalo and a tree. Each day got less and less productive, so I spent more and more time to make up for it, and that only made it worse.

So when scheduled vacation time arrived (and by vacation I mean taking care of my elderly relatives and occasionally getting a moment away to jog down to the beach, not to complain or anything, but really) I left it all behind. I brought along a book and my Game Boy and tried not to touch my computer unless it was absolutely meteorite-to-Earth necessary.

Sometimes it’s not until you heed some well-deserved and earnestly-prescribed advice that you realize what you were missing. I opened my laptop the morning after getting back from the trip and suddenly it was all there again.

I had this incredible clarity of purpose, this absolute focus that I’d forgotten was possible, scratching to-do items off my list like a woman with checkmarks for fingers. And yes, the lesson has been learned:

Sometimes you just need to take a damn vacation.

So I read this incredible book, and I’m sure you’ve heard of it, and you’ve probably already read it, but if you haven’t, I want SO BADLY to tell you about it.

This book is called The Night Circus. This book is by some brilliant woman who apparently goes by the name Erin Morgenstern. And if I were to hedge a bet, I would hedge that Erin Morgenstern is a genius.

Here it is:

I used this zoomed-in version of the cover so you can get a good, clear picture of the clock. Why? Because the clock is this book. It’s a complex series of parts, all moving together, intricately-woven, to create a masterwork. Really, Morgenstern stitched together a cosmic display of cinematic delight, of sight and sound and smell and old-fashioned feels.

So, yeah. This book is about a circus. It’s about a circus that only opens at night, about a circus that is the venue for something much greater, much larger than just a circus. There are two competitors in the game, and they are both strangely-carved people, both the proteges of fabulous old magicians who have completely lost touch with the world. And there’s other stuff: there’s gardens made of ice, and bottles filled with incense that make you relive lost moments in time, and many other marvelous illusions.

But what got me about The Night Circus was the style. It’s like the unicorn of the third-person narrative, the zenith of a structure that so few authors can conquer with such aplomb. We rarely get to see inside any of the characters and yet, the choice of third-person omniscient was perfect for this story. This book contains many characters, but the reader is never confused; it shifts between time and space and perspective, and yet it never flusters; and that’s really the only way I can explain it.

What’s really fabulous is hearing the click when each of Morgenstern’s pieces start to snap into place. A picture forms in front of you and you gasp and say, “Of course!”

That is my favorite feeling. That is why I loved this book and you should go out and read it right now if you haven’t already.

Oh, and, vacation.

I’m disclaiming this post with one thing: I’m still new to Tumblr. I’m still building my base and learning the best practices. But here I want to talk basic and broad, and discuss A) why Tumblr is a great tool with which to build your social media strategy and author platform, and B) how to use it effectively without feeling like it’s a time-sink or “just one more thing to do.” Tumblr can be both fun, educational, and another way to get involved in your community and build an audience–particularly in the YA and MG writer communities. Guess who’s on Tumblr the most?

Young adults and tweens. Your readers are right here, spending huge amounts of time on this new social media network (now that their parents are all on Facebook and it’s no longer a safe haven for them). So grab it by the horns.

What is Tumblr?

Think of Tumblr as Facebook meets blogging. You have a “Dashboard,” which is essentially a Facebook feed. You “follow” other Tumblrs, and their posts appear on your feed. You have a few options:

- Reblog: Essentially the same as a Facebook “Share,” where you re-post something that someone else posted, with the option to attach your own thoughts.

- Like

- Bookmark: Adds the post to your “Bookmarks” list so you can return to it at any time.

- Create new post: Text, photo (or photoset), quotes, chats, and more.

Available options for every post that appears on your Dashboard.

New post options.

Everything you reblog or create appears on your personal Tumblr. Your Tumblr is totally customizable, and looks and feels a bit like a blog. Some features of Tumblr:

- Create custom pages that appear in a menu.

- Choose from an existing template, create your own, or modify a template.

- Posts appear on your Tumblr like blog posts would on WordPress or Blogger.

- Offer visitors the option to ask you a question, which you can answer on your Tumblr blog.

- Allow visitors to submit a post that you can add to your Tumblr, if you choose.

I tweaked and published this Tumblr blog in 20 minutes.

How do I use Tumblr?

How do you use Facebook? How do you use WordPress or Blogger? Everyone approaches these two platforms in different ways, and your Tumblr experience is similarly customizable.

You can always view a Tumblr blog simply by visiting its URL; it will display much like a blog, though you can’t “Follow” it (receive updates) unless you are signed up and signed in to Tumblr. But signing up and creating a Tumblr for yourself is quite simple, and once you have an account, you can create as many additional Tumblr blogs as you choose.

1. Visit www.tumblr.com and click “Sign Up.”

2. Create an account–all you need is an email address, password, and username.

A note on usernames: As I mentioned, you can create additional Tumblr blogs with different names attached to them. For example, my primary Tumblr is kiersi.tumblr.com, based on my username “Kiersi.” Additionally I run typewriterstories.tumblr.com, which allows me to both create new posts and reblog/like other people’s posts as user “Typewriterstories.”

When selecting your username, be aware that this will become your primary Tumblr account’s URL. So if you select “Doug” as your username, your primary Tumblr account will be doug.tumblr.com.

3. Visit your blog, click “Customize” in the top corner, and select a theme for your blog. There are other themes out there in the world, so go and explore. I’m not going to dive into that too much in this post, but there are plenty of resources available.

4. Start posting and reblogging!

What Tumblr accounts should I follow?

Some Tumblrs I follow are very niche and specific; for example, The Art of Animation only posts photosets (a series of pictures) featuring an artist, usually all artwork in a similar vein or style. AuthorLife (a great Tumblr to follow for authors, by the way) and Title2Come both harness the very popular “Caption this funny gif!” meme (a meme in which I am not afraid to admit I occasionally participate).

Other Tumblrs are less niche and more personal. Some simply reblog pictures of kittens all day; others spend time and energy constructing smart, concise posts reminiscent of a short-form blog. Even more Tumblrs are run by dedicated fans, usually fans of The Avengers, Doctor Who, and some throwback 90s videogames.

I’d be willing to guess that most of Tumblr’s traffic are reblogs of Robert Downey Jr. photosets, but again–Tumblr is whatever you want it to be. You choose who you follow. Posts that appear on your feed include a “reblogged from” link, so if someone posts something you like, you can track down where it originated and find new and interesting Tumblrs to follow.

I think it’s important to know what you like, and not be afraid to like that thing. When you are building an audience and an author platform, readers will come looking not for dry writing advice or shameless self-promotion (that’s what blogs and Twitter are for, ha ha, JOKING), but for you: You just as you are, as someone they admire, as a unique individual with varied interests and an eye for the witty and interesting.

Think about famous authors you follow, and try to pin down what it is they do that you like: what types of posts do they make that resonate with you? What kind of content do you enjoy seeing on your feed? You are curating the content you see and produce for your followers.

YA author Leigh Bardugo is doing it right.

Why should I use Tumblr?

You have a lot to do as an author. Promotion is a big part of that in this era, but it’s important to focus on your craft, too.

A lot of authors approach social media platforms like Twitter or Tumblr with the belief that, “This is intimidating, and new, and I don’t have time to do it.” There are a lot of things demanding your attention: your blog, your Facebook page, your email. I get that–I really, really do. And I get that doing those things takes time away from writing, from family, from all those other things happening in our lives.

But Tumblr doesn’t have to be work. I mean, it’s good to think of building your social media platform that way: as a part of your job, as something you need to set aside time for, that requires some small degree of dedication. There is a learning curve.

All that stuff I mentioned about Robert Downey Jr., about cats, about funny author memes? That is why you should use Tumblr. Because it’s a way for you to connect with your audience in a way that is enjoyable. It only takes as much time as you have for it. Check your Tumblr dashboard a few times a day. Scroll through it, reblog things you like, queue them up so you don’t fill your followers’ feeds with a bunch of posts all at once. Have funny conversations with yourself or your characters. Talk about what you’re working on, and your frustrations with it.

Whatever you want to do, do it. Think of Tumblr as separate and different from your other platforms like Facebook or your blog; think of it as a place where you can be yourself, and reblog kittens to infinity if you want, because nobody on Twitter would put up with you doing that.

And best of all, your audience will feel how much fun you’re having, and they will want to continue interacting with you.

The Crown of Embers, by Rae Carson

This series gets: ♥♥♥♥♥ out of 5

The Crown of Embers, by Rae Carson - I need to just get something off my chest before we start this review: Rae Carson knows how to write. When she sits down at her keyboard, do birds start singing? Do little deer come out of the woods and press their shiny black noses to her window? Do squirrels knit her a new dress every morning out of moss and bramble?

Anyway, my point is that The Crown of Embers is a very worthy follow-up to Girl of Fire and Thorns (I am shocked and a little horrified to not have reviewed it, but if you have not read it, simply be content to know it is amazing and that you should definitely read it). Elisa, our overweight princess from the previous novel, has trimmed down some through her adventures across the desert and, due to circumstances, is now queen of the realm. Not only that, but she’s developing some… feelings, for a particular captain of the guard.

And let’s just say, it steams off the page. Hector is… delectable, hiding so much behind a stiff exterior, stuck between duty and passion. And not only has Elisa changed in shape from our previous book, she is also a grown woman. Fiercer, smarter, cleverer. I love Elisa. I love Elisa more than I’ve ever loved another YA heroine.

Good sequels in YA are getting harder and harder to come by; middle novels in a series tend to move slow and only pick up near the big-revelation-climax-ending. Carson does anything but fall into this trap. Things start off in Crown of Embers at a breakneck speed, with even tighter, higher stakes. Attempted assassinations, political marriages, even a quest, before we’re even to the halfway mark.

Elisa is back and better than ever in this installment. She’s smart, and strong, but also powerful–she is queen, after all, and a chosen one of God–and she knows how to use it. Elisa also knows that with great power comes great responsibility, great sacrifice, and worst of all, great guilt. And she carries that guilt with her knowingly. Willingly.

I adore her. She is a real girl with real desires and real hopes and real doubts, and she faces them all fearlessly, with logic and reason and a truly sharp wit.

Her cast of supporting characters is nothing to raise a nose at, either. Some are giving an encore performance (Mara, Belén), while new, even better characters are introduced in Crown of Embers. I loved each of them by turns: Tristán, even Storm. They are all valuable in their own way; and they constantly surprise us, all while very truthfully staying themselves.

All this barely touches the surface of the world that Carson has created for us. From sea to desert, palace to sewers, this book is alive. And not just the scenery (though that is, in itself, a work of mastery) but also the culture, the politics, the religion. It’s all here in perfect prose, perfect pace. We lust after Hector, poised and waiting for any little touch, any little affection, in a setting I can only describe as Indiana Jones meets Journey to the Center of the Earth.

I cried about five times, and thus, give Carson’s Crown of Embers five very big hearts.

Here is a selection of bits and pieces from my August book release (the first book in the Fire and Brimstone series) that were changed, added, or improved in this final polish-oriented revision:

Girls were screaming. Not guy-in-a-hockey-mask screams, but the screams of fanatic teenagers mobbing a rock star just before a show.

An important distinction.

I had to admire Rain, striding into the cameras, oblivious to the sound of beetle jaws snapping her everlasting likeness.

I never thought of cameras or cameramen as having such a peculiar likeness to beetles until Mockingjay.

The sky had a strange milky-gray pallor, like it had had too much to drink the night before.

A British friend added, “Or bad tea.”

Weston is already stirring things up at the office. Tad acted all morning like a giant inflatable tube-guy in an auto dealership parking lot, flailing around and stressing everyone out.

This was actually inspired by an episode of The Simpsons. I think Homer gets one of those tube guys.

“It just doesn’t make sense! He read one of your assignments and—”

“Hey, girls.”

Veronica’s entire body stopped moving, like someone had pressed pause.

“H-h-hey, Everett.” She recovered miraculously as Everett slid in next to me on the bench. “What’s up? You’re looking good. I mean, your hair is looking good. I mean, the rest of you is OK, too. In fact it’s more than—”

“Thanks,” he said, interrupting her. He turned to me. “What are you up to this weekend? Brandy’s dad’s out of town and she’s having a big party on Saturday night.”

Veronica’s face fell. “We didn’t hear anything about a party.”

In this draft, Veronica became “Ronnie,” making her both more personable and also more dorky. I amped up her bitch meter but in a funny, almost likable way. She has so much more character and personality now–perfect for a supporting character.

I took a couple hours off from this final revision sprint to make a little sculpture tribute to Pendleton Ward, creator of the fabulous TV show for kids and adults, Adventure Time. (Seriously, if you are ever lacking in ideas while writing children’s lit, this is the show for you.)

 

I want to jump
arms in the air
make up the wildest things
and never once touch that ceiling.

I want to create worlds
where anything can happen;
any creature can exist;
any magic can be real;

A world where there are no limits.

I want to make my reader
believe anything
and everything
is real.

I really owe credit to my partner-in-brainstorming Eddy over at Eddy Writes (an awesome blog, if you haven’t already been) for the term zero draft. He coined it after I refused to show him my first run-through of my NaNoWriMo novel, Gryphon.

I refused because I wanted to take some time away from the novel and perform a revision before sending it to anyone. Why? A NaNoWriMo novel, by its very definition, is written over the course of a single month–and most of that time, you’re encouraged “not to look back”: just keep writing. Don’t stop. Don’t turn around and re-read and fix and obsess. Just keep writing.

For me, this bizarre pace results in a draft that is both fluid and cohesive, but also a total freaking wreck. Like, I would not even show this thing to a third grader, not to mention a critique partner that I actually respect. I refuse to even really call it a draft. Or even a manuscript.

Thus: zero draft. Not quite version 1, not quite out of beta; completed, but still in the incubation stage.

I was pretty happy with Gryphon when I finished it–you know that elated, “I am the Queen of the goddamned world!” feeling you get when you complete a big project. Upon revision, however, I am thrilled that I didn’t send this mess to anyone! Instead, I saved the file, closed it, and stepped away for a month. For me, that’s usually enough time to forget how every piece of the story unfolds; enough time that it can sit and simmer in the back of my hard drive until I’ve cleared some other things off my plate and am ready to revisit it.

At the point of “zero draft,” there’s really no reason for me to show the manuscript to anyone. All I have to do is put some space between it and me, come back later, and I’ll be able to catch a lot of the glaring errors that a critique partner would find (and probably laugh at me for).

I like to think of it as saving myself and saving my critique partner time. Why give them a draft I know contains major problems? Why not solve what I can solve just by letting it hang out on the backburner for a while, and then give it to my partner, when their feedback will actually be helpful and useful to me?

Obviously, not everyone works this way. Some writers like to show a critique partner a work in progress to get feedback on how to continue, or just for encouragement. But for Gryphon, the challenge of NaNoWriMo (writing a book in one month) and the vastly supportive NaNo community handled that whole part for me.

And frankly, I am so happy with the zero draft method, I’ll probably do all my manuscripts this way from now on. I’ll be the first to admit it’s just better for my ego to hand someone a more polished piece of work, and not have to suffer through being called out on mistakes I could have–and probably should have fixed–before I even hit SEND.

Related post: The Art of Story Fermentation

When everything goes to hell in a handbasket in Star Wars: A New Hope

Most authors I know agree with one thing about writing a novel:

Middles are the worst.

It’s true. They are. Middles are like the sagging back of an old horse, the rope suspension bridge between Beginning and End that is slowly unraveling, and probably not safe for more than one person to cross at a time.

I totally get that. Somewhere after the inciting incident (about 10,000 words in) and before the build up to the climax (about 15,000 words from the end) you have to, you know–make stuff happen. Fill all that empty, soggy space between Point A and Point B. And it can be really hard to make that middle stuff not feel slow and muddy to the reader.

As I’m revising my middle-grade manuscript, Gryphon, I’ve discovered a few tricks for making middles not only not suck, but possibly become the best part of your novel.

1. Raise the stakes. This “tip” gets thrown around a lot, and for a long time I wasn’t really sure how one could implement such broad-sided advice.

The easiest way I’ve found is to first work out what your characters’ goals are (both small and large), and then determine: what are the consequences of your characters not achieving those goals? Now make them even more dire. Life and death. Death and destruction. Whatever you can do to make the repercussions of your characters’ not achieving their goals worse, do it.

2. Lower the low points. The best part of middles is when it seems all hope is lost–that there is no possible way your character can achieve his purpose.

Remember in Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back, when Han Solo gets trapped in carbonite? Even worse, he’s shipped off with a bounty hunter to see Jabba the Hut, and our heroes are too busy trying to save Luke to chase him down.

At this moment in the story, we (the audience) feel somewhat defeated, like there’s no possible way Han can be rescued from his terrible fate. And in Return of the Jedi, this situation only gets worse when Leia is enslaved by Jabba.

Find that low point in your story (make one, if it’s not there already) and then make it worse. While you’re beating your hero into the ground, beat harder. Did something go wrong in his heist plan? Find three other things to go wrong, too. And it’ll be really satisfying to your audience when your clever protagonist manages to worm her way out of this ridiculous bind.

3. Up the conflict. Are your characters friends, lovers, or comrades in arms? Are they getting along, smooching, snuggling and heisting in perfect harmony?

This is the primary way in which I find middles sag: the character relationships stale. Either they are at peace with one another for too long, or they’re at odds without any moments of relief.

Cause some conflict. Stir up some drama. But be wary of falling into common conflict traps: misunderstandings that would be easy to resolve, unlikely coincidences, or blowing up a small issue into a big one (this is my biggest complaint with romantic sub-plots).

Use inherent character flaws to guide your conflicts. Is one of your characters prideful? Have that pride lead her to hurt the other character in a way that seems irreparable.

4. Comic relief. I might be the only writer with this particular problem, but I have a hunch that I’m not. Why so serious? If things are getting intense in your middle–as it probably should–be cognizant of how your reader is feeling. In the middle of drama and conflict, give your reader the occasional break.

The break doesn’t always have to be comic. Let your characters have moments of tenderness or insight into one another. In a romance, let passion momentarily override conflict (leading to more conflict, of course). In a thriller, let your protagonist feel victory–short-lived victory. A good middle is a combination of low and high points, leading up to your dramatic finale.

5. Escalate tension. A good climax is the tip of the highest peak of your story arc. Leading up to that peak are your second, third, and fourth-highest peaks.

I suggest doing this with “post-outlining”: now that you know all the plot points of your story (all the “ups” and “downs,”) organize them in order of severity. Your lowest lows and your highest highs should come near the end, leading up to your finale.

This is especially important when revealing important plot information. You don’t want to save all of your high-value cards and staggering reveals for the very end; drop some of your big bombs (but not your biggest bomb) during that sagging middle section, then escalate leading up to that super mondo finale–and hopefully leave your readers panting.

I hope this was helpful to you. The most important thing to remember when fixing your novel’s middle is that you will revise. You have to. I’ve never written a “middle” that was good the first time around; make a conscious effort to improve your ups and downs, to post-outline, to rearrange the puzzle pieces, and you’ll see that muddy middle turn into a high-tension, emotional roller coaster.

I know I need a pep talk from time to time. A spoonful of encouragement just to sweeten up a little-too-spicy reality. A few words to keep my goals at the forefront, and my doubts back in the laundry room.

So I have a couple items for you to consider, ever-doubter. First is this remarkable little “pep talk” from some adorable shorty calling himself Kid President.

It’s all about creating. It’s about doing what you love. That takes me to my next point.

Eddy Rivas wrote an amazing post today called, “Why You Should Quit Trying To Make It.” It’s about remembering why you’re here: because you love what you do. And if your only pursuit in doing it is to “make it,” you’ll probably be disappointed.

So, remember Kid President’s advice. Make stuff. Love it. Enjoy it. Encourage yourself and others.

These crazy little journeys we all take–go on them with glitz and glamour. And don’t worry about where you’ll end up.

This series gets: ♥♥♥♥ out of 5

The Curse Workers, a trilogy by Holly Black – A preface note: I listened to all of these on audiobook, so any name misspellings are purely Holly’s fault for giving all of her characters homonyms for names (Cassel = Castle, Barron = Baron). For the longest time I was actually spelling “Cassel” as “Castle” in my head, and let me tell you, that is way more awesome.

Anyhow, I loved Curse Workers. The idea is brilliant. Cassel Sharpe lives in an alternate Earth, where one in every one thousand people has a special ability–these “workers,” as they’re called, can place a curse with no more than the touch of a bare hand. Workers come in all kinds, from small-time luck workers (good or bad luck), to emotion or memory workers, to death workers who can kill just by removing a glove. (Like magic in most books, there are repercussions to “working,” called “blowback,” which is always related in some way to the type of curse-working. Oh, yeah. This is definitely my favorite alternate universe ever.) 

In the curse worker world, nine big crime families recruit and hire workers for their mob activities. While Cassel Sharpe’s family mainly consists of small-time crooks and conmen, Cassel finds himself pulled into the Zacharov crime family’s twisted web–a scary proposition, considering he murdered Zacharov’s beautiful daughter, Lila, and his family helped him bury the secret.

The worst part? Cassel has no idea why he did it.

In this series, Black has woven an intricate and gorgeous world. I especially loved the texture of the crime families and the “if you’re our friend, we’ll do anything for you–but become our enemy, and you’re dead” sort of mafia mentality. Cassel is a fun narrator, too: he frames everything for us in terms of cons and marks and blue-collar crime, even as he attends a private New York prep school (paying part of his way by playing bookie for rich kids). And, for the first novel of the series (White Cat), I really, truly believed in him. I haven’t been really impressed lately with female authors writing male narrators, but Black did an incredible job with Cassel.

Then we hit the middle of the series, Red Glove, and Cassel’s narrative really starts to fall apart. The romance was over-written and, to me, felt forced. I think a lot of this was cleaned up in the final novel, Black Heart, where we get the sense that Cassel’s undying love for Lila Zacharov originates in the fact that the two are, deep down, kindred spirits–that only a criminal can possibly understand and love another.

But Red Glove also opened some pretty gaping plot holes. I remember stopping a number of times throughout the novel to wonder, “Uh, duh. Should have thought of that in the last book.” Like a lot of YA trilogies, the middle of this one feels middle-ish: dragging, mopey, and not very cohesive, like Black found herself written into a corner and wasn’t sure how to get out.

Things pick up again in the series finale, Black Heart. I have what you might call a minor obsession with graying the lines between good and evil–I’m especially tickled by authors that up and flip the two, so what’s good becomes evil and what’s evil becomes good. Black avoids beating us over the head with right vs. wrong in the series finale and for that, I’m grateful. A character like Cassel–torn between being loyal to his family and doing what the law says is “right”–can’t have a clean, neat little resolution. He’s too complicated and the characters in his life are too important for such a cop-out.

Though Curse Workers stumbles a little in the middle, overall, Cassel is a likable and authentic male narrator (minus the overplayed romantic sub-plot). I liked his family, I liked his stereotypical geek-friend Sam (Black couldn’t have picked a more over-used sidekick name if she tried), I even liked the obnoxious Danica after a while. And Black’s world is worth exploring, even if just for the pleasure of seeing everything you know turned upside-down. The twist in White Cat is probably my favorite literary twist ever.

If you’re looking for a fun male narrator, a good fantasy story and a little bit of crime-thriller-mystery, check out Curse Workers.

What is “the princess fantasy”? 

This opinion piece might be better titled, “the princess delusion,” because that’s really what it is that I want to talk about: a delusion. A notion that a girl is, above all else, destined to be with the perfect man; that there will be some magical spark when she meets him, that he will rescue her from everything that is wrong in her life, and they will instantly (usually on first sight) fall in love. Forever.

The love interests in these “fantasies” are often alpha-males, or “princes,” who fulfill every desire (this is relative to the audience, of course). In young adult books, I find there are a few different kinds of princes to choose from: the bad boy, who is eventually reformed by the girl’s love (the “Beast”); the guy who is perfect from the start, loves the princess madly, and pursues her relentlessly, but has pretty disturbing or suspicious behaviors (the Edward Cullens of the group); the two-dimensional Prince Charming or Prince Philip; and a variety of other archetypes that are all, in some way, freakishly ideal.

I’m not hating on love interests in young adult books or Disney movies. A lot of them are quite good: realistic, sympathetic, quirky, flawed. (Four in Veronica Roth’s Divergent comes to mind.) What I’m digging up is the “delusion” part:

- Insta-love (love at first sight, or whatever)

- The Perfect Man Is Out There

- Happily Ever After

- Oh, and give up everything for him.

What’s so bad about a little fantasy?

I love escapism. I read tons of it. I make a living off of it. I have no problem with it at all.

But like most women born since 1950, I’ve been constantly exposed to Disney princesses and their charming heroes most of my life. I don’t want to single out Disney–they’ve done a great job in the last decade or two of writing strong heroines like Mulan–but I think their movies illustrate the point quite well:

There is a perfect man out there for you. He will come and save you. Let him.

There are just so many things wrong with this delusion–with the truth of it, with the chain reaction of effects that come after it. I spent years as a girl fantasizing about my own prince. What he would look like (dark, brooding), how I would know instantly that we were meant to be together forever (I subscribed to the “reformed bad boy” fantasy), and that once we got married/had babies/whatever grownups do–once we did all that, my life would cut to a dark screen and then white curly-cue letters would flash across it saying, “AND THEN THEY LIVED HAPPILY EVER AFTER.”

But it’s just not true. This is not how life works! And now that I am grown up–now that I have a real relationship that, like, requires actual work (who knew!)–I realize just how taken I was by the princess fantasy, and how I eagerly ate up the notion that, with enough love, I could turn a Beast into a Man.

(As much as I love Beauty and the Beast, I’m still going to call the writers out on that one. Also, who else was really disappointed when the Beast transformed into a blonde, blue-eyed fruitcake?)

Are authors responsible for the messages their books send?

During this latest revision of my novel Devil’s Fire, I stopped to re-read the new material I added in the last version (to replace large chunks my editor suggested be erased-slash-moved). One thing I discovered was a scene where my heroine has called up a boy she likes because she needs to talk–to spill a big revelation in her life that’s troubling her, and also just get much-needed emotional support.

Unfortunately, she and boy are not on good terms after she discovered he may or may not have been nice to her just to get in her pants, or so she thinks.

This brought up an issue that has always bothered me about relationships in young adult books–something that seems to originate in the oft-desired “alpha male” love interest: stalking. Creeping. Love-at-first-sight which is really just horny-at-first-sight.

When I talk to readers about young adult literature and the princess fantasy, many of them bring up the Twilight books, and especially the part where Edward watches Bella as she sleeps. Seen from the outside, out of context, the notion of a guy sneaking into a girl’s room (with whom he currently has no romantic relationship) and watching her sleep is pretty dang creepy. I mean, super-psycho-stalker creepy. In middle school I had a stalker who left a ring of stones and a wilted rose for me on my front porch (not even joking) and that was unbelievably disturbing at the time. I can’t even imagine a guy sneaking into your room and just staring at you. As you snore. In your bed.

So let’s view it inside of the context of Twilight: Edward loves her, right? He’s protecting her. Watching over her. He’s… um… being romantic. Right?

WRONG.

This is grade-A, serious stalker level material. And that is super not okay.

Remembering these last couple conversations about how Meyer brushes “stalking” off as “romantic,” and how that is absolutely the wrong message to give to teenage readers, I re-read my section of story. Of course, the conflict between the heroine and her cute boy is partly a misunderstanding, and partly that said cute boy was being callous and chauvinistic–a period of his life he regrets.

At that moment I realized it was very important that not only does he acknowledge this transgression, but that my hero does, too. I went through the scene a couple of times to ensure that she’s properly creeped out, and that this heebie-jeebie feeling doesn’t just magically go away when the boy justifies himself. Because you know what? What he did was wrong. And no amount of one-sided (or even two-sided) love makes that kind of behavior all right.

In answer to the initial question of, “Are authors responsible for the messages they send?” I think the answer is absolutely yes. It’s my job to go through my manuscript with a fine-tooth comb for these kinds of things. I mean, I don’t want my hero to be perfect–that would make her boring, and not very fun to read about. What good is a hero if she doesn’t grow and learn and change?

But I think it’s important not to perpetuate the “princess fantasy.” To not imply that a guy who claims he’s creeping on you because he loves you is all right, as long as he’s hot, as long as you feel that “magic spark” with him. (SUPER SIZE SURPRISE: All of us, girls and guys alike, feel this spark a lot as we grow up. It’s called puppy love. It happens. And mistaking puppy-love for forever-love is something a lot of young adult authors do.)

There’s a line that writers of books for children and teens walk between preachy and gritty. We don’t want to teach, and we want our stories to still feel real, without writing heroines that put up with emotional abuse or expect perfect endings. I’ll never forget how I felt when Bella simply shrugs at the idea of going on to college, at living even just a little of her own life before giving it all up to become a monster. There’s a way to make that romance real and steamy and the story edgy and fun, without suggesting that you are only valid if you give up everything, even your hard-won education, for the man in your life.

There are no happy endings. There is just life.

I really do think it’s nice to write stories that end well. To suggest that a hero who walks the right line will end up in good karma, and earn good things for herself. But those good things? Great husbands, great wives, great relationships and jobs and children and homes? Those are things we work for.

And there are things that should not idealized in pursuit of that “happy ending.” Like stalking. Or not going to college. Or being saved by the perfect man. A princess is not a princess because she is rescued from the dragon by a prince.

A princess is a princess because she loves herself, and knows that she is the only one responsible for her happy ending.

What Happens Next, by Colleen Clayton

This book gets: ♥♥♥♥♥ out of 5

What Happens Next by Colleen Clayton – It’s really hard to write good contemporary YA–and it’s even harder for me to like it. I mean this in the kindest possible way. Especially when addressing the big issues like rape and eating disorders, it’s easy for authors to preach. It’s easy for their characters, as a result, to sound flat or forced; but Clayton effortlessly dodges the trap.

Cassidy “Sid” Murphy is a straight-A cheerleader–until she meets a handsome stranger on a school ski trip. That night, Dax Windsor invites her inside, and afterwards, she can remember nothing; but she knows Dax has taken something from her. Something she can never get back.

What Happens Next is a chronicle of what comes after: the severed friendships, the nightmares, the obsessing. But also the healing; the downward spiral as well as the upward in a richly-patterned tapestry of teenager life, punctuated by the memory of something horrible and the ripple effects it has on Sid’s life.

Clayton writes it all with a distinct flair. Sid narrates her story with appreciable wit; she is so understandable, so relatable, even at her lowest. Her friends are like the friends I remember having: real people, not two-dimensional caricatures we so often see in contemporary YA friend-groups. Not to mention Corey “The Living Stoner” Livingston! Finally–some contemporary YA free from alpha males. I couldn’t get enough of him, with all his baking and laid-back dreaminess.

Of course, there are the elephants in the room. The date-rape. Clayton authoritatively writes the complex circle of reasoning that leads Sid to bulimia; the total un-logic that can drive a girl to hide what has happened to her, to live a lie, until that lie starts to eat her up inside. Clayton writes it with humor and spice and everything nice, while never leaving out the nitty gritty.

More importantly, while never preaching.

Read this book, and rock on.

For me, writing a query is a long, long process; one that usually begins while the manuscript I’m querying is still in the early stages (first or second draft). There are a couple reasons for this:

1. Writing a query requires fundamentally understanding the story you’re trying to tell. When I say “query,” I’m meaning the whole shebang: the hook, the pitch, the short bio, the ass-kissing. And none of these things are possible to do well if you’re not absolutely sure of the story, the characters, and the stakes.

And it’s not just understanding the structure of these things, or what they look like, or writing them in pretty sentences–it’s also understanding their appeal.

2. Writing a query requires knowing exactly who your audience is, and what they like. You’re not just selling a story or manuscript with a query; you’re also selling who will buy it. And this is, sometimes, harder than you think.

Agents, editors, authors–they’re always giving the same advice: “Don’t write a story to match a fad. Write the story you want to tell. Write what’s in your heart.”

Great. Thank you for that piece of wisdom. But now that I’ve written the book, I need to nail down exactly the intended age group and why my manuscript is appropriate for them. Not only that, but the query itself needs to reflect this–the tone, the style, everything. I am selling a book for kids to an adult who has a vague idea of what kids want.

Is it just me, or are we all like goldfish in a swimming pool in kid lit?

3. Don’t be boring.

I… I don’t even know what to say about this. I mean…

It’s something that simply can’t be qualified in words. It’s like trying to talk in whale using only a puny human mouth. It’s like a song that’s so good it makes your arms tingle and you just can’t, for the life of you, pinpoint why.

Here’s a good example. Last night I was pow-wowing with some writery friends and one of them shared the first few lines of a successful query letter:

“I hope you would like to consider my young adult novel Linked for representation. Linked is a young adult space opera with a strong romantic sub-plot and a happy ending. It is complete at 90,000 words.”

Hook, line, and sinker. (If you want to know, this is Linked by Imogen Howson, repped by Mandy Hubbard.)

“When identical twins are born on Elissa’s overpopulated home planet, only one is given legal human status, and the other taken for “humane medical research”. Any telepathic bond does not normally survive. For Elissa and Lin, it has.

Disturbing images have haunted Elissa’s whole life.”

Not. Boring. At all. We’re given almost everything we need in three sentences–three quick sentences that don’t do any of the following:

-Follow clause after clause of info-dump,

-Hold anything back, or

-Describe in detail what can be told in three words or less.

One of my favorite things said at the pow-wow yesterday was, “There’s no such thing as a spoiler in a query. Give it all.” Don’t hold back the plot, or the character, or the stakes. There is a balance. Give just enough to get us to the “why do I care?” part, and then…

STOP.

Proceed to the awkward part where you say how great you are and why this agent is like a magical rainbow pegasus.

So, I’ve devised a couple of methods for surviving the query process.

I don’t revise.

What? No, seriously. I don’t. I don’t re-work a query letter I’ve already tried before, not unless I’m 95% happy with it. If a query letter isn’t working, it’s not because it needs a few tweaks here and there.

It’s because the whole damn thing is probably broken.

I know that sounds extreme, but bear with me. Let’s say you write a pitch and you hate it. It doesn’t come across as a life-or-death level of stakes, but more of a “Whole milk or skim?” 

Tweaking that bugger isn’t going to help. In that case, I close that particular sheet of my Scrivener file, and open a new one. A fresh, blank page.

I rewrite, instead. Sometimes the best thing you can do for yourself is admit that something doesn’t work, and start from scratch. A half-dozen false starts later, and something actually resembling an interesting, exciting query might emerge.

Even better, talk to someone else about your story. That someone else might interpret the stakes a lot differently than you do; the outside perspective can be immensely helpful when you’ve submerged yourself completely in your own understanding of the story. Sometimes that understanding is skewed or flawed because you’re the author.

So, now you can see why it takes weeks, sometimes months to write a good query letter. Sometimes the query letter grows alongside the manuscript as it reaches second and third drafts. I just try to remember that it’s OK if I throw a little fit every once in a while, throw out the whole thing, and start from scratch.

Because then the query goes from this:

“Twelve-year-old Princess Rheya is on the run after her father, the King, and her three sisters are killed by the notorious outlaw Thoreus Gray.”

To this:

“A princess usually lives in a castle, eating great banquets—not freezing to death in the Sky Mountains, worrying she’s going to become a snack for the gryphons herself.”

And we’re not even close to done!

Image by R Walker

As it turns out, sending lots of mail requires lots of postage. And did you know that postage costs money? Me neither. Helloooo. I mowed through an entire booklet of forever stamps in two weeks.

Holy cow. That’s like, twenty stories in two weeks. Rock! (Haven’t heard of the Typewriter Stories yet? Read them here!)

But in order to keep up this totally H-core creation of tiny, funny stories, I need some help. Why? Because holy cow postage is expensive in large quantities. I mean, at 41 cents a pop, it doesn’t seem like much–but add it up over a couple dozen letters and it balloons like my thighs over the holidays.

So, I am asking you, my wonderful people and readers and receivers of typewriter stories: Can you help me?

I’ve determined a couple ways this can be done. First, and easiest, is just to donate using PayPal. Even a single dollar will buy me two-and-a-half stamps. Awesome, right? Cheap? Of course. Here’s the button:

Optionally, you could buy me some stamps! Now, I’m reluctant to just put my address up on the internet (understandably, I think) so I’ll be getting a P.O. Box that can receive stuff in a week or two.

In the meantime, here is a link to the list of forever stamps on USPS’s website. Just email my Typewriter Stories mailbox at request.a.story(at)gmail.com if you’re interested in contributing some stamps and I’ll be happy to give you the address.

Thanks in advance, you loverly people!

"Crazy Frog" by moffoys - Who even cares what it is, it is perfect

There are some superstar authors who don’t hate editing or revising. I spend a lot of my revision time envying them, instead of doing what I’m supposed to be doing, because that’s how I roll. And that’s probably also why I still haven’t finished a revision of my middle-grade book, Gryphon. Because I hate revising.

I do love writing, though.

So, over time I’ve been building up my resolve, and packing it together like a mud pie from lots of little shredded pieces of sanity (they fall off now and again, and must be collected in a handmade wicker basket). The following bullet points have occurred to me:

-Print it all out, to stop the ever-present I must change this word right now, this isn’t right, and now I am so hung up on this one stupid line that I am so frustrated with myself and I wish this had all never happened at all goodbye world.

-Mark it up with non-red pens, in order to psychologically trick myself into thinking that maybe, in blue, it’s not all bad (love me some blue, mm-HMM)

-Think of it like writing a new, better book than the previous one. Even if that means literally retyping every single freaking word. Good god I hope it doesn’t come to this.

-Punctuate stretches of madness (I mean, revising) with something you like: writing a new manuscript, typing on typewriter, showering cat with love and affection, rolling in mud.

-Try writing a short pitch for the manuscript under revision, and use it as a guide to keep the story on track and interesting.

The hardest part is not getting ahead of myself. I want so badly for it to already be done–to start writing queries (I know, I know, things are bad when you look forward to writing a query) and pitching it and sending it off to critique partners and all that other stuff that makes me feel good about myself instead of this… whatever it is. Madness, or something. Or, wait, is that just another word for “author”?

I take it back. The hardest part is remembering that it will be awesome afterwards. That even if this draft’s not perfect, it’ll be closer to perfect than it was before; I’ll finally get to fix all those things I skipped over in the first draft because I thought (and rightfully so), first draft, don’t care, don’t care as long as I finish it.

And so, I feel like this post needs to end with a picture of Buzz Lightyear. Because he is optimistic to a fault and kind of cute.

So far the typewriter micro-stories have been a big hit. It’s time to keep the gravy train rolling along! There are two things you can do to help (ok, maybe three):

1. Visit the new Typewriter Stories Tumblr page! (Then press “Follow” to get an update every time a new story comes out!)

2. Tell your friends! Post it to Facebook or Twitter or whatever it is that cool people like you do when sharing something you like.

3. Request one! Want a cute little story (starring you) typed up on the funkiest of funky typewriters, then wrapped in a cute envelope that says it was hand-crafted for you, and then mailed to your front door? Of course you do. WHO WOULDN’T. Amirite?

Just click Request a Story to get your own.

Maybe if this thing gets enough interest I will get some people to illustrate it–and maybe even make it into a book!

Happy weekend!

Anthony’s a high school friend of mine who went on to become a filmmaker. He requested one micro-story for himself and one for his mom, Allison, who fed me lots of snacks while I bummed around at her house all those years ago.

Of course, Allison’s had to have a dog in it.

Allison’s Portal

There once was a little girl named Allison.

Allison had an equally-little dog named Skip. Skip and Allison were always having adventures together: they dug up dinosaur bones in the backyard, and discovered ancient ruins under her mother’s bed (her mom hadn’t thought it was so fun when she found her winter clothes scattered and chewed by the dog). They hiked Mount Everest and flew around the world in a giant slingshot.

But these were always make-believe adventures; they were just playing pretend. And Allison knew the difference.

One afternoon, Allison and Skip snuck into the basement where her father kept his tools. So much down here was unseen, unfound—probably because they weren’t allowed down here. A thin layer of dust coated everything, and billowed up in little clouds when Allison breathed.

Allison and Skip were digging for hidden treasure when she pushed a drawer closed—hard. The whole tool desk shuffled forward, dropping tools and nails and wooden boards. Instead of hitting the ground, it all just… vanished, without a sound.

Curious, Allison looked under the desk, but the tools were gone.

When she turned back, her dog was slipping, sliding away from her like the floor was made of ice.

“Skip!” Allison shouted. She reached for him, but he was too far off; Skip barked one last bark before he vanished into the hole.

“No!” Allison ran after him and soon she, too, was falling, falling into the hole under the desk.

Blackness surrounded her, everywhere, dark and cool and terrifying. She saw Skip’s white form flailing in the distance and swam towards him, through the darkness, through the infinite void. Panting, Allison clutched Skip close to her chest as they seemed to fall, fall, fall, endlessly, forever.

Then, suddenly, there was light again. Sky ballooned around them and then they were in it, the light; they were encompassed by it. Allison and Skip were looking up at the bluest blue sky either of them had ever seen, just as a herd of little white clouds flitted past.

Allison jumped upright and glanced around. They were outside, on the front lawn of their house, surrounded by her dad’s tools, some nails, and a two-by-four. Skip barked and Allison shushed him. How? She wondered. How had they gotten here?

Together they went back inside the house and crept down the stairs to the basement.

There it was: the hole. The black hole under her father’s tool desk. Allison wouldn’t let Skip go anywhere near it again, should he get sucked in.

What was it? She wondered. A portal? A wormhole to her front yard?

Leaving Skip by the stairs, she dragged the desk back over the hole, covering it. In case she ever needed it, Allison thought.

It would be here.

The story isn’t necessarily tailored to the recipient; sometimes certain stories just have to be told at a certain time, and I can’t do anything about it. Other times, the person influences or inspires the story in some way that probably doesn’t make any sense to them–e.g., this one.

Anthony Goes To The Stars

There once was a little boy named Anthony.

Anthony dreamed of the stars. He saw them even when his eyes were closed, saw them flicker and blink behind his eyelids. His parents had gotten him a telescope to fill his curiosity, but it only made his longing for the night sky grow.

With it he saw the galaxies, the planets, the distant gas giants, and they all called to him. Explore! They said. Visit, even if just for a day!

But he didn’t know how. Little boys didn’t fly, he was sure of that. People had visited the moon, once, but that was in a big spaceship.

Anthony didn’t have a spaceship, or a car, or even a bike. Nothing that could fly all the way to the stars—or just to the next town over. He was stuck.

That day the repairmen came to install a new refrigerator. When Anthony saw the box it arrived in, he knew: he had a spaceship, and a lot of work to do.

Anthony pulled out his markers and scissors and tape. He worked all day, and even into the night; his parents told him to go to bed, so he turned off his lamp and worked by flashlight.

By morning, it was done. He snuck out in the early hours and positioned his spaceship out behind the house.

Anthony put on his wetsuit—the closest thing he had to a spacesuit, but it would work—and placed a fishbowl over his head to protect him in the vacuum of space. Then he climbed into the open door of the spaceship.

Inside, the cardboard seat wasn’t very comfortable, but it would do. Anthony adjusted his helmet and began dialing in his destination coordinates. He’d visit Saturn first, then spin off into the asteroid belt. Who knew after that? Adventures were best when planned the least.

When he was ready, Anthony reached out and pulled a lever. Nothing happened. Confused, he leaned out the window and examined the engine compartment.

The drawn-on compartment looked fine. He tried the lever again. Again, nothing.

Anthony sat back in the cardboard seat. His parents would be up soon. They’d find him out here, just sitting in a dumb refrigerator box spaceship. Would they laugh, or be angry at him?

Then, he felt something shake. He opened his eyes, thinking it was the back door swinging open, or his mom yelling to get inside. But no—whatever it was, it was vibrating, as if…

As if it was the spaceship!

Anthony looked out the window, only to see the house’s wood siding flash by—then the roof, and the trees, and then—the sky.

He adjusted his helmet as the spaceship surged upward, high into the cool blackness of space. All around were stars. He held his hands to the window.

Stars! Anthony thought. He had made it to the stars.

Some actual New Adult books. Notice the absence of Harry Potter, Twilight or Fifty Shades.

The Emerging New Adult Genre and Why CNN Hates It

I’m not going to write an article about “New Adult” books, or what the “New Adult” genre includes, or even the debate over whether this term should actually exist. That’s a pretty boring discussion that I’ll let people like Liz Burns over at Tea Cozy bludgeon to death with a wall of text.

What I do want to write about is the way the media has received the emergence of New Adult as a genre–and what has become an unwarranted, vitriolic attack on what real readers are reading.

Jezebel is the worst offender. The first article published by Jezebel on New Adult came last month, titled “‘New Adult’ Is Now an Official Literary Genre Because Marketers Want Us To Buy Things.”

It’s not that I don’t think marketing happens. Pixar’s Cars has action figures; Jelly Belly makes Harry Potter-themed jelly beans. But to claim an entire genre was “invented” by a skilled marketing department just to snare a narrow group of readers–I’m sorry, ma’am, but your logic is flawed.

Jezebel continued down the rabbit hole last week with an article by Doug Barry called “‘New Adult’ Fiction Has Tons of Sexy Sex For the Millennial Reader Trapped In Adolescence.” Beyond the condescending headline, Barry digs himself a six-foot-deep pit of unfounded accusations towards young 20-somethings and the writers who write for them.

He claims that those 19-to-25-year-olds reading these types of books (he doesn’t actually cite any actual New Adult books in his article, but does mention Fifty Shades of Grey and Harry Potter a couple times each) are all living at home with their parents and shirking their responsibilities. That they (we? I’m 24, I think I still count in this group) can’t handle growing up and becoming adults and so we bury ourselves in clones of Harry Potter that have been sexed-up and drugged-up enough to keep our fleeting interest.

This is a man who seems so jaded and bitter towards my generation that he is about to foam at the mouth. And I can’t help but wonder: why? What could possibly be wrong with the thing he’s describing if it’s actually as he describes (“Harry Potter with an explicit content sticker on the front”)?

I just don’t get it. What’s wrong with people reading the fictional novels they want to read? Everyone enjoys different things. It’s like saying someone refuses to grow up because they prefer watching football on television instead of historical documentaries.

And it isn’t just Jezebel. On Sunday, CNN pronounced that “The Novel America Needs in 2013” is not a New Adult book, and that our youngsters need to stop “clinging to young adult fantasies” and just grow the hell up. Oh, sure. Because what we need is twenty-somethings with no ambitions, no dreams, and no escapism. It reminds me of an old guy shaking his stick at some kids and shouting, “Go get a job!”

Yes. Let’s stop adolescence from creeping into adulthood, because it’s not like more people going to college before entering the workforce is a good thing. The problem is obviously fun romance books written for early- to mid-twenties audiences, as if the fact they might enjoy reading it is a sign of their laziness. Don’t let them have fun! Don’t let them dream of stormy love triangles or fantasy worlds that “real” adults are allowed to live in! (Tolkien? Patrick Rothfuss? I’m confused.) I don’t see Mark Bauerline ripping contemporary romance fiction a new one, or tearing down grown men who like science fiction. So what’s the freaking problem?

I don’t know the answer to that. I don’t think the writers for CNN or Jezebel know, either. I think they want to tear down New Adult because it’s new; because it’s something they don’t understand; because there is a generation of people who graduated into the Great Recession and books were the solace they found in it.

Look: if it gets people reading, what’s the need for all the derision and hate? Let people enjoy books. It can’t be anything but a good thing.

Grow up.

Since I’m in brainstorming mode and not producing much of anything besides (I was hit square in the noggin with a new idea the other night–it’s already turning itself into a manuscript without encouragement or consent), I decided to post some of the typewriter micro-stories I’ve been putting together and snail-mailing out to friends. If you’re not familiar with the typewriter micro-stories, read about it here.

First up, a typewriter story requested by my pal Austen:

The Upper-Left Drawer

There once was a little boy named Austen.

Austen had a secret. In the left-most, upper-most drawer of his dresser, something very small was breathing. In and out, and in and out, regular-like, with a shuddering sound at the end that would make you think that perhaps it had a cold.

Austen wouldn’t tell anyone what it was, or even that it was there. But every morning he went to the drawer and pulled it out. It made a creak each time; it was an old dresser. Then, dangling some particle of his breakfast (pinky-sized pieces of crisp bacon and chunks of apple fritter were favorites), Austen waited.

This particular morning he waited for the creature in the drawer to raise its head and take a big, long whiff. To extend its neck forward, testing the air with a forked tongue. To expel the tiniest puff of smoke. Then, once it had decided Austen’s offering was indeed worth eating, it slipped one tiny, ridged head out of the drawer and—snap!—ate it all up.

In one go, the bit of breakfast slid down the creature’s gullet; and with a grateful flap of tiny, wet wings, it sank back into the darkness.

Austen shut the drawer again. He put on his backpack, checked his pocket for his three trusty pens (red, blue and black), and left for school.

But every moment that Austen was away from the tiny creature in the drawer, he thought about it. Worried about it. Wondered if his mother might find it when she cleaned his room, or if it would make a sound (it hadn’t yet, but he didn’t doubt it would eventually) and lure her in.

He didn’t think it would hurt anyone, but it was already starting to grow, and fast. He couldn’t hide it in his drawer forever. But Austen liked the sound of “forever.” He had grown fond of the little guy, and his little horns, and his even littler claws.

In History, Austen jumped at the sound of his name over the intercom. His heart leapt into his throat and stuck there, so he had to choke it back down before he could get up out of his chair.

His mom must have found it, the creature. The little baby that had emerged from the egg he picked up, the egg he’d thought belonged to a bird.

He felt tears well up in his eyes. He’d never named it. He couldn’t decide on a name. Was it an Ernest or a Steve? A Sally or a Spot? Austen wiped his eyes with one wrist.

Surely they would make him give up his pet. Surely they would take it away, study it, try to determine where it had come from. And the tiny, sweet creature would never again live in his upper-left drawer.

When he arrived at the office, the woman at the front desk waved him in. Then she saw red tear tracks down Austen’s face.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“My mom,” he hiccuped. “She’s going to take him away.”

“What?” The woman looked puzzled.

“Isn’t that why you called me in?”

“Oh, no,” she said, giving a little chuckle. “Not at all. The principal just wanted to let you know that your project was accepted to the regional science fair.”

Austen exhaled the longest, deepest breath of his life. The creature was safe.

For now.

Austen also requested a story for his wife, Chrissy, so she got a sci-fi tale to match Austen’s:

Chrissy’s Robot

There once was a little girl named Chrissy.

Chrissy was the loneliest little girl there ever was. Her parents worked all hours of the day and night to give her clothes to wear and food to eat. And she was grateful for that, of course; but she was still lonely.

One day the doorbell rang, drawing her out of her bedroom. A box had arrived. It wasn’t a very large box, but neither was it very small. It only had a shipping label stuck to the top; besides, it was plain, brown cardboard.

The box was addressed to Chrissy.

Curious, she brought it into the house and opened the top. Inside there was another box, this one silver and shiny and smooth to the touch. She gasped as she read the words stamped across the lid: COMPANION BOT.

Taped to this new box was a note that read, “Dear Chrissy: We feel so bad for leaving you home alone all the time. Perhaps this Companion Bot will keep you company. Love, Mom & Dad.”

Shaking with unshed tears of joy, Chrissy opened the silver box. She was surprised when all she found inside was a single unmarked, steel cylinder. This wasn’t a robot. This was a trick! A gag! A cruel joke!

Tears of joy became tears of disappointment as she pulled out the cylinder and set it on the floor. It just sat there, unmoving, uninteresting. Chrissy hit the top, and nothing happened. She jumped to her feet and kicked it. She shouted, “Why, Mom and Dad? Am I supposed to make-believe? Why did you even wake me up for this?”

At her words, the cylinder suddenly started to shake. It trembled and shuddered and whirred, like a fan had come on inside it, and it nearly fell over. Then the top of the cylinder opened, soundless, and from it sprouted two long, spindly arms. The arms found the ground and lifted themselves up, so the bottom of the cylinder could open, too. From there sprouted two legs, and then the robot rose up, tall as a person—taller than Chrissy!—and a panel on the front of the cylinder slid open.

A face. It was a face! Chrissy shrank back as the eyes opened, two little yellow lights, and blinked. There was a mouth, but it wasn’t a real mouth; just a colored display that flickered when it began to speak.

“Good morning,” said the robot. It leaned down towards her and Chrissy, not used to robots, leaned away. “Thank you for waking me. I am your Companion Bot. What is your name?”

“Ch-chrissy,” she stuttered.

“Chrissy,” said the robot, sitting down on the floor so it was shorter than she was. “It’s nice to meet you, Chrissy. Will you be my friend?”

Friend. The word struck her like a lightning bolt straight through her heart. She had a friend.

She stepped closer to the robot. “Of course,” she said, sitting down in front of it. “Of course I’ll be your friend.”

“I’m good at cards,” said the robot. And Chrissy smiled.

I’ve always wanted a typewriter, mostly just for the feeling of physically hammering letters onto the page–but also for the concept of getting away from the computer to write. And not only to write, but to write words that cannot be unwritten.

A typewriter is, in essence, the ultimate first draft. It’s what every writer participating in National Novel Writing Month strives for: to simply write words as they come, without the ability to go back and edit them. One must continue moving forward with a typewriter. There is no backspace button (actually, mine has a white-out strip, but it doesn’t really work).

So, a dear friend of mine hunted down a classic-style typewriter, made all the necessary repairs, and gave it to me as a gift. The cool thing about this particular typewriter is that it actually prints in cursive, instead of the traditional Courier.

When I posted pictures of the new find, a friend asked for a typed-up letter. WELL. A letter? Hmm. Too novice for me. Instead, I crafted a little short story starring my recipient, and typed it up on the typewriter. Voila!

The first micro-story

Here’s how the story goes:

The Day Heidi Met Bigfoot

There once was a little girl named Heidi.

Heidi loved the outdoors: the way the autumn trees looked in the late afternoon, cast in gold like her mother’s favorite jewelry; the smell of earth and the occasional tittering bird call.

But what she didn’t love about the outdoors was the unknown—the things that could be lurking in dark burrows, in knots in tree trunks, in branches high overhead. Little did she know it was just such a thing she would find when she went outdoors to explore one cool October day.

Ignoring the ominous charcoal clouds gathering on the horizon, Heidi put on her coat, mittens and boots, and slipped outside. A bitter breeze nipped her cheeks, turning them pink. Ahead waited the woods—great, old trees with low-hanging boughs a little girl like Heidi could use to climb up high, or to hop from tree to tree without her feet ever touching the ground.

Today as she hop-skipped into the warm, dark woods, she didn’t see the crouched, furry shadow waiting in the cover of a holly bush. It followed her as she stopped to collect pine cones, funny rocks, and a handful of particularly persistent white flowers.

Then Heidi saw it: just a flash of brown fur between two tree trunks. She shrieked. A bear! A wolf! Some creature that would surely floss its teeth with her bones.

Before she could run, the thing emerged. Tall as a man, if not taller; built as thick and strong as a gorilla; and covered from head to toe with silk-smooth copper fur. Heidi stood, dumbfounded, as the monster approached her, one hand held out as a peace offering.

“Hello,” said the sasquatch, kneeling a few feet away so their eyes could meet.

Heidi’s own hello caught in her throat.

“Don’t be afraid,” continued the beast. Its face—so human and yet, so animal—made an expression she could only describe as a smile. “I won’t hurt you.”

But Heidi’s fear had already caught up with her, and with a scream she turned and ran. Leaving the woods behind, she raced across her yard, tore through the front door and stood in the middle of her living room, panting.

Brushing her hair out of her face, Heidi removed her muddy boots. Man, her mom would be mad for tracking in all that dirt, but she couldn’t help it.

Bigfoot. She had seen it! She had seen Bigfoot! A hysterical laugh bubbled up inside her. She had seen Bigfoot—and he had said hello to her!

Heidi removed her mittens. Next time, she thought. Next time she wouldn’t run away.

Next time, she’d say “Hello” too.

Well, not only was this project pretty fun for me to put together, but it was also great practice. I took a seminar with Eric Witchey a while ago, and he is always telling us to write stories as often a we can–once a day, if one could manage to do it. That the more stories you try to tell, the more fluently you can speak in story.

So I offered my little short stories to other people, and I got another bite.

Amber and the White Cat

There once was a little girl named Amber.

But Amber wasn’t just any little girl. Amber was special. Though she looked and acted and smelled like any other kid in the third grade, she knew that she wasn’t.

She knew that when the sun set and the moon rose, her skin tingled like it was alive; like it had a mind of its own. Her hair turned from the deepest onyx to the brightest snow-white, as if she had been dunked in a tub of bleach. Her eyes glistened, gold and brilliant, like the moon itself resided inside them.

One couldn’t quite call her beautiful in this state, because she looked too strange, too ethereal to really be “beautiful”; but she was exquisitely unusual and so she took to hiding in her room at night.

Her grandmother would knock on her bedroom door from time to time, when these moonlit evenings came. “Amber,” she said through the door, this particular evening, “won’t you come out? Won’t you watch Jeopardy with your grandpa and I?”

But even Amber’s voice was strange when night fell, pure and high and rich as a silver bell. So she did not answer.

When her grandmother left, Amber went to her bedroom window. She gazed at the moon. Why did the moon do this to her when night fell? What had she ever done to the sky to deserve this transformation? She could never sleep at a friend’s house, or they would surely scream in terror when they saw her change.

Outside, she heard a meow. Slowly Amber opened the window. A blurry white shape raced past her so fast, she thought it was a tiny bolt of lightning.

A cat. A pure white cat, with golden eyes, planted itself in the middle of her bedroom floor. It stared at her, unblinking, and Amber couldn’t help but stare back.

“Are you lost?” asked Amber, kneeling to pet it. The cat leaned into her hand, closing those peculiar eyes. Those strangely familiar eyes. It looked too clean to be stray, but it had no collar.

“What’s your name?” she tried again. No reply, of course. It was only a cat, after all. But when Amber sat on the floor and crossed her legs, the cat climbed onto her lap and within moments, it was asleep.

Amber looked in the mirror hanging on the opposite wall. They appeared to her so similar, the cat and the girl, with hair as white as milk, so white it almost glittered. The cat snoozed softly. She felt herself smiling, and brushed the cat’s soft fur.

Perhaps being alone didn’t have to be lonely, after all.

There are surely more stories to come. Stay tuned.

Days of Blood & Starlight, by Laini Taylor

This book gets: ♥♥♥ out of 5

Days of Blood & Starlight, by Laini Taylor - I wanted to like this book. I wanted to like it so, so much–mostly due to the love affair I had with its precursor, Daughter of Smoke and Bone (tapped by Universal Studios for a motion picture). And that is, perhaps, part of my problem with it. High expectations. Unrealistically high expectations.

In a lot of ways, I did like Days of Blood & Starlight. As ever, Taylor’s writing is (at least in prose) totally flawless–gorgeous, in fact. Unfortunately, this book suffered from, well… middleness. The whole novel feels like the soggy middle section of a much larger book. It reminds me of The Two Towers in Lord of the Rings, doing a lot of the necessary world-building, lore-weaving, or whatever that is, at the expense of plot and character.

The story follows many different story strands that, for the first half of the book, only run parallel to each other and rarely cross. Karou spends a lot of time locked in a room, building bodies for Thiago, and surmising and ruminating and generally mulling over her dreary situation. It makes you long for the ray of sunshine timelines–cough, Zuzana, cough–and even for the snippets of war and bloodshed that sneak in.

In fact, most of the punchy dry humor I fell in love with in Daughter of Smoke & Bone has withered up in this sequel. Maybe because it’s, well, about a girl going through a particularly bad breakup. (There’s an understatement.) Oh, and all that murdering of innocents and pain tithing and stuff. There’s so much angst in this book–and that’s understandable, but that doesn’t take away from the fact that a lot of it is just moping.

And, I mean, I get that. War is a pretty mopey time. But still.

I really wanted to buy into the savage war aspect of this book, the moral dilemma of fighting a war for the sake of fighting a war, or fighting a war for the sake of peace. That’s what Taylor’s doing here, I know–crossing out of Karou’s sheltered human life into the troubled, chimaera one–but that doesn’t make me like it any more or less. We see part of the genocide unfold through the eyes of a chimaera named Sveva, but as soon as I started to care about her, she vanished. I just wanted someone to care about in this story, other than Zuzana and Mik–oh, those cute, stubborn humans. I just didn’t. Oh, except Ziri, who had a neat little backstory with Madrigal. And that ending, don’t even get me started.

Anyway, the story picks up about two-thirds of the way through, and like it did in the first book, the plot unexpectedly twists off in another direction like a runaway tornado.* I like that about Taylor’s writing, though (I recently read Lips Touch, her previous book, and it has the same style) and if it weren’t for the sluggish start, I might have had more of an emotional investment in the finale.

I give Days of Blood & Starlight a respectful middle-of-the-road rating because I have a feeling Taylor is gearing us up for a high-tension, final showdown novel, and I’m pretty stoked about that. Unfortunately, this one is just the runway.

*Three words: basket of fruit. I wish there had been more of that silly stuff in this book. Ah, well, paradise lost.

"The moldiest thing I've ever eaten" by Jer Thorp - flickr

The Art of Story Fermentation,
or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Set an Idea Aside

I’m back from my quest and coming to terms with an uncomfortable realization: the manuscript I had intended to query agents with is just not the one. Now I am slowly accepting the fact that the first manuscript isn’t ready yet. And that’s OK.

So. Story fermentation. What the heck does that mean, and why am I writing a whole blog post about it?

I use story fermentation to refer to the process of letting a concept, plot, idea or story just… sit. When you push it to the back of your mind, let it gather some mold and dust, let it age and change and grow as you work on other, more prescient things.

Another term I’ve come to use a lot lately is the idea pipeline. Let’s say you have a great idea. You wake up, having just had the most incredible dream, and you know it has to become a story. A short story, a manuscript, whatever. You start to work out the characters, the premise, the point A and point B (A referring to where a story begins, and B referring to where you want it to end). Once the idea has fully formed, like some kind of chicken fetus, it breaks from the shell and you give it life on the keyboard.

Now, there are often many ideas in the pipeline at a time, each at different stages of development. I don’t know a writer who has one and only one idea; if you are one of those writers, I would love to hear your story, and how you do it, because a day doesn’t go by for me that I’m not mulling over two, three, four or five possible concepts at a time.

A Public Domain Photo

At one end of the pipeline are new concepts, new ideas, that are still malleable and unformed. Unfermented. At the other end are more fully-grown ideas, ideas that have become stories, stories that are ready to be written.

Of course, not every idea moves in the same linear fashion. That’s okay. Some ideas rubberband, reaching a point of near-completion and then slingshotting back to an earlier stage because all or part of the idea was flawed.

Letting a story ferment

Sometimes one idea needs to sit and age and mold longer than another. Some gain speed and momentum so quickly they propel themselves from one end of the pipeline to another, right past others that have been changing and growing for years. Some ideas need to be, quite literally, set aside and simply forgotten about for a while.

I think this is usually referred to as “putting it on the back burner,” but I don’t think that really captures it for me. We’re not just cooking the idea longer, letting it burn to the bottom of the pan.

Some ideas do not follow a straight-forward trajectory. Anyone who has significantly revised a novel knows this; the story you set out to tell sometimes isn’t coherent or cohesive enough, and has to be brought back to the drawing board. Sometimes, even after starting (or finishing) a novel, you sit back and realize you still aren’t sure what story you’re trying to tell.

"Airlock Fermentation" by Jennifer Morrow - flickr

There is always a lot of discussion in writer circles of “writer’s block,” and ways to deal with it. I think writer’s block is simply a form of unreadiness. Whatever idea or story you’re trying to tell is not fully formed, has not yet spent its required incarceration in the idea pipeline yet. And, like in the fermentation process, sometimes the best way to develop an idea is to ignore it. To turn your attention to another project, or to other pursuits in life. For me, the best way to manage “writer’s block” is to realize that the concept or idea I’m pushing doesn’t need to be pushed. It needs to be ignored, and the lives and stories that unfold around me will worm their way deep, down into the idea, and turn that piece of salty curd into a delicious Roquefort.

For a long time, I thought my flagship manuscript after my Fire & Brimstone series would be The Aeronauts. But, sometimes, pushing our desires, pushing what we think is the right story isn’t right. Forcing an idea rarely helps. It was hard to realize that, in fact, the manuscript I should be using to court agents is not The Aeronauts (a portal fantasy, a mixed bag as far as likelihood to sell to an editor is concerned), but my middle-grade book.

Why?

Because it was born. Because it raced through the pipeline to the end, it burst forward, it was so fully-formed in my mind that it quickly and easily became a finished manuscript. And trying to force another manuscript and another story that was not yet ready, not yet fermented to tasty ripeness, was not the way to make my dreams come true.

The best advice I’ve ever gotten in writing is: write what you love. And if the writing comes slow, if you’re “blocked,” maybe that story just isn’t ready yet.

And that’s okay.

Oh, and happy holidays!

The Host, by Stephenie Meyer

This book gets: ♥♥♥♥♥ out of 5

The Host, by Stephenie Meyer – “Wait, wait, Kiersi is reviewing a Stephenie Meyer book, favorably?” You might ask, disbelieving. You might wonder, having seen my tweets about the disgusting co-dependent, abusive relationships glorified in Twilight, or about how Bella’s story is ultimately a tragedy, how this might come to be. What has happened to this predictable reviewer? What has been done with her?

But I can assure you I am cognizant, that I have not been invaded by a very kind, reasonable alien, and my eyes are still a perfectly normal (perhaps not) shade of dark brown. And I can also assure you that The Host is a great book.

It’s not always that way. Meyer falls into the Deborah Harkness trap with this 600-page volume of eating and drinking and bathing and all kinds of things that really, in the end, should have been left out. But unlike those bothersome A Discovery of Witches books, Meyer keeps the tempo fast and high and ultimately, the reward is great enough to warrant the wind-up. It’s almost as if the reward, the ending, would not be so marvelous had we not had to slog through the underground caverns with Wanderer, our alien narrator; if we had not had to sit through the slow shift of each character in the story from antagonist to friend.

Meyer’s first few romance scenes—memories that our alien Wanderer experiences through her host, Melanie—are cheesy, at best. I have this feeling that she was still shrugging off the Twilight series like a misfitting sweater. Later I believed every word she wrote about Wanderer’s strange, second-hand love for Melanie’s old flame, Jared; her fiercely maternal love for Melanie’s younger brother, Jaime; and even her memories of the peculiar but vividly-imagined worlds that the souls—the creatures that inhabit human hosts—have previously colonized.

Though Wanderer is so strange to us, the readers (being an alien and all) and Melanie so much more familiar (being a human, and having understandable human emotions), I came to see the world easily through Wanderer’s eyes, and to see what human culture would be like to an extraterrestrial mind. And though in some ways the souls are like a page from an Animorphs book, they are so distinct and different and completely thought out that I almost believe they exist.

The Host is a narrative woven by a deft hand, that undulates through tears and joy to a very satisfying finish. My hat is off to you, Stephenie Meyer. Thanks for the real but ultimately likable male characters, and the female characters with distinct personalities and dreams and flaws. For characters that feel like real people, even if they feel flat at first, but we come to love them anyway.

I hope you’ll give us another one.

The epic Golden Gate Bridge. Taken during the Bay Cruise on a peculiarly calm, un-blustery winter day.

This post has two parts: first, my adventure south to San Francisco, where I met up with some friends and experienced the city for a weekend. Second, an update on the Vision Quest, and other bookly-things. I’ll be reviewing Stephenie Meyer’s The Host tomorrow, so please check back for a review that will probably surprise the hell out of you.

So, on to part one: I love San Francisco. Not in the way I love Portland (for its culture, art scene, and greenness), and not in the way I love Los Angeles (drivers I actually understand, beautiful people, also Venice Beach). I love San Francisco because it is insane.

The hills are insane, the people are insane, the parking is insane. Even the views are insane. I just feel like everything in San Francisco is cranked up to 11. Even the holidays and the homeless people are insane. I passed a guy panhandling on a corner singing, “Jingle bells, jingle bells, TIME TO GET DRUNK.” Then he would stop, look at someone, and say, “I’m the world’s greatest wino!”

Yep. I bet you are. At least he’s honest about what he’ll use your money for.

Some weird inspiration. I found this bugger stuck to the dog's fur. Still not sure what it is. Guesses?

But I want to move on to the big news of this trip: I finished the first draft of Gryphon, my middle-grade epic fantasy novel. Yep. Done. I did the last 20,000 words in about two days–and each session was only about 4 hours long. I guess the ranch life is good for my productivity when it comes to drafting. No distractions without phone, internet, even people. Very easy to focus on a story and get lost in it. It’s too bad the drive is upwards of 10 hours, or I’d make this trip every time I’m ready to start a new manuscript.

I don’t like most of the things that I write. I go through phases with them–love, hate, love, hate, sometimes apathy. Gryphon is the first time I’ve really felt, deep down, that I wrote a great book. That I wrote something anyone can read, that will stick with the reader long after it’s over. I hope that this feeling isn’t just a post-first draft high. Sigh. Only time, and a second (and third, and fourth) draft will tell.

To end this brief update, a snippet from the final pages of Gryphon:

Flying was like being born again.

The ground raced underneath them, a blur of brown and green and the occasional silvery-blue of a pond or creek. Herds of deer ran in formations, in patterns, like tributaries of a great river. Birds sometimes joined them or squawked as they passed in the sky.

Frost pulled his furs tighter as Brother’s flight wound northward. The Sky Mountains appeared through the mist, huge snowy fangs that jutted into the sky, and his arms tingled. This was home.

He had missed it.

And, of course, a cute picture of my most venerable sous chef, Wilbur:

Oh, why, thank you, kitty. Couldn't have made those potatoes without your judicious supervision.

It rained–the entire drive. The great and the terrible thing about inclement weather on a long trip is that it requires constant attention and alertness. No way to fall asleep, but no way to relax, either. And I have to admit that Stephenie Meyer’s The Host is not nearly as bad as I’d been expecting. The premise is brilliant and very creative, even if it feels like a bit of an Animorphs rip-off. The romance scenes are over-the-top and gag-worthy, not unlike Meyer’s past projects, but the rest of it is rather… well-written? Does that sound crazy? It does. But I think it’s true. Except for the part where this book is 600 pages long and really doesn’t need to be. For all the things right in The Host, including a protagonist who is fascinating and lovable and utterly strange (with an equally strange and yet totally delightful backstory), this book moves at an agonizingly slow pace. Meyer has gone right on past “reasonable amounts of detail” into “who the hell cares” territory and it is almost physically painful.

Regardless. I made it here with another half of my audiobook to spare, and getting some time off the grid has been… marvelous. I’m almost finished with Gryphon and working through in my head how to revise and rewrite The Aeronauts. Here is where I am living:

I love my boat. I’ll get some pictures next time of the interior (super minimalist, with a raised platform bed surrounded by windows) but this will have to do for now. Everything inside smells like cedar wood and countryside. There’s no restroom but there is a kitchenette, which I don’t use. My friend’s house is a skip and a jog away, so I’ve learned to pee in the garden or race back to the house for food, hot water, and other unmentionables.

"Hey, you OK back there? Do I need to come lick your face?"

And though I am alone most of the day, since my friend works a 9-to-5 and goes to school afterwards, I never really feel alone. I brought my pet rats with me (strapped the aquarium into the back of my car with a seatbelt and they did just fine) and they are big cuddlers during the day; then there’s Bach, the Catahoula Leopard Dog (with some kind of shepherd-y breed mixed in) who follows me like a shadow, just to make sure I don’t get into any trouble while he’s not around. Oh, hey, time to go feed the chickens? Cool. I’ll come with you. Taking out the trash? Can I come? Hey. I love you. I hardly know you but I love you like crazy.

Man. Love me some dogs. Not to mention the cat, Wilbur, which is more stuffed animal than cat; you can pick him up and hold him however you like, swing him around, make him into a scarf, whatever, and he will still love you to the ends of the earth and back. He likes to sit on top of the boat and watch me do my stuff.

My little sentry.

Thanks for reading. There is this little problem of no phone or internet access, so updates will be irregular (as will tweets, text messages, phone calls, et cetera) but I’m sure you’ll survive.

Report back soon!

Three-way goat fight!

I leave first thing in the morning tomorrow for my friend’s ranch in northern California. As seen above, there are goats, which I will be herding and milking in exchange for my room and board. I’ll be living in a grounded boat on the property with no internet connection and very little phone service, if any.

The perfect place to write.

My friend Carin was the one who unofficially dubbed it my “vision quest,” which of course has now become the official title, as there can be no other. I will be putting my middle-grade novel, Gryphon, to rest in the first couple of days; after that I will be dividing my time between rewriting The Aeronauts and starting a new book tentatively titled Left-handed Jill. I’m downloading a number of good cowboy movies before I take off.

Speaking of which: I have never experienced a Twitter storm like yesterday, when I asked the Twitterverse at large the following question:

I am going to watch so many westerns this month prepping for the new book. Any recommendations (BESIDES Unforgiven)?

To which I received something on the order of 50 replies, and now I have a very robust list to work with that includes the TV series Deadwood, many mentions of “The Assassination of Jesse James,” “3:10 to Yuma,” among others. Still surprised no one mentioned “Cannibal: The Musical,” though.

My boyfriend collected Louis L’amour books when he was younger, so in addition to my western movie and TV-show binge, I’ll be devouring some dime novels to get a feel for the tone and time period of the new book, Left-handed Jill. This is my first time writing a historical novel; while it will be more of a comedy than a genuine historical fiction, I’m going to attempt a degree of authenticity that is totally new to me. Just the idea of the challenge gets me all riled up.

So, starting at 9 a.m. PST tomorrow, I will be on the road, praying that I don’t run into snow and sucking down peanuts, dried fruit and beef jerky while I listen to Stephenie Meyer’s The Host (that’s right, I’m going there–I figure I don’t need great literature on a road trip, just something to entertain me, and this is almost part of the YA curriculum now). If you have any suggestions for good audiobooks to listen to on my way home, I’m all ears.

To finish this out, and to get all jazzed-up for the weeks ahead, here’s a working tag-line for the new cowboy book:

Left-handed Jill, the meanest shot in the West. And that’s not even her real name.

Oh, also: BABY CHICKENS!

Since I hit the 50k-word mark for a middle grade novel titled Gryphon, I am now supposedly a “winner,” though anyone who completes this feat of caffeine and bruised fingertips counts as a “winner.” And, in reality, 50,000 words is short even for a middle grade book.  Nonetheless I’ve entered the third act of the story, a.k.a., the sprinting stage, where all the really big “oh no you di’int” stuff goes down; from here I know every twist that comes next, and it’s just a matter of time (much like a train wreck) until the end arrives.

As a writer, I’ll often map out big twists or moments in advance, and then anticipate (and also visualize, often on endless repeat like your kid watching Lion King ten million times) a particularly important scene for days and sometimes weeks. Here’s one from the second act. I was pretty gratified to finally put this baby down on the word processor:

He didn’t push her away, and for that, she was grateful. It was awkward at first; their lips trying to find purchase against the other, their hands unsure of where they should go, but nevertheless it felt perfect, more perfect than any other thing Rheya had ever done. It was right, if a little strange.

Then she realized she couldn’t breathe and broke away, and the two of them sat there, panting, staring only at each other as if the entire world around them had vanished into the dark. And who would have minded? If the world were gone, and only these two left, everything would probably be as it should.

A prickle of light poked its head over the distant hills. It was dawn. But neither of the two children could let the other go.

The delightful Michelle Berger tagged me in the “Next Big Thing” blog meme. I’m not usually one for these kinds of things, but I love the premise of this particular meme, as it gives me an opportunity to talk about one of my favorite projects. I’m passing the torch onto two excellent individuals, who are listed at the bottom of this post along with the date of their Next Big Thing. Please check them out!

1.  What is the working title of your book?

The Aeronauts. The original title was Joshua Shell and the Aeronauts, but everyone who heard it immediately thought of the Greek myth of Jason and the Argonauts.

What’s really strange about this is how much the stories parallel one another, totally unintentionally. Joshua’s grandfather was half-human, half-Aguien (mermaid-like people that live in the planet’s endless sea), and had to be smuggled to land before the Aguien royalty could kill him for being an abomination.

And, like Jason and his Argonauts, Joshua and his Aeronauts are on a long quest that lands them in many strange places. He is accompanied by the heroine, Maria, which (completely without conscious intent) does recall Jason’s love interest Medea. Though their ending is a little different, I might say; Jason’s story ends with some pretty brutal child-killing and the burning alive of his bride. Spoiler alert, my book does not end this way.

2.  Where did the idea come from for the book?

Like most of my better ideas, the idea for The Aeronauts sprouted out of a dream. I had it not long after writing the first draft of Devil’s Fire (August 2013) and right away, I scribbled the story down as I remembered it. Back then it was more of a war epic, with all kinds of strategerizing and other silliness I really have no interest in writing about. Nevertheless, the beginning and the ending were there, and sometimes that’s all you need to launch a story.

3.  What genre does your book fall under?

With “New Adult” becoming a thing, I would probably classify it as that–my heroine is seventeen going on eighteen, and a lot of the themes are mature (technological revolution, ethnic cleansing) and the characters engage in grown up sexual relationships. It’s really on the edge of YA and NA, and perhaps the old term “crossover” fits better.

Regardless, it is a sci-fi/fantasy novel somewhere in the upper YA/NA category, with a steampunk twist. (I use both sci-fi and fantasy to describe it, as there is a parallel universe sci-fi element with an epic fantasy questing element.)

4.  Which actors would you choose to play your characters in a movie rendition?

It’s disappointing that there aren’t many young latina actresses to choose from in Hollywood, but I would definitely have to pick Natalia Baron to play Maria, the heroine of The Aeronauts. She’s pretty but not supernaturally gorgeous, she’s busty, and she’s got a lot of attitude. She plays “Carmen” in Veronica Mars, where I discovered and fell in love with her.

Joshua is a bit trickier. I know it’s cliché, but I’d have to pick Zac Efron. He’s got the right hair, the pointed chin, the thick eyebrows to give him just the right amount of intensity, and a good holier-than-thou attitude. Oh, that last one is absolutely essential.

5.  What is the one-sentence synopsis of your manuscript?

Maria wakes up from near-death on a world that is definitely not Earth, and becomes embroiled in a bitter racial war between this new world’s humans and the mermaid-like Aguien.

6.  Will your book be self-published or represented by an agency?

Absolutely represented. The Aeronauts garnered some agent interest back in August, but the manuscript was broken at the time and I ended up never following up. That’s all right. I still think it was the right decision. One of the agents I spoke with told me, “Send it to me when it is perfect.” I realized this is how I should treat all agent queries, and since I have to take the manuscript back to the drawing board anyway, I decided to hold off my query process until the manuscript was ready. (This only happened because I purchased my agent pitch sessions months in advance, thinking I’d be ready, but then I fell into a funk and it all went to hell in a handbasket.)

7.  How long did it take you to write the first draft of your manuscript?

I started writing The Aeronauts when I was on a trip in Argentina. After living in Buenos Aires for about three weeks, my boyfriend and I left to backpack across the country. I brought my Macbook Air along and wrote the first 25,000 words of the manuscript on buses and in dirty hostel rooms. After that, my productivity dropped off. I hit 80,000 probably in March or April, and from there it ballooned into a monstrous, 140,000 word atrocity.

The problem is that I don’t think I knew then what story I was really trying to tell with The Aeronauts. I knew how the story ended–the very, very, very end–but hadn’t quite nailed down a climax. I got mired in world-building and lost sight of the truly important part of it, which is the story itself.

As a result of that, I got extremely disheartened both by the lack of outcome and by the sheer length of this creature I had built. In September I set it aside, unfinished (I know, this is the cardinal sin in writing, and I’m totally fine with that) in order to perform revisions to Devil’s Fire that had been requested by my publisher.

The reason I didn’t finish The Aeronauts was because I wanted to know first what story it was that I wanted to tell, and then the finale would reflect that. I realized I’d have to go back through and re-engineer earlier parts of the novel in order to discover exactly what purpose I had with Maria’s quest and what kinds of things, thematically-speaking, I wanted to accomplish. Also, 140,000 words is totally unacceptable and I need to trim out some of those threads before I can be sure they all get tied up at the end.

I consider The Aeronauts my “Next Big Thing” because I have marked off all of December to rewrite, rework, and finally finish the manuscript, and start sending it off to the agents who requested it oh-so long ago. The premise is a strange one so I’ve got my fingers crossed that they’ll remember me–or at least remember my story. If not, I’m confident the query can still make an impression all on its own.

8.  What other books would you compare this story to within the genre?

Absolutely Philip Pullman’s The Golden Compass series. Like The Subtle Knife and The Amber Spyglass, The Aeronauts involves a character crossing between parallel worlds. I have heard that “portal” fantasy is not selling well right now, but I think the reason for that is authors of “portal” fantasies don’t give enough backbone to the world where the character originated. In The Aeronauts, even though Maria leaves Earth behind to reach Navica, there is a connection between the two worlds that the bad guys are trying to exploit; the human Empire on Navica wants advanced technology with which to kill and destroy their enemies, and reaching through the fabric of the worlds to Earth is the only way they can see to do this.

9.  Who or what inspired you to write this book?

Probably my biggest inspiration is not a book, but a Japanese TV show from the 90s called “Escaflowne.” The heroine, Hitomi, is “whisked” away from Earth to a parallel world called Gaea, where she teams up with a dark, sullen prince to defeat the evil Zaibach empire and reclaim his throne.

I loved Escaflowne as a teenager because Hitomi is a girly-girl with a fierce independent streak. The Zaibach empire’s bizarre “Fortune Machine” also gave me an idea for a way to incorporate magic in the form of pseudo-science. Not to give away any spoilers, but there is also a machine in The Aeronauts that obeys the rules of magic and not of what we traditionally consider science.

Last, but not least, Joshua’s character was inspired by Robin Hood, with his Aeronauts acting as his Merry Men. I like a male hero who has good intentions, but is so full of himself he can’t see the forest through the trees. Plus, who doesn’t want to steal from the rich and corrupt and give to the poor and disenfranchised?

10.  What else about the book might pique the reader’s interest?

I like to think there’s something for everyone in The Aeronauts. For the acti0n-lovers in the audience, there are huge sky battles between the Aeronauts in their tiny airships and the evil Empire’s giant zeppelin-like monstrosities. For the romance-lovers, there’s frustrating and palpable tension between our two antagonistic heroes. For those who like intrigue, there are grand betrayals and political machinations by the many nations of Navica. And, to bring a little realism to the story, Maria has a long history of drug addiction and family trauma to give her plenty of angst and reasons to change ast the story progresses.

I’ll be passing the torch on to:

- Kashif Ross of The Voice of Writing, posting about his Next Big Thing on November 28th

- Eddy Rivas of What Eddy Writes, posting about his Next Big Thing on November 29th

It would take five hands to count the number of times a writer has said to me, “I just don’t get Twitter.” What’s not to get? Twitter is, essentially, the internet curated for you. Imagine it’s like going to an internet museum, but all the artwork is geared towards your interests. On Twitter, you can choose to follow only those people who you find interesting; then their tweets are aggregated in your Twitter feed, and voilá! Musings, links, book recommendations, writing tips–all catered to you.

Even better, Twitter is a way for you to reach out to people in your target community, wherever they lurk, and connect with them. It’s a marketing tool as much as a learning tool. It’s a way not only to find those other users like you, but to engage with them, sometimes even befriend them. I’ve now met 5 Twitter friends in person, and it’s always a little thrilling.

When I give writers this speech, it’s usually followed by this sentence: “Well, I’ve joined Twitter, but I just don’t know what to do or where to start.”

Do I have the post for you! Welcome to Twitter Bootcamp. Here are six easy steps for writers and authors to become a part of the invaluable and growing community that is Twitter.

Rule no. 1: Join Twitter! It’s free and easy, and a great way to start building your author platform.

Rule no. 2: Don’t start your Twitter feed with your personal friends–pick up Twitter users who are similar to you in profession and/or interest:

- Fellow writers/authors, bloggers, and readers

- Don’t limit yourself to genre

- Twitter often makes Follow recommendations, and they aren’t bad

- When a Twitter account you like mentions or retweets another user, check them out. Also watch out for the #FollowFriday (sometimes #FF) hashtag to lead you to new people to follow.

Rule no. 3: Less than 5% of your tweets should be self-promotion. What does self-promotion mean?

- Advertisements for purchases (e.g. any books you have published or anthologies in which your work has appeared)

- Advertisements for your general website (not specific blog posts or information pages), speaking gigs, or appearances

- As a general rule, don’t talk about yourself in third-person! It just makes you look like a jackass.

Rule no. 4: Make good use of that other 95%! Try the following tacks to build audience participation:

- Engage other writers on topics that interest you. Talk about your WIPs, books you’re reading, writing tips–you get the idea.

- Provide value to your followers, such as retweeting links that are relevant or interesting, or helping promote books and authors you like.  (A retweet is essentially forwarding someone else’s tweet to your followers.)

- Don’t be afraid of replying to tweets that interest you! Engaging your audience starts with incorporating them into the conversation.

- Use hashtags like #amwriting, #YALitChat, or #writetip to enter and engage in ongoing book chatter. You can search for other Tweeters using a hashtag simply by clicking it.

Rule no. 5: Take care with what you tweet:

- It’s OK to have a personality, but remember–you are posting to the public domain, and your tweets can be read by anyone.

- Be yourself. Your readers want to get to know the real you.

- It’s difficult to attract followers with silence, and it’s difficult to keep them if you flood their Twitter feeds. Strike a balance.

And last but not least:

Rule no. 6: Make sure you get off Twitter from time to time and keep on writing!

Today’s post is the first in a series about how authors and writers use Twitter. Rayne Hall is a spectacular fantasy writer and writing instructor.

Tune in tomorrow for “Twitter Bootcamp,” and Wednesday for “What Not To Do on Twitter.”

Fourteen Weird Reasons Why People Have Unfollowed Me On Twitter

More than 22,000 people follow me on Twitter @raynehall… and every day, several unfollow me. Some even tell me why. Here’s a selection of their reasons:

1. Tweets in inferior English (British)

2. I laughed at their jokes

3. I did not laugh at their jokes

4. I didn’t buy their book

5. Stalking (I followed them)

6. They saw no tweets but mine in their timeline (they weren’t actually following anyone else)

7. I had more followers than they

8. Horses get killed in one of my books

9. I tweeted more about my own books than about theirs

10. By posting #writetip tweets I implied that the person’s writing needed improvement (insult)

11. They always follow and unfollow the same people as their mates

12. Not enough commas in my tweets

13. I declined to retweet their poetry

14. Rayne Hall is not a real person, but a bot. Everyone knows that

Of course, these are only the ones who gave their reasons. (“Your use of British English disgusts me! Learn proper English before you tweet!!  I unfollow!!!!”) Others didn’t allow me a glimpse into their motivations. Who knows? Even weirder reasons may lurk in their minds.

What’s the weirdest reason for unfollowing you’ve experienced? I’d love to hear from you. Leave a comment, and I’ll reply.

ABOUT RAYNE HALL

Rayne Hall is the author over forty books (mostly fantasy and horror), published under several pen names and in several languages (mostly British English). She edits the Ten Tales series of short story anthologies and teaches online classes for writers. Horses die in her novels. Rayne does not retweet poetry.

You’ve probably had this experience: just sort of, waking up, after eight or nine hours pounding away at a manuscript revision, only to realize you haven’t eaten–or even gotten dressed–since you got out of bed. Working as a serious writer often requires a flexible schedule, a.k.a. the magical ability to function normally on a Peter-Jackson-movie amount of sleep. Pair that with the very action of writing (spending a lot of time in your house, usually alone, hunched over a desk or a countertop or a dining room table for hours at a go) and the result is:

A) Oh, hell, I can’t turn left anymore

B) Why do my knees–AAGH–hurt all the time?

C) Hey. Hey cat. Heyyyy kitty. Come here. Yeah. Yeah? Oooh, yeah, you are so cute. So cute. (fast forward an hour) Aww kitty. Now you’re on my lap covering my keyboard and you are too adorable to move.

…

…

So a few months ago, I realized I needed to change my lifestyle a little or I would slowly, steadily, go totally crazy. Here are three of my discoveries.

1. Co-working.

First, I figured out that I needed to get out of the house more. Talk to people in real life. Sit in different chairs and find excuses to walk around between stretches of hunched-over typing. I missed what it was like to work an office job and have cool people around all the time for providing brief (but important to mental well-being) distractions.

I first discovered co-working when one of my good friends, who is a freelance programmer, moved out to Portland and found he had the same quandary: the need to get out and about and still get his daily work done. I’ve been hooked ever since. Writers make good co-workers, obviously, because they are doing the same thing that you are; but anyone who, essentially, needs to get work done, can be a good partner.

More and more in my writing career I’m discovering that writing doesn’t have to be a lonely pursuit. It can involve the people around you, if you surround yourself with the right people.

The benefit? When you get stuck, you can ask your “co-worker” for a suggestion. When you can’t think of a good synonym–that other writer is invaluable. And sometimes, just having another friendly person present who is also typing away helps you stay focused.

2. Get on your feet.

Another benefit of getting out of the house is spending a little time walking. Your brain needs good circulation to do its tasks well, and good circulation requires a bit of moving around, at least. Take a short walk twice a day, even if it’s just around the block. Get fresh air, get your blood moving again, and you may find your mind clears and that next scene simply writes itself.

Not to mention that the pure action of writing–sitting in front of a computer all day–is not very conducive to getting exercise. Just one or two short walks each day can do wonders for your physical health, and physical health is very important to our mental health and self-image. If you can walk to your place of work (coffee shop, rented office space), that’s even better.

Of course, finding those people to co-work with and finding those places to meet is key. Not every coffee shop is the right coffee shop. Personally I need music at a reasonable volume, plenty of outlets for power adapters, a decent food and drink menu, comfortable seating and very few children. I’ve tried a dozen locations in Portland and have narrowed it down to two or three places I like.

Make a list of the things you look for in a work environment, and try a few locations until you find something that fits.

3. Make social appointments like dental appointments.

Not everyone is like me, I realize; I prefer to have a social engagement every other night, at least, and Sims-style fill my “Social” bar. But even if you aren’t normally that socially active, being social with real humans in real life is very important. Not only for your mental health, but to supplement and sustain your creative engine.

I mean, think about it like this: Who do we spend our days writing about? People. Even if you aren’t directly interacting with people, sometimes just observing people can provide vital fuel for your storytelling.

And we all know what happens to people who sit alone behind their computer keyboards all day:

Make sure you spend at least a few hours each week with people outside your home. By the way, Facebook Messenger does not count.

I was going to have a fourth point about attempting some semblance of a normal-people schedule, but as my friends and family have probably already come to realize–that is total bullshit and writers only do their best work when everyone else is passed out.

Hope these tips are helpful to you, and have a happy, healthy, productive weekend!

I have to say, though, that I couldn’t have made it this far without one thing:

Oh, man. The ABC drama Once Upon A Time has totally and completely captured my heart (or was it Prince Charming/David Nolan/Josh Dallas? UGH WHO KNOWS.) And is that any surprise, since it comes from some of the same people who were involved with Lost? I think not.

Writers seem to have mixed reactions to the concept of multi-tasking–but when I’ve reached a roadblock, or when I’m simply tired of banging the keyboard all day and want to sit back and think for a while, it helps me to dive into some escapism. I wrote at least 2k last night while Prince Charming romanced Snow White in the background. There are fake tears and angst and evil queens–what more could you ask for?

Oh my god look at that face.

As promised, here is a brief blurb from Gryphon as we near the halfway mark. ONWARD, MY FRIENDS.

“We don’t have to worry about you getting recognized,” she said, thumbing through his hair thoughtfully. “But me—clearly they recognized me. So I need you to do something, Frost.”

He swallowed. Rheya handed him a dagger, wound up her hair into a fist over her head, and turned her back to him.

“Cut it off.”

“All of it?” he asked.

“All of it.”

Slowly he took the hair from her and pulled it tight, tight enough he could start sawing at it with the dagger. Huge chunks of black hair began to separate from her head, and something felt so wrong, so sad, about removing those shining, curling locks. They were a part of her, and when he was finished, he couldn’t help thinking she looked naked without them.

Tune in next time for more mischief! And Rumplestiltskin.

Nothing else to report, other than an unfortunate misstep this morning/last night where I randomly switched point of view from third person to first. Easy enough to fix, but a little disconcerting nonetheless.

Here is an excerpt from chapter five of Gryphon. Both Rheya and Frost are coming along nicely. Even better, I’m almost at the inciting incident–though it could be said the below is the beginning of the end.

“You are human, Frost. You can’t stay here forever. I certainly can’t stay here forever.”

“Why?”

She ran the fur over her head again. “Because I have to get back what’s mine. What he stole from me.”

“Thoreus?”

Rheya nodded.

“And I need your help, Frost.”

It was hard to tell what was going on behind those white-blue eyes, but his hands stiffened at his sides.

“I can’t help,” he said. “I am… I am…” He searched the cloud of words he didn’t know yet and for the first time, he was getting frustrated with all the things he was missing. “Rheya, I am… I am nothing.”

That wasn’t what she’d expected.

“Nothing?”

“Hands,” he said, wiggling his fingers. “Feet. Mouth.” He moved each one in turn. “Not claw. Not paw. Not beak. No help. No help to you.”

She blinked. So that was it. He had an inferiority complex, did he?

She could use that.

Wreck-it Ralph, Disney, Nov. 2

This movie gets: ♥♥♥♥ out of 5

Since Disney gave us “Tangled“ in late 2010, my hope in the company and what kind of movies it was capable of making has been restored. Then again, John Lasseter of PIXAR served as a producer for “Wreck-it Ralph,” just as he did on “Tangled,” so perhaps it was the Disney acquisition of PIXAR that has allowed the languishing animation company to reboot.

I can’t even quantify the number of hours I invested in the original Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles arcade game (adapted for NES), so safe to say that “Wreck-it Ralph” struck a chord with me. Then again, everything about this movie’s premise is lovable: the clumsy cretin with a heart of gold, the cheesy-but-still-clever “Game Central Station” which seems to lurk somewhere in the surge protector, the badass “Hero’s Duty” squadron leader (Jane Lynch, of course) who is as hot as she is, well, a badass, and Fix-it Felix Jr., a clever amalgamation of Mario and Luigi, voiced by the dorky Jack McBrayer of 30 Rock fame.

I expected to hate the bubbly, cute girl character, Venellope von Schweetz. In the previews, she struck me as a insert-gag-character-here device (like the three redheads I complained about in “Brave“) to bring in the kid-girl audience. But she’s anything but: Sarah Silverman is a talented voice actor, and from what I’ve read, the actors reading together in the same room brought about some humorous improvisation. Regardless, I loved her–spunk, attitude, cuteness and all.

This movie is as much about the big moments as about the small; about the way our world is changing (kids prefer the high-definition, graphics-intensive Hero’s Duty to the 8-bit arcade box, Fix-it Felix Jr.), and about the relationships the videogame characters build as a necessary part of their videogame lives. Fix-it Felix knows his game is nothing without Ralph, and this is a constant tension that I loved watching play out. The humor that becomes raw emotion between Venellope and Ralph is bursting at the seams with sheer adorableness. And the tie-ins–the bad-guy support group, the jerky, 8-bit motion of the old arcade characters–make “Wreck-it Ralph” a pleasure both as an original film and as a Kingdom Hearts-style nostalgia-bomb.

Now, beyond the games we know (Sonic, Q-bert) and games that acted like games we know (Fix-it Felix Jr., Sugar Rush), there were some pitfalls in this film that could have been sidestepped. The story made the same couple mistakes: “We need this to happen, so we will create some arbitrary rule to make that later plot point possible.” For example: Glitches cannot leave their game. (Why?) If you die in a game that’s not your own, you die for good. (Why?) Cybugs become whatever it is that they devour. (Why?) You can probably see what the eventual Point B of all these plot devices are, and why it felt a little bit like fitting a square peg into a round hole.

The big finish was a bit cheesy, but what’s a Disney movie without a recycled villain? Nevertheless, the 3/4 of the movie leading up to the final act makes “Wreck-it Ralph” absolutely worth the money, and I imagine arcades will see a boost in business for the next few months.

I’m using a third-person limited, so while told in third person, each chapter focuses on one character and his or her thoughts.

I’ve been experimenting a little with alternating/rotating points of view, as my writer’s group knows who have been reading Codename: Gossip Tolkien. Instead of first person, which I use in GT, I chose third person for Gryphon because my heroes are young–12 and 13. Writing in third person, I am able to reveal a lot more about their personalities, motives, and feelings than I would if they were telling the story themselves, and I don’t have to worry about keeping the tone and voice “authentic” to the age of the character.

This works best for this piece because the characters interact frequently with adults, and I still want to be able to give the reader an objective understanding of the adult characters’ actions without having to interpret them in the young protagonist’s voice.

I ran into something tricky at the beginning of the second chapter, which features the point of view of my male protagonist. He does not have a name at the beginning of the novel, and it’s a real test of my abilities to make it clear who or what is being talked about in each sentence (especially when there is more than one unnamed “he”).

But, as most of you probably already know, I relish a good challenge.

Like the cool writer/blogger Ann Elise Monte, I decided to post a little excerpt of what poured out of the fingertips yesterday. At 2,500 words, not a bad first day, but not the best, either. (I had to teach a class, meet a copywriting deadline, and do some chores, too–cut me some slack.) If you are also doing NaNoWriMo, become my buddy in this great endeavor, or click here to see a synopsis of Gryphon.

The boy, though he didn’t consider himself as such, listened to his tribe’s chatter with masked interest. Humans were a blight on the land, and his mother and brother and the rest of them discussed the trespasser with thinly-veiled contempt. Humans were barely more than animals, animals that covered themselves in metal and murdered each other without qualm like cannibal ants.

But he was fascinated by the mere concept of the human girl. What she might look like; what she might smell like to him, to his inferior nose. He’d seen humans before—big hairy things, covered in glittering steel, and often later covered in glittering blood when they refused to leave his tribe’s sacred land, and insisted on finding their way, unsuccessfully, to the pass.

A girl. He looked at his hands where he sat on the ledge over the tribal den, lit orange by the sunset. They were not claws, he knew that much. Nor were his feet the same wide, furred paws as his mother or brother. He had no tail to speak of; he drank and ate with a mouth instead of a beak; nor could he tear creatures limb from limb with his teeth. The others fed him instead, and while they did it lovingly, as he was theirs and theirs alone, he had recently grown to realize what it really was:

Pity.

And he was learning that he hated the pity more than anything in his simple mountain life.

It’s pretty apt that National Novel Writing Month (codenamed NaNoWriMo) follows right on the heels of Halloween–there is something truly terrifying about the prospect of cranking out that many words in such a small amount of time, and also, somehow, achieving a moderate level of coherence.

What is it?

In the month of November, masochists around the world hunch over their laptops and try to write 50,000 words in 30 days. It’s a test as much as it is a motivator–it’s for all those people who want to write a book, but just can’t buckle down and do it.

But NaNoWriMo is not just for amateurs who need a morale boost. I wrote my first book back in 2010 as part of a New Year’s Resolution–I’d spent my whole life writing short stories, fan fiction, and crappy novellas, and decided that with the job market as miserable as it was, I could spend a month of funemployment trying to do something with a skill I’d spent my whole life developing.

I started writing Devil’s Fire (back then it was Sophie of the Demons) January 1st, and finished the first draft on February 2nd. It was challenging, sure, but it was also the best month of my life at that time. I was doing what I loved, and boy did it feel great. It was a terrible first draft, as most are.

And you know what? That is totally okay.

Why do it?

There are a million reasons to do NaNoWriMo and a million reasons not to do it. Prolific YA novelist Maggie Stiefvater is, personally, not a big fan. She makes a good point: for some writers, forcing words to paper is not always the best way to write a book. Some writers need time to sit back and ponder the sequence of events before moving on.

Some of us, on the other hand, work best that way. I relish pressure and deadlines and stress. I think I’m some sort of twisted succubus that feeds on my own misery instead of nightmares. I know there are other writers out there who need that type of motivation, too: the daily check-ins, the inspiration to turn off wireless and focus, the whole package.

At the same time, I already know I can do it. And not just 50,000 words in one month, but the 82,000 I churned out that January in 2010, that later became Devil’s Fire. It’s nice to know you can, and that’s a good reason as any to do NaNoWriMo–for your career.

It’s just a first draft.

There’s a lot of good advice flying around on Twitter about how to tackle NaNoWriMo, and what to do (or not do) with your book once November’s over.

1. Don’t query agents on December 1st. The book you just somehow managed to churn out in 30 days is not ready for an agent or publisher yet, and maybe not even for your critique partner.

2. You will have to revise it. Be OK with that. If you’ve signed up at the NaNoWriMo website, you’ll be getting lots of emails saying exactly this: Don’t go back and edit what you’ve written. Just keep writing. Get it all down on paper. It’s just a first draft–it doesn’t have to be brilliant or genius or anything. You’ll clean it up later. Check out this article, “The First Draft: A Writer’s Best Friend.”

3. Don’t think it’s finished. 50,000 words is barely even a short novel–it’s more of a novella. The average novel is between 60-90k words, and even 60k is on the really low end (usually only for middle-grade and short YA novels). You might reach the NaNo goal, but still have some work to do.

Have fun, damn it.

The only reason to do NaNoWriMo is because you want to do it. You like writing. You want to finish a novel. Don’t do it if you’re going to be miserable and stressed out. Have a dozen other deadlines to meet? Swamped at work? You might want to wait until next year. Or, heck, who needs an excuse to write a book? Just pretend NaNoWriMo is in February instead.

While you’re at it, make sure to take breaks and keep tabs on your mental health. Need a book? My pal Noah Murphy has just released his girl-superhero book, Ethereal Girls.

Heroism comes in all shapes and sizes…

In Medieval Europe, four mystical weapons were forged in order to combat malevolent spirits – vile entities seeking nothing more than to spread misery and chaos across the universe. Centuries later, only one weapon remains to protect Earth. That weapon, the Axe of Boren, falls into the hands of teenage Liza while she is driving home from cheerleading practice, transforming her into a hulking warrior of immense strength and endurance. At the same time, her best friend Macie is twisted into a psychopathic murderer by one of the Axe’s counterparts, the corrupted Sword of Boren, and goes on a gruesome killing spree.

But just as Liza and Macie are headed for battle, the most powerful evil spirit in generations appears, unleashing an army of monstrous cannibals on Washington, D.C. In order to defeat the spirit, Liza must ally with three odd girls: a sickly waif with macabre teleportation abilities; a member of a snake-like race called the Lamia who wants nothing more than to be a human teenager; and the 107th reincarnation of an ancient goddess who may know far more about the mystical weapons than she lets on. But even with her new friends, Liza faces a near impossible task. Macie is obsessed with destroying her regardless of the devastation unfolding around them…

Read the first two chapters

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Specs: Scrivener is available for Windows and Mac (Scrivener for Windows, Scrivener 2 for Mac OS X 10.6.7 and above).

Requires 70MB on Mac OS X, 100MB on Windows.

The Review:

There is so much to say about Scrivener. You might have traversed my review of StoryMill when I first set out to find a good piece of novel-writing software–it had so many of the things I wanted, but I found the formatting tools annoying and a tad crippling.

My search may still yet continue. Besides one essential feature, Scrivener is perfect. Read on.

The Binder

The binder is essentially the manuscript index. I love Scrivener because it’s amazingly flexible–it works however you need it to work for you to be at your most effective. I don’t name my chapters anymore (it was a lot of work to come up with catchy titles, and when the chapters themselves changed during multiple revisions– I just decided to abandon them) so I simply call the folder a general descriptor I can remember. Each item inside the folder is, well, whatever you want it to be–a scene, a set of scenes, a pile of unrefined garbage–it’s simply a text document. “Scenes” can be edited alone or, if you view your document at the chapter (folder) level, can be edited in a stream with other scenes in that folder. (These are called “Scrivenings.”)

The genius of this design is that you can work on a scene by itself, or work on the flow of a whole chapter, or even the whole manuscript (by selecting “Manuscript” at the top).

During my revision of Devil’s Fire, my heroine Sophie discovers her dead mother’s journal; the mother’s story parallels Sophie’s story, and each chapter contains some piece of the journal.

I started labeling the scenes that were diary scenes with these nifty little book icons. I cannot tell you how helpful these were to shuffle around as I worked on the organization of the book. As chapters changed and shifted and scenes were moved around (it was like a very complicated game of Boggle), I could easily locate my diary scenes and make sure they landed in the right places.

Unlike my first slash at using Scrivener to edit and revise a novel, this go-around I’m constructing a new novel for NaNoWriMo. This is truly what prompted me to write this review. Sure, Scrivener was great helping me deal with the painful mass of disorganized text that was my manuscript–but could it really be effective in writing a brand-new novel from scratch?

The novel has two narrators–a girl (red) and a boy (blue). I was able to label each scene or chapter by narrator and then select a view option where the color coding appeared in my binder. Suddenly writing a complex story isn’t so complicated.

The Corkboard

Justine Larbalestier wrote an article about writing her novel Liar with Scrivener, and showcased some features of the corkboard I hadn’t quite seized upon–yet.

When I saw those stamps, it took some serious effort not to burst into tears of joy. Wait. A way to keep track of each scene’s level of development? It can’t be. I’d seen that little “status” drop-down menu before and never gave it much thought, until Justine pointed out you could have the status stamped across each notecard on your corkboard. Perfect for getting a bird’s eye view of what still needs work and attention, and what you can forget about (for now).

The best part about the corkboard is, like the binder, you can use this view at any level. When you fill out the “Synopsis” field for any chapter or scene, it appears on the notecard pinned to the corkboard so you can easily shuffle them around as you see fit. Perfect for plotting and planning a work in progress, no?

The Character Sheets

I think this is the place where Scrivener surpassed StoryMill in usability. The character sheet is brilliant. I didn’t use it much for fixing my last novel, but during the planning stages, I’ve found the character sheets to be absolutely invaluable.

Internal conflicts. External conflicts. Personality. Habits and Mannerisms. Sure, we all tell ourselves we know this stuff about our characters–but there’s nothing like putting ideas down on paper to remember and develop them.

For fixing my last novel, the character sheets were good for keeping track of minor characters and making sure I remembered all their details correctly–who their parents are, where they live, hair and eye color, style of dress–but the character sheet is so much more than that.

What is your character’s greatest flaw? How will that flaw play out over the course of the novel? What kinds of things does your character say? I’ve loaded my character sheets with gold, and even if most of it doesn’t make its way into the manuscript, it informs me, as the writer. Simply having it all at my fingertips suddenly makes these people real. Predictable. In any given situation, I have a very good idea of how this character will respond.

And, like scenes, character sheets can be color-coded. I’ve labeled characters based on family affiliation, so I can easily track the Geggan clan separate from the Blacks, and make sure each character has a check and a balance somewhere in the story.

The Complaints

Scrivener has one massively critical flaw–one that leads me to seriously consider other novel-writing software, or perhaps an amalgamation of multiple software platforms.

Timeline.

It just boggles my mind that a piece of writing software this sophisticated and innovative has no way to track chronology. Upon some good, old-fashioned Googling, I discovered a couple “hack” methods for marking scenes in time–using meta data, for example–but if a geek like me can’t figure out how to do it in ten minutes or less, I seriously question its helpfulness. StoryMill had a pretty nifty, customizable time-tracking feature, and I kind of wish I could Power Rangers-style stitch the two pieces of software together into one super-powerful, startlingly handsome novel-writing solution.

Overall, Scrivener is absolutely worth the $45 you’ll pay for the highly reasonable and permissive license ($40 for the Windows version). If it weren’t for that one thing, I think Scrivener might actually be perfect.

If you have any suggestions regarding the timeline issue, or can recommend other writing software, please mention it in the comments and I would love to try it out.

The Prescribed Burn, by Laryssa Wirstiuk

This book gets: ♥♥♥♥ out of 5

The Prescribed Burn, by Laryssa Wirstiuk – This collection of short stories revolves around the life of Veda, a second-generation Ukrainian girl growing up in Jersey, learning why girls diet, why boys are irresistible, and how art ties it all together.

I believe there is a particular kind of reader for every particular kind of book. The Prescribed Burn is a book about growing up–for grown-ups. It’s about realizing your friends are shaving their legs and no longer eating Pringles, and how that realization, at one point, changed your life. The storytelling style is thoughtful and long-winded, which really works for the type of collection this is. It’s a meditation on coming of age as a girl and coming to terms with your shortcomings.

Veda’s experiences will ring true with anyone who’s done the hard work of getting through adolescence without needing serious therapy. She’s an everygirl with a punch; someone who speaks to you without being too forward, but doesn’t shy away from the stories that make us all feel human–those embarrassing, unlikable moments that, somehow, make a heroine like Veda even more likable.

Wirstiuk is playing a tricky flute with The Prescribed Burn. She weaves Veda’s vignettes from many different points in time. A lesser writer might have told them all in the same style, but Wirstiuk firmly places each of her “Vedas” in their respective voices. Pubescent Veda, gawking at the other girls and their tight shorts and pink lip gloss; high school Veda, who’s (unfortunately) on a diet herself now; even college-aged Veda, wrestling with a tempestuous love life. Each speaks with a familiar, and yet distinctly age-appropriate voice.

At first I thought it was strange that the anthology bounces around in time (we go from grown Veda to middle school Veda) but the stories are thematically-arranged, and not chronologically. That would be too linear for an author with a sneaky streak like Wirstiuk. And it works.

There was some fluff in The Prescribed Burn that I could have done without–at one point, Veda observes someone wearing a “two-carat diamond princess cut engagement ring”–but I don’t think it detracts too much from the flow and style.

This is a book I can see lending to my mom, my best friend, and my little cousin, and they will all get something different out of it. A good (and often surprising) first showing from a new author. (And, if you read my Twitter feed, you might remember that the prologue made me cry. Yeah. I admitted it. SO WHAT.)

Here is the story behind this book, which I’d like to share with you because it is curious and interesting:

From the author: “At a transitional time for the publishing industry, The Prescribed Burn is also a new media success story. Using popular crowd-funding platform Kickstarter (www.kickstarter.com), Painted Egg Press raised the funds needed to print the first paperback edition of this story collection. In addition, Painted Egg Press has created an online community and forum for readers of The Prescribed Burn.

Bonus material in the paperback edition ($17.95) includes 15 color photographs, a 16th bonus crowd-sourced story, questions for discussion, creative writing exercises, and Veda’s Guide to a Creative Life. For reviewers who prefer digital formats, the book is also available in .mobi and .epub editions. To learn more about the book, please visit www.theprescribedburn.com.”

I got the paperback version with the photos. Yeah, I know you’re jealous. Suckers!

Urban Textures at Dawn by Steve A Johnson (Flickr)

Yesterday’s post was about spicing up your manuscript to be more engaging. Today’s post is about discovering your goals and fine-tuning your manuscript to achieve those goals (no more, no less). This is about using structure and science to streamline your story; to get that final polish agents and editors want to see.

1. Goal-finding.

Every scene you write should accomplish something specific in your story. Let me repeat that in different words: Have clear story goals for every single scene in your manuscript.

First drafts are full of stuff that doesn’t fit this criteria. HEY SHE HAS A COOL BATHROOM LETS SHOW HER IN IT. A LOT. And you know what? That is okay. That’s more than okay. That’s great. That’s how first drafts are.

But once you reach the revision stage–the second, third, fourth drafts–you want to narrow the focus. Go into each chapter and each scene with a clear goal in mind. Know the starting point (e.g., Sophie and Leon are fighting about something) and an ending point (Sophie and Leon make up and decide on a mutual course of action). Let your characters’ emotions guide you. We want to see change.

Sometimes we write scenes that only serve as setting or character exposition. Remove these. Work that details into other scenes that do have clear goals, that do accomplish an important milestone in your story.

2. Leave out extraneous detail.

I know I have a lot of ideas going into a story–going into each scene, even. The result is a first draft with threads that spin off into the aether, observations and descriptions and divergences that, really, don’t go anywhere in the long haul.

If a scene does have a clear goal, cut any extraneous details or tangents unless they reveal crucial information. If they do, figure out if you can use those reveals of information to push the scene towards its climax. Remember that readers are hyper-sensitive; they read every word you write and try figure out what they mean in the greater context. Give readers the right threads that will lead them down the path you’ve set out for them. (You evil puppet-master, you.)

Obviously, red herrings are OK–if intentional. Each step toward the finish should be calculated. Don’t give us a supporting character’s backstory or veer off into a philosophical description of the desert landscape unless it matters thematically or pushes the reader down the plotline.

3. Remove connective tissue.

It’s kind of a gross metaphor, but when someone in my writer’s group told me to do this, I knew right away what she was saying. There’s an old adage in film: “Never show someone walking through a door.” The same is true when honing your manuscript: leave out the strings between important sequences.

During the first draft process, when we’re still trying to figure out how characters get from Point A to Point B, connective tissue is natural. Now that you’ve written the thing once, go back in and remove all that… gross stuff.

Sounds scary? Like you might leave your reader confused or disjointed? Give it a try anyway. Cut out the walking and driving and other transitions, and just drop a scene break.

Now walk away. Pee, pet your cat, whatever. Come back and re-read it. You’ll be pleasantly surprised at how everything still makes sense. And your reader is much happier jumping right to the important parts. (Remember how it felt watching The Avengers? This is why.)

4. Start in the middle.

As there are exceptions to every rule, there are exceptions to this one. Sometimes you need a wind-up, for whatever inexplicable reason.

I hate to keep bringing this back to film, but there’s so much to learn from the art of filmmaking in making a reader feel totally encompassed by your story. To me, the point of writing fiction is to create a world inside which readers can live for a while. And who else does this better than the movies?

One way to do this is to start with the action and cut from one important section to the next. Jump right to the meat of the scene. No one cares about what John ordered for lunch at the restaurant–what we care about is the argument John and Linda are about to have at the table. Go right to the good stuff. I mean, seriously. Who actually likes eating the cookie? GO RIGHT FOR THE CREAM FILLING.

This is the end of the revision series. Maybe, if you really, really like this kind of thing, I can do more. There’s so much to say about finding critique partners, knowing when to revise, and knowing when to leave a manuscript alone for a while…

What are the strategies you’ve employed for polishing your manuscript? Any lessons you’ve learned along the way?

Photo by GSCS (Flickr)

I finished my major developmental revision of Devil’s Fire (August 2013) on Friday. Let’s just say I learned a lot of lessons–and I am so grateful to have two great editors behind me. So, let’s get down to business on some tips I picked up during this revision that were either requested by my editor or worked their way in to make the novel more interesting, passionate, and cohesive.

1. Make even supporting characters interesting and quirky.

Give us reasons to think they are still real people, even if they are mainly in the background. Obviously, you want to know your protagonist’s thoughts, feelings, habits and biases–but best friends, husbands, parents, even mere acquaintances (aka, plot devices) should be fleshed-out people, too.

Sometimes all you need is to emphasize one or two unique traits–and they can even contradict each other. Is your protagonist’s best friend kind of a stereotypical jock, who we later find out is gay? What about a mom who loves to make snacks for her kids’ friends, but can’t even make apple slices and peanut butter without messing it up? A tech-savvy grandma. A bitchy blonde alpha-girl who can’t cheerlead to save her life. You get the point.

2. Say it plain.

Can a character say it plainly? Think about dialogue in real life: short, fragmented sentences, that flits back and forth between speakers usually in one or two-sentence intervals.

One of the keys to realistic (and entertaining) dialogue is to bring a touch of reality. We don’t want “um” and “er” everywhere, but we do want a sense that these characters are real, and their conversation even more so. Rarely does someone monologue in real life, unless they are socially awkward, crazy, or presenting at a tech conference (probably still awkward and crazy).

Do your characters speak in paragraphs? Can you say it in one sentence instead? Make assumptions. We make assumptions in real life when we speak–context is assumed and doesn’t need to be explained.

3. Pump up the voice.

I’m going to break this one into a few parts for ya.

First: What is voice? Voice is a lot like #1: voice is what makes us, the readers, believe your protagonist is a living, breathing person. That the person telling us the story is human.

And what are humans? Flawed. Quirky. At times, irritating–and at times, delightful. A good voice is a nuanced voice.

“Voice” is employed in different ways depending on the kind of book you’re writing. A third-person omniscient might not have a lot of voice; a first-person, present-tense narration will have a lot of voice. Each presents different opportunities and challenges.

Second: Some ways to pump up your voice. Read any literary agent’s “wish list” and you’ll probably see “unique voice,” or some variation of it. Agents and editors want protagonists that speak to us, that are relatable but still human (quirky, flawed, etc.).

The first step to voice is knowing who, exactly, your protagonist is. Know their habits, their desires in life, the flaws in their personality that hold them back (hubris? low self-esteem? any of the seven deadly sins) and, if you can, know them even down to how they dress. There are a lot of “cues” you can use to indicate or imply these kinds of inner conflicts–what we wear, what we own, what we eat and what we drive say a lot about us.

A great voice sounds like the protagonist is speaking directly in your ear. If our hero is informal, his voice is informal; if he’s snarky, his voice is snarky. Now that you’ve written the first draft, and you know what happens each step of the way, look for ways to subtly implement voice. Word choice is key. A girl might not be a “girl” to a jaded old knight, but a “harlot,” or “car” could become “death trap.”

And remember, everything in your story is viewed through this character’s lens–how does the voice distort that lens? Does the protagonist skew others’ meanings because he has self-esteem issues? Does he think everyone is putting him down? If she’s confident and strong, let her be strong–but know there are holes in anyone’s armor.

Come back tomorrow for Part 3: The Nitty-Gritties, where we’ll talk about goals, direction, cutting exposition, and writing natural-sounding dialogue.

You are wrong.

You will be wrong, and you will be wrong a whole lot.

But that’s OK. Learn to fix what’s wrong. Learn to mess with the broken stuff until it looks less broken.

And, while we’re on the subject, make sure you know the genre of your novel before you start querying! Check out this Big Ol’ Genre Glossary and learn the true difference between speculative fiction and fantasy.

Last, but not least, Twilight–as it should have been:

Check it out at nailpleasure.wordpress.com.

Image credit carnage and culture

Seriously. The moment your book is banned, you can be assured, as an author, that you’ve made an impact on someone. That you pressed a button somewhere, pushed the envelope into unknown territory. That you wrote about something that matters.

So, it’s Banned Books Week. I haven’t had much time to keep track of banned book events with my revision of Devil’s Fire in full swing (and, supposedly, due tomorrow–yeah, okay), but I have spotted a couple fascinating links that weave a tale of why it’s so important that, especially in young adult literature, we give readers access to books of all kinds–it expands the mind to new ideas, and creates adults sensitive to viewpoints other than their own.

Recent Controversial Books

A collection of author responses to their books being banned went out on the Flavorwire yesterday, and there is one quote in particular that drives this point home:

“I take the side of young people, but I am also a realist; it is especially offensive to me when an uptight adult suggests that my stories are ‘inappropriate’ for young readers. I imagine, when I write, that I am writing for young readers — not for uptight adults.” –John Irving

A couple books on Goodreads have been attracting attention lately purely for their controversial content (no, these are not yet banned books, but everyone already knows about all those so I want to cover some new ones).

One is Revealing Eden, by Victoria Foyt–the first novel in a dystopian YA series called Save the Pearls (when you hear the blurb, this series title will probably make you feel ill). It’s about a dystopian future in which black people are the dominant “race,” and white people (known as “pearls”) are subordinate to them. It is, to put it bluntly, a totally bizarre and very racially-charged premise. Not to mention that one of the main plot points is blackface.

Another book spurring endless Goodreads debate is The Glimpse, by Claire Merle. Another dystopian novel that takes for a spin a controversial setting: a society divided between those at risk for developing mental illness (“Crazies”), and those “Pures” who are not. And it’s not just the premise that Goodreads readers take to discussion, but Merle’s scientific treatment of the development and manifestation of mental illness. One of the most scathing reviews says, “Telling someone they’re crazy could lead to a self-fulfilling prophecy where they live up to their label.”

Why Write a Challenging Book?

But I’m forced to wonder: Isn’t that the point of this novel? That categorizing and labeling people based on their likelihood to develop mental illness as “Pures” vs. “Crazies” makes those labeled “Crazies” far more likely to appear they are living up to their label? And that such a labeling system is wrong? (I mean, it’s a dystopian novel. That’s kind of the point of dystopian novels is to showcase an undesirable future. …Right?)

This brings me back to banned books. Books are banned for all kinds of reasons–by religious groups (on the basis of witchcraft, homosexuality, or pre-marital sex), by PTA groups (Think of the children! The children!), and even by libraries (see Fifty Shades being banned across the nation). But isn’t this kind of discussion happening on Goodreads… good? I mean, debating the psychological effects of labeling children is, well, kind of awesome. This is the kind of stuff we talked about in junior-level Social Psych when discussing how to prevent minority students from dropping out of school. And not only that–it’s pretty clear when you see the overall ratings that Revealing Eden is just an all-out race manifesto (1.5 stars, ish) and The Glimpse has some gold in it (3.5 stars).

Facing Bullying and Other Teenager Issues

And, of course, bullying. A book called League of Strays came out on Monday that’s been sparking intense debate since the ARCs were first released. The book blurb is about a group of bullied “outcasts” who then form their own bullying group–an interesting premise, and one that sounds like a great way to open up discussion in schools about bullying and how it’s not right, no matter which side of the tracks you’re on.

So, I’d like to propose a toast to banned books. To the things they teach us about ourselves and our society, the way they open our minds, and the way they weed out the bitter and intolerant among our literary community. I hope that someday, I write a book so morally and thematically intense that somebody hates it enough to ban it from their school or library. And in the words of Ray Bradbury:

“… it is a mad world and it will get madder if we allow the minorities … to interfere with aesthetics.”

Yeah. That’s right. It’s art. I like making art, and I’ll keep doing it–no matter what.

Before we get started, two links for you:

- If you’re a YA or NA author, or a voracious reader of the same ilk, check out Allie B’s FIRST KISS CONTEST.

- Colleen Clayton has a book called What Happens Next coming out in the next couple of days (Oct. 9, to be exact) and the first three chapters rock. I mean, wow, this is how you write a first ten pages. Dang. Be sure to check it out.

 Stage Manager of the Mind

Human thought meanders and rages as a maelstrom of amorphous, abstract and absolute concepts – oftentimes between heartbeats.

The ability to capture those concepts and lend them voice through a myriad of forms has become one of our defining human characteristics. Whether expressed through song, dance, architecture, spoken or written word, the journey that concepts take from consciousness to concrete existence is profound.

How do we as creators fit into this and what is our responsibility within our creations?

Over 17,000 years ago in the Lascaux cave complex in southwest France some of the oldest Paleolithic cave paintings exist. The images include animals (horses, stags, cattle), humans, and abstract signs.

The animals selected and depicted were all chosen by people. Those people prioritized what was important to them as they communicated via the cave paintings. Even within the depictions of each animal there is something being said.

Plato discussed in Sophist that there are two types of creations: faithful reproductions or distorted copies meant to appear correct to viewers. The animal paintings are clearly not meant to be exact copies but abstract representations of real life animals. This is demonstrated by the varied executions through which the animals are depicted.

What these paintings demonstrate is the ability to take a thought, execute it in some representative form, and share that creation with others. This ancient act of creation is the same act that the imaginers of today use when executing their craft; translating thought into form.

The act of choosing what to show or hide your audience shapes and defines the creation. The words that are selected, the images that are given focus, and the descriptions that are provided give concrete form to abstract thoughts. All the elements left on the cutting room floor or remain trapped in thought – unable to be effectively translated – equally define the work.  The process is as much about what is shown as what is hidden.

Plato also wrote the Allegory of the Cave which shares some principles with the act of creation. In his example, a group of prisoners are shackled to their chairs in a cave and forced to look in only one direction. Behind them is a raging fire which casts shadows onto the only wall that they can see. Between the prisoners and the fire are puppeteers that put on a show for the prisoners. The prisoners can only see the shadows of these actual objects but come to believe those shadows are the actual objects.

Without going too deep into the concept, Plato argues that this is how humans experience the world; as mere shadows of actual objects. Within our own creations, how true to our thoughts are the shadows that we cast for our audience? How much room do we allow them to see, interpret, and expand upon what we have provided? Do they see enough? Do they see too little? Are we making one shadow too big or another too small? We are the ones creating the show for our audience.

It is in the space between the seen and unseen that the audience is invited to participate in our creations through their imaginations. The creator gives voice to their thoughts which translates to the audience’s experience.

Our charge is to learn how to be a better stage manager for the theater of our minds – pulling and pushing the creation levers as necessary to conjure up our own unique magic for our audience.

Many thanks to Kiersi Burkhart for inviting me as a guest on her blog!  At her suggestion, I percolated thoughts about “literary” writing vs. “entertainment.”

So What’s Wrong With Escapist Entertainment?

Photo credit Called to Communion

“I do not accept the tone of scorn or pity with which ‘Escape’ is now so often used. Why should a man be scorned if, finding himself in prison, he tries to get out and go home? Or if he cannot do so, he thinks and talks about other topics than jailers and prison-walls?”

–J.R.R. Tolkein

On Thursday night I watch myself watching The X Factor.  It felt like, um, viewing a circus side show. A 13-year-old fainter (Cue 911!) is revived to (predictably) give a knockout performance. A morbidly obese guy is hauled in his wheelchair onto the stage by a crowd of Backstage Guys (Instant Replay!). The guy explains how he weighs 400 pounds less than he used to, then he sings like an angel.  The audience is (predictably) shocked and (predictably) hooked.  I am mortified, feel vaguely unwashed, and, yes, hooked.  Simon Cowell (refreshingly) (yet predictably) asks the scary-cute 12-year-old in the macabre Britney outfit not to sing the song he most hates: “Tomorrow.” She (of course) does.  A cute-as-a-bug 16-year old boy dedicates a song to his girl-friend: Cut to Simon (refreshingly/predictably) rolling his eyes.

The X Factor packagers (Hi, Simon) carefully film, chop, edit, and boil the whole shebang down to 50 minutes of precision-engineered emotional hooks.  It’s designed so there’s one emotion conditioned by each moment of packaged hard luck or cuteness.

Well, actually, X Factor offers two emotional options.

Simon Cowell is a genius at manipulation. Part of the audience thinks that Macabre Britney is adorable. He’s not there for them. He’s there for the cynics, and every time he rolls his eyes or says something gruff, we think our emotional autonomy is being validated.

And, yeah, we keep watching. Because Simon Cowell has convinced us we aren’t being manipulated. Escapist? Hell, yes. But it’s not Tolkein’s escapism. The difference is in the degree of emotional air the artist/producer grants the audience.

Fact is, I love trashy TV. I love People Magazine and gossip and Glee. People who dislike shows like X Factor because they aren’t “edifying” make me itch. X Factor’s real problem isn’t that it’s “escapist.” Life needs escaping sometimes. In fact, if life weren’t so hard, the manipulative bad taste of shows like X Factor would be all the art we need.

Photo credit sharetv.org

But since we live in the world we do, let’s escape into complex books and movies and TV, work that enables us to feel emotions we didn’t know existed. Then, when we’re exhausted from all that depth-plumbing, the X Factor beckons. Join me on Thursday night? Let’s Tweet about it.

“Fantasy is escapist, and that is its glory.” –J.R.R. Tolkein

“My attitude is, if someone’s going to criticize me, tell me to my face.”  –Simon Cowell

(I’d send him a copy of this post but I doubt he’d read it.)

For ripping entertainment that probes deep psychological complexity, check out my newly-released short story, Casual Day at the Crazy House.

Dad’s living in the bathroom and will the shrink make house calls and does Sarah really have to be falling for the shrink’s niece…?

Shadow and Bone, by Leigh Bardugo

This book gets: ♥♥♥♥ out of 5

Shadow and Bone, by Leigh Bardugo - Ravka is a country split in half by a dark slash called the Shadow Fold, where trespassers face total darkness and terrible, dangerous creatures. Alina Starkov is an orphan; after failing to display any mastery of magic during her Grisha exam, she is sent to serve in the Second Army and cross the Fold with her fellow orphan and best friend Mal. But when Alina displays an unusual power in the heat of the moment, the Darkling, the head of an order of magicians called Grisha, determines she is the fated Sun Summoner and whisks her away to Grisha headquarters to be trained (and pampered). The Sun Summoner is the only Grisha who can shed light on the Fold and save Ravka–but Alina cannot call upon or control her power. Without Mal, she feels alone and powerless, especially in the face of her growing attraction to the mysterious Darkling.

There are so many things to like about Bardugo’s debut fantasy offering: the dark backdrop of the Shadow Fold, the strangely imperfect landscape, the Russian-themed people and place names (I have a super soft spot for fantasy books with unified linguistic conventions)–there’s so much depth to the world of Shadow and Bone that I wanted to slip into it like a second skin and live there for a while.

But I just couldn’t. It’s as if Bardugo has a gorgeous, elaborate painting in mind, but only sketches out the edges. We’re given mere shadows of the King and Queen; they are talked about, but neither makes an appearance in person. We’re introduced to the Grisha and the three Orders (the Corporalki, the Etherealki, and the Materialki), but I failed to grasp at any point in the novel all of the names and nuances–the Etherealki aren’t ever called Etherealki, but instead are called Summoners. This may sound like splitting hairs to some, but to me this confusion greatly limited my enjoyment of the world-building; most of the time I felt that I was simply stupid for not being able to follow along.

This is, perhaps, a symptom of a YA trend that has gotten under my skin before–a trend I’m starting to call sequelism (I’m sure there’s another actual, academic term for it, feel free to post in the comments), where the first novel in a series skimps on providing satisfying world detail and resolution in order to lead into a second volume. It seems that Bardugo is setting us up for a much larger, more complex world to follow in the second and third books of the Grisha series. And I’m fine with sweeping, complicated worlds when it comes to fantasy; the problem with sequelism is that it sometimes limits the enjoyability of any single novel as a stand-alone work. Threads are left hanging, the world is outlined but not completely filled in, and the finish feels hollow. As a reader, I desire a certain amount of closure at the end, especially if a sequel is still a year out. Shadow and Bone, along with many of its contemporaries (Marissa Meyer’s Cinder, Kiera Cass’s The Selection, and Beth Revis’s Across the Universe) left me unfulfilled.

Nevertheless, I decided to grade Shadow and Bone on a curve so as not to let my prejudice towards sequelism bog down my rating on an otherwise fascinating novel. Bardugo weaves a complex and likable heroine. Alina is an honest rendering: easily swept into charismatic arms, but still uncertain and self-conscious. She is, in believable portions, both heroic and selfish. Bardugo doesn’t give away her cards too soon, either; I didn’t predict the central plot twist, and it made me miss a time when that was almost always true. Too often YA books are formulaic and predictable, and Shadow and Bone is none of those things.

The prose fluctuates between staccato and beautiful–it’s sometimes too clipped, but more often it comes across careful and poetic. Her dialogue is gorgeous at the least, and clever. I look forward to the second novel in the Grisha trilogy, Siege and Storm, and hope this time Bardugo gives us a little more to work with.

As a side note: Leigh Bardugo is awesome. She graduated from Yale, works a day job as a makeup artist in Hollywood, sings for a band called Captain Automatic and has a love of all things ghoulish. Plus, she’s totally hot–and her first book is a New York Times Bestseller.

But, as is often the case, large-scale developmental edits aren’t easy, or time-efficient. My deadline is Oct. 5. Let’s just say I’m losing some hair.

Nevertheless, I’d like to share some nuggets of wisdom I’ve discovered during this latest rewrite, and perhaps you will profit from my pain.

1. It’s the destination, not the journey.

This article came out last week, but I’ve been returning to it daily as a sort of cleansing ritual. “Nine Ways to Shorten a Long Story” by Rayne Hall discusses not just ways to cut length; these tips will reduce distance between reader and narrator (deleting introspection) and increase readability and tension (deleting backstory).

It seems counter-intuitive, I know. Won’t removing all that angst decrease the emotional content? Quite the contrary, in fact: reducing a character’s ruminations on a subject from one paragraph to one sentence makes that statement hit much closer and harder to home.

The focus in the article, and the focus I’m taking in these revisions, is on destination–i.e., avoiding drawn-out wind-ups, cutting or deleting “travel time” (cars, bikes, walking), and starting scenes right at the juiciest parts.

2. Let the dialogue do the talking.

As my writer’s group gals know, I have some trouble with inserting more-than-necessary amounts of non-verbals in the middle of dialogue–usually feelings, commentary on the speaker, or lengthy descriptions of arm positions/sighing/eating.

In this draft I decided to cut down on the non-verbal dialogue tags and let my characters do the talking. I picked up this advice after reading Tim Bowler’s Frozen Fire, in which you can find pages of quick, back-and-forth dialogue, without even an indication as to the speaker. And you know what? It was awesome. At first I thought, “God, this is going to be confusing. Who’s talking?” But the dialogue itself makes that pretty clear. When you’ve only got two speakers, why not? It lost nothing by cutting back on the non-verbals, and allowed the natural cleverness, humor, and tension in the dialogue to shine.

The best part? The non-verbals you do end up using really stick out. And I guess there’s another point to Hall.

I added a new scene to the second chapter of Devil’s Fire in order to introduce Sophie’s love interest, Everett Preston, a little sooner–and exercised some of my newfound powers:

“You’re new?”

“Just transferred in.”

“A transfer, huh. We don’t get a lot of those.”

I fixed my gaze on my shoes. “The school made an exception.”

Dang. Someone’s got an unresolved issue there.

3. Observations don’t make the character.

Boy, did this book have some lame character introductions. Here, let me just quote for you. This is Desiree’s original introduction:

Sitting with us was Veronica’s friend, a cool-tempered girl with wavy dark hair named Desiree Lewis.

Uck! How boring! I dropped like, four adjectives (I count the hyphenated one as two because it’s so bad) in one sentence. I have no picture of Desiree in my mind at all. Cool-tempered? How do we already know she’s cool-tempered? This is the first Sophie has seen of her, to my knowledge.

So what do I do? How do I make this description pop, to feel alive?

Well, obviously, show, don’t tell. But there’s more. I wanted to give Desiree flavor. I wanted to give her tangible character, to make her someone ironic and likable and easy to imagine as a real, living, breathing person.

A brunette, dressed in what could only be described as a business suit, leaned across the table. “They always have engines, Brian,” she said, as impassive as if she were delivering the morning weather. She turned to me before he could reply and extended a hand. “Hi. I’m Desiree.” We shook—or really, she shook me. “Desiree Lewis.”

Boom. She’s introduced by entering the conversation–delivering some typically-Desiree sarcasm. Instead of mere interpretations of Desiree (“cool-tempered”), we get physical evidence: she’s overdressed, stoic, and a little domineering. But still totally likable, and a good complement to the fast-talking, superficial Veronica.

It really lends her some voice right from the get-go, which is unbelievably important in YA fiction, and something my last draft was terribly lacking.

4. Voice is just a colloquialism away.

And while we’re on the subject of voice and removing emotional distance, I feel like I finally understand how to write first-person narration. I mean, it’s nothing spectacular. Sophie isn’t a particularly eccentric character–she’s more got the ring of an everygirl, thrust into a world she doesn’t understand.

But that, in itself, has presented some challenges. How do you write interesting and engaging voice, even for an everygirl?

A motto I’ve been carrying around this revision is to eliminate thoughts and make them statements–if they’re necessary enough to escape the chopping block. Frankly, I don’t know why Sophie “thought” things in the first few drafts. Maybe the writer that I was then figured that’s what “voice” meant–literally.

What Sophie needed was more honesty. She needed to talk like an everygirl, even in her musings. “He looks like a movie star, she thought,” becomes pretty clunky and unmanageable after a while. Why not just, “He looks like a movie star”?

Or, even better: is there a way to narrate the thought so it comes out sounding colloquial, like a girl speaking out loud?

“You look lost, little lamb.” A guy walked up next to me and swiped my map without so much as asking. “Where are you trying to get to?”

Orlando Bloom. It had to be. But like a younger, blonder version of Orlando Bloom, with a grin that could melt dry ice. His hair was tied back so only a few strands fell in front of his face, and it looked like a consultant at Ralph Lauren had been paid to dress him.

“Room F8,” I said, taking the map back and flipping it over to show him my schedule. My hands had inexplicably started trembling. Maybe it was because this guy looked like a freaking movie star. “I have history with Dr. Arnold.”

It took some time to wrap my head around Sophie as a character, but four drafts later, I think I’ve got a handle on it. She’s an everygirl with some pep, a quick wit, and a certain degree of educated skepticism. Even just nailing down a few descriptors of her helped shape her voice and gave it some added interest.

5. Source material.

My fifteen-year-old cousin has been instrumental in developing Devil’s Fire. Before I signed with RainTown Press, she helped me shape the first few chapters for maximum teen-girl-enjoyment. On top of that, earlier this year she returned to me a printed, fully-edited copy of the manuscript (!!) in a manila folder. Her comments are usually like, “I don’t think she would say this,” or “That’s kinda dumb.” I mean, seriously, who is this girl? I don’t know how I got so lucky.

Some characters are impossible to leave behind once the back cover closes, the screen clicks off, or the curtains fall. We spend so much time getting to know them and, sometimes, falling in love with them, that they almost seem to live and breathe right in front of us.

Our honest, troubled Frodo; the reborn, middle-aged Robin Hood; or a badass waitress with a crush on vampires (and werewolves, and shape-shifters…)

I know you all have a fictional guy or gal out there you love. They could be your brother, or your ideal woman, or your frenemy. You could love them because they’re flawed or because they’re perfect. I just want to know who they are.

Who are the characters who have changed you? Who made you experience first love or last love all over again? Who inspired you, or disappointed you, or simply couldn’t be forgotten when the story was over? And, best of all…

Why?

Lesbian Romance by Made Underground

I had started preparing some long-winded post about the troubles with revising my upcoming novel with RainTown Press, Devil’s Fire (renamed from Fire & Brimstone), when I stumbled across this Guardian article: Stranger, a young adult novel with a gay hero, acquired by publisher–after an unnamed agent refused to represent it unless the hero was “straightened.”

Naturally, the pair of authors (Sherwood Smith and Rachel Manija, both previously published) were taken aback at the request, and summarily refused to do any such thing. It’s not a novel about the gay experience or homophobia, like Lauren Myracle’s Shine, which was surrounded by some controversy after it was gently shoved off the National Book Awards list of finalists (it’s a book about a gay hate crime–up to you to decide if it was removed from the list to “preserve the integrity of the award” or to please particular parties, but I’m a bit of a conspiracy theorist). Stranger, on the other hand, is a dystopian novel, that just happens to feature a gay hero–one of many narrators telling the story.

And suddenly, the reason why an overwhelming percentage of 2011′s YA books featured straight white girls becomes clear: some books and stories are getting “straightwashed” (as much as whitewashed) before they even make it to the printed page.

So, okay. I can grasp the concept that this agent may have requested the “straightening” of Stranger‘s gay hero to increase marketability. Selling a book is a literary agent’s job, after all–but what about the publishers? The editors? Where does a literary agent get the notion that he or she cannot sell a book if it features gay characters?

I really like Jessica Verday, as one of the editors responsible for The First Time YA short story anthology and as the author of a number of fine YA novels. Last year, the editor of Wicked Pretty Things (another short story anthology) asked Verday to straighten her love story so it would be more “acceptable to the publishers.”

Verday refused and withdrew from the anthology. The editor later commented on the post that she, in fact, had been mistaken–the publishers were excited about the idea of publishing a boy/boy love story.

This makes me wonder what’s really happening here: is it pure homophobia, or simply marketing ignorance? Are agents and editors just assuming that publishers want nothing to do with gay characters when that isn’t the case at all?

No verdict yet. We’ll just have to wait and see what happens with 2013′s cast of YA books. My hunch is that, as Smith and Manija put it, “readers vote with their pockets.” Like Myracle’s Shine, young adult books including gay, disabled, and non-white protagonists will continue to sell well–and perhaps the YA market will start resembling a little more closely the world we actually live in.

I am a total sucker for drama. Teenage girl drama. Soap operas. Recently, a friend turned me on to a trashy TV show called Gossip Girl (yeah, you heard me) and I couldn’t stop watching it for nearly three weeks. It’s like ordering bottomless fries at the pub down the street–you just can’t pull yourself away.

Drama works because it’s the fantasy that no one really has. I mean, who wants their life to be this complicated and messy? Daddy issues, amnesia, unexpected pregnancies, the gamut–but we kind of do. We envy their glamour. We envy their passion.

So why does it work? And how do you do it?

The Conflict Cycle

I don’t think anyone in TV has mastered the cycle of conflict, tension, and resolution like the serial drama writer. The nuances are incredible, if the content itself is banal and totally vapid. He’s bringing who to the party? She told you what about my sex life? And yet, like watching a train wreck, it’s impossible to turn it off. Each episode resolves as many questions as it asks. It ties up as many threads as it leaves hanging. It leaves the audience feeling a combination of satisfaction (for the resolved threads) and trepidation (for the cliffhangers).

Serial dramas and soap operas work with a large cast–and there’s a good reason for this. Each character or couple has a cycling timeline of tension and relief to keep the serial going. Each timeline runs independently of the other timelines. See the below illustration with three couples from Gossip Girl:

While Blair and Chuck are in the throes of conflict, Nate and Vanessa are getting along, while things are heating up for Dan and Serena. It’s very carefully calculated. It makes me wonder what the writers’ own timeline looks like, and whether they have some sort of dartboard of potential conflicts waiting to be used when a character’s timeline cycles back again.

I can only imagine that writing a serial with plot continuity (as opposed to an episodic serial, like The Simpsons) is tricky business. There’s no drama without conflict, and there’s no conflict when our characters’ lives are all smooth sailing. But how does a writer keep the audience interested without making conflict feel forced and pre-meditated? How do we get our readers and watchers tied up in the drama, rooting for the characters, without disappointing them?

Fanservice

When I first heard the term fan service, it was usually used as a pejorative–the writers had “stooped” to giving the fans what they want in order to earn ratings.

But a good drama writer reads fans, and has a sense for what appeals to them. Success in a serial requires fans to come back with each new release, whether it’s an episode of a TV show or the latest Sookie Stackhouse novel.

Every drama uses fan service, to an extent. The writers get fans rooting for certain characters to have certain outcomes, lusting after a resolution. A good example is Blair and Chuck in Gossip Girl. They are both characters with enormous flaws, and by way of careful exposition, the writers lead the audience to believe that they are destined to be together–that only Blair can make Chuck happy and honest, and vice versa.

Then the writers drag it out. Episode after episode, they dodge a resolution: Chuck loves Blair, but Blair can’t admit she loves Chuck. Blair admits she loves Chuck, but Chuck has already made a mistake. The tension escalates. The stakes become higher and higher until it’s all or nothing.

Eventually, the writers give in and give the fans what they want. In a grand finale, Chuck and Blair accept their feelings and become a couple. The tension is resolved. The fans are pleased as punch. The season comes to an end.

Doling out the crowd-pleasers is not a bad thing. In fact, I think it’s the mark of a talented writer to know what the audience wants and play to it. Tease them, deny them, and finally reward them for their loyalty. But then you realize, this is a serial. No happiness can last for long, or the audience grows bored.

The Serial Problem

Now we have a problem: we can’t break up Blair and Chuck–at least, not yet. The fans are still as in love with them as they are with each other.

So the writers let them be happy for a while. Throw in trivial conflicts, strengthen the bonds, spotlight the conflict cycles of other characters and couples. But the audience notices. The audience still wants Blair and Chuck.

This is where Gossip Girl lost me. In a drama made up of essentially uninteresting characters (a problem that originates in the setting of Upper East Side New York), Blair and Chuck are complex and pleasing in a way that no one else is. But in a serial drama, no character can stay in paradise forever–so, naturally, they have to be broken up. The spider web of coupling must go on. Chuck is paired off with a random minor character, and Blair is embroiled in a separate drama. The “epic” relationship is broken. Destiny becomes meaningless.

We, the fans, lose faith.

I’m not sure that there is a solution to the Serial Problem. Perhaps the writers lost their sense of what the fans desired. Perhaps I’m the only fan who was disappointed by this choice, and the other fans had grown bored of C+B.

But I doubt it. After being introduced to the show, every other fan I encountered loved nothing about Gossip Girl more than Blair and Chuck. So what is a serial writer to do?

Thus Comes the End

Why does drama work? Why do we, the audience, get hooked on it like some mutated version of crack-cocaine?

It teases. It pulls our strings along, knowing what we want and only waiting until the tension is excruciating to deliver. It is constantly giving us hope while burning down bridges. But when there are no bridges left to burn, the show must come to an end.

So, I stopped watching. Maybe I’ll pick it up again someday, but regardless, I’ve learned some invaluable lessons. Mainly that I love drama and it’s silly to deny it; and maybe sillier not to write it myself! (Well, I’m fixing that.)

In his article, Publisher’s Weekly Review Double Standard, Murphy accuses book periodical Publisher’s Weekly of extorting self-published authors. As you probably already know, Publisher’s Weekly reviews traditionally-published books for their book review section. But they also have PW Select, which reviews self-published and indie-published books. The catch? The regular PW only takes submissions for books published by a publishing house, and it’s free to submit; however, PW Select charges a fee for your submission.

Murphy writes:

To Publisher’s Weekly, we’re not real authors - worthy of consideration for free - because we’re not part of the club. We decided to go outside the system and therefore we should be punished for that by extorting us. We have to pay to even be considered worthy of a review. This is the major way traditional publishing can keep us down because otherwise they’re quaking in their boots.

This is the kind of whining I am talking about, and it is totally delusional. If the traditional publishers (and their lapdogs, the periodicals) had the kind of time to plot ways to keep self-published authors “down,” don’t you think they’d spend it doing something a little less nefarious? Like, trying to make money? If the money (and the future of publishing) is really in self-publishing, as Murphy seems to believe, then shouldn’t PW be throwing themselves at the opportunity to take a bite out of the pie?

If anyone should be on trial extorting self-pubbed authors, it should be vanity presses like Author Solutions–not Publisher’s Weekly, who simply has a business model that doesn’t fit self-publishing.

Let me start at the beginning and try to disentangle this big mess of hurt feelings and the principles of economy.

Why Self-Publishing?

Friends and family are always asking me, “Why don’t you self-publish?” Often they are appalled to hear that I have considered this option and voted vehemently against doing it myself–for now.

If I wanted to spend a ton of my own money on editing, on professional cover design, on buying ISBNs and learning to code for e-readers (and not the one-size-fits-all Smashwords way, but do it for real with fancy chapter headings like Cheri Lasota who is awesome), then sure. I’d go self-publishing. If I wanted to take the time away from writing books, which is what I really love to do in all of this, then I might consider it. But I don’t. I want to write books, not code them and manage contractors and incorporate and get a Tax ID number and all that other crap that an author intent on self-publishing has to do. (Authors have to market themselves anyway now, regardless of whether we go traditional or self-pub, so I won’t bring that up.)

Of course, there’s the argument that not every reader out there is looking for high literature, or a professional book cover. Many readers are happy picking up a book in their niche and aren’t bothered by typos or poor cover design or any of that. Okay. Sure. But that’s not the book I, personally, want to publish with my name on it.

But there are a lot of reasons authors do choose to self-publish. I think they fall into three categories:

1. “I am good enough to skip all this.”

Querying agents? Too much work. Submitting to publishers? Blah, I don’t want to deal with that. My book is great as-is. I am going to knock the world flat with this magical 250,000-word novel that I can’t be bothered to edit down to a reasonable length or scour for typos. I’m better than that.

2. “I was rejected because of reasons. That are false. They just can’t see how great my book is.”

I can almost guarantee that every traditionally-published author with a book coming out this year was rejected at some point in time. It’s a good thing. We learn from rejections. The best rejection I ever got was after a request for a full manuscript. The agent wrote back to me that the book “just didn’t grab” her.

My first thought was the same as many up-and-coming authors: She doesn’t know what she’s talking about. Duh. My book is great.

But take that feedback in your right hand and go back to your manuscript. View it through a new reader’s lens. You might suddenly see something you didn’t before–that the first ten pages of your book are downright boring. That you have all this great backstory (you spent so much time on that backstory!) but little to no action.

Know why queries are so often rejected? Because a query often tells an agent everything he or she needs to know about you. And he or she didn’t like what they saw on that first glance. Maybe your writing really isn’t as top-notch as you think it is; maybe you need to work on the skill set some more. We live in a culture of bloated egos, and this is a symptom. As writers, we all have something to learn–some more than others. Man up and acknowledge that. Work on it. Even authors who have published dozens of books are always refining their skills.

3. “I want to keep as much of my profit as I can.”

Alternatively: “I want total control over my book.”

Well, good on you. Keep at it, then. If you’re making money on your self-pubbed book (like this totally cool guy, Will Hertling, who had coffee with me last month), then I see no reason not to keep doing it and encourage others to do it.

But Publisher’s Weekly is not out to get you.

Publications and companies like PW are not the boogeyman in the closet, whose only goal is to spit on self-published and indie-published authors and grind them under the toe of the corporate boot. They are for-profit enterprises who know one thing: a book through a publishing house has passed the gatekeepers. It is going to have name recognition. It is probably going to be readable, and maybe enjoyable, and maybe even a good candidate for their review section. A self-published book doesn’t come with even a tiny portion of this guarantee.

I know mediocre books make it through the publishing house “gatekeepers” all the time. That’s not my point. My point is that a book through a publishing house comes with the assumption that it’s worth looking at.

The publishing industry (literary agents, periodicals, publishing houses) performs a weeding function: sometimes it’s a sheer numbers game. Agents and editors receive hundreds of queries, and turn down 99.9% of them. Imagine if even a tiny portion of those rejected queries turned around and self-published that book instead. We now have 100 times as many self-published books as traditionally-published books. And that leaves a company like Publisher’s Weekly in a bit of a bind: they can afford to pay a few staff people to review those traditionally-published books because they know how many to expect, and they can pay those staff with advertising and sales revenue.

But how many people would PW have to keep on staff to review those thousands upon thousands of self-pubbed books? Most of which are published by the first two kinds of people and not the third? It is just unfeasible for a for-profit company. It is unfeasible for the business model they use.

Maybe that’s PW showing its age. But I think it’s also that self-publishing has shown itself to be a mixed bag. For every great book, there are ten not-so-great books. It’s a greater risk than in traditional publishing, not to mention ten times as many staff reviewers required to basically “slush pile” it. The fee dissuades authors who aren’t serious about submitting, and it probably pays employees to staff PW Select.

Obviously, this isn’t the case everywhere. Amazon has done a great job of designing a system that allows the best of the self-pubbed and indie-pubbed books to shine and get picked up by readers. Social media makes choosing a book easier, and gives self-pubbed authors a great marketing opportunity.

So please, self-published and indie authors: stop whining about being left out. You’re in a young industry. You’re trying to convince companies who rely on the traditional publishing model to open their doors to anyone and everyone, without any kind of filter in the middle when they’re used to having one. It’s going to take time to change the whole business model, if it changes–and I am not convinced that it should change completely. As a reader, I want some standards. And until some kind of universal benchmarks are established in the self-pub community, companies like PW are not going to blindly believe in you and hire those two-dozen extra staff.

And Publisher’s Weekly may go out of business eventually, opening the door for new ventures that can intelligently deal with self-publishing. I’m cool with that.

Photo by powerplantop

The last few days have been all about trimming the excess. Haven’t settled on whether to use a sculpting or a steak metaphor yet–I’ll keep you posted.

For your (and my) editing pleasure, here’s an excellent article by Rayne Hall on removing “could” from your novel’s word diet to make your writing sharper and cleaner. And it’s not just “could” Hall takes to court, but also words like “feel” and “hear”–verbs that put unnecessary distance between the author and the character.

A great piece of advice. Lately, I have been repeating this mantra:

Keep it simple. Somewhere in the beginning of an author’s education, we mysteriously acquire the notion that more is better. That flowery descriptions are an essential to the writer’s armory. Maybe it’s a defense mechanism–putting lots of words down somehow makes up for those words not being as good as they could be.

I’m guilty of overcomplicating my writing every day of the week, so I set a goal for myself on this revision: keep it simple. Trim fat between dialogue; let the conversation bounce from speaker to speaker naturally; shave down or cut descriptions completely; avoid tangents during important conversations; and, of course, make the prose pleasant but easy to read.

Wordy is not the name of the game–but meaning is.

One thing I’m seeing in YA, and especially dystopian YA, is an almost fetishistic obsession with monarchy. Whether it’s Elder in Across the Universe (who is, essentially, a prince), or the mad queen in The Pledge (oh, wait, there’s also a mad queen in Cinder), monarchy seems to be in with teen fiction.

Frankly, it disturbs me a little. There’s a worrisome two-dimensionality in the love interest that is good-looking and infallable, but also ridiculously wealthy and powerful to boot. I want more books about ordinary people becoming great, not about people born into power and wealth with whom I have nothing in common.

But perhaps I am reading too much into it.

Across the Universe, by Beth Revis

This book gets: ♥♥♥♥ out of 5

Across the Universe, Beth Revis – This is a book that starts out unbelievably strong and immediately afterward makes some serious stumbles. The premise is surprising and creative, the writing is brilliant, but the romance is without any chemistry. Though it takes a while for Revis to get into her stride, Across the Universe is still a solid read. It gets extra points for being honest-to-goodness sci-fi, and for actually taking place in space.

A Million Suns, by Beth Revis

This book gets: ♥♥♥ out of 5

A Million Suns, Beth Revis – The sequel to Across the Universe picks right up where the first volume left off–always a problem with the trilogy fad. Read these books one after another, and you might understand what’s going on when A Million Suns starts out. Revis plays with some interesting themes, but her dialogue is just not very good, and the book suffers from that inescapable, soggy “middleness” that seems to come hand-in-hand with being the second volume in a trilogy. Nonetheless, I think it deserves a middle-of-the-road rating for a strong ending that will lead fluidly into the third installment. Revis designed her three-book story arc with care, and I’m positive it will pay off. And monsters.

Cinder, by Marissa Meyer

This book gets: ♥♥♥♥ out of 5

Cinder, Marissa Meyer – Yet another book that could have been a masterpiece if it just hadn’t been written as a series. I was even on board for a lot of the hyper unrealistic kind/handsome/intelligent/natural leader/tooperfectforhisowngood prince-as-a-love-interest business until the less-than-dramatic, not-so-finished finish. (How many words can I hyphenate in one paragraph?) Honestly, the characters are great, the prose is simple and easy to read, the premise blew my mind (cyborgs are so awesome how did I not know how awesome they are?!), but the ending just let me down so hard. Also, too much foreshadowing. Any half-wit can figure out the mystery long before the big reveal.

An update: Macmillan has offered up a sample of the Cinder audiobook for your enjoyment. I’ve listened to part of the audiobook already and it was very well done. (I love the doctor’s ambiguously eastern European accent.)

A Monster Calls, by Patrick Ness

This book gets: ♥♥♥♥♥ out of 5

A Monster Calls, Patrick Ness – Yeah, you read that right. A perfect score. This book is just that good. It’s more of an upper-middle grade-level book than a true-blue YA, but that won’t stop readers of all ages from enjoying this peculiar tale. Ness hits on a few key ideas with the pen of a true master. Family, loss, coping, guilt. And the framework weaved around it all is clever and textured like the bark of that crazy yew tree. Or yew tree monster. Whatever.

The Pledge, by Kimberly Derting

This book gets: ♥♥♥ out of 5

The Pledge, Kimberly Derting – Another dystopian YA, another monarchy, another day. The plot of The Pledge reads like a bunch of other dystopian YA books had all been cut up and collaged back together with globby white glue. I mean, everything about it was fairly solid–the action moved along, the characters were likable (despite the prince who is perfect in every way making an encore appearance), and it had a good, clean resolution–but I was just so bored by its averageness. Oppressive government: check. Mysterious outsiders: check. Vulnerable little sister: check. I want to see Derting’s next offering as we move out of the dystopian craze; as an author, she has the potential to shine, just not with this book.

Legend, by Marie Lu

This book gets: ♥♥♥♥♥ out of 5

Legend, Marie Lu – A fast-paced, time-sucking read from the very first to the very last. Lu pulls out all the stops in Legend, from the dystopian future to the ever-tired “plague” (another encore appearance after Cinder) to the oppressive military regime–but she does it with such style and self-awareness that she totally pulls it off. We get some sweet dual-narratives from our male and female leads, we get a girl character obsessed with rules and authority (so unlike the Katnisses that YA seems to always get), and a tightly-woven plot of pure giddy joy.

According to their website, entries “are not to exceed 1,500 words,” and the theme is China.

This does not mean the contestants have to write about China the nation nor take place in China, though those stories will be gladly read as anything else. The theme is open to interpretation and can center around China, the history of China, life in China, life after China, life without China, fortune cookies (which actually are not Chinese, but whatever, we don’t care, we are open to anything), grandma’s china plates, Chinese take-out, Shanghai, being shanghaied, stuff for sale at Target, trade deficits, foreign affairs, NAFTA, firecrackers or gunpowder, silk dresses, opium dens or railroads in the American Wild West, the struggle of Chinese immigrants to the West, Richard Nixon, Chinatown, or any other conceivable application of the theme  ”China.”  We might not be ready to read Deadhead stories about China Cat Sunflower, but if that’s what you’ve got, send it in. We are always ready to be surprised.

Awesome.

The deadline is October 1st, 2012. Despite what it says on the website (2015?) they actually mean 2012.

The reward? A meager $50 USD, but that’s not the real prize. In addition to the bucks, you get:

- “Publication on the interwebs at  www.haliterature.com.”

- “One copy each of H.A.L.’s Party like it’s 1984: stories from the people’s republic of; and Middle Kingdom Underground: stories from the people’s republic of, as well as a copy, upon publication, of H.A.L.’s forthcoming book I Am Barbie by H.A.L. author W.M. Butler.”

AND, the “winning story will be read live, in whole or in part, at a H.A.L. LiT event in Shanghai by a regular contributor to H.A.L. Alternately, the winner may travel at his or her expense to perform the piece in person, or send an audio or video recording of the piece along like a literary postcard of freedom and joy.”

Make sure to read the submission guidelines carefully, and have fun!

One thing I don’t do enough of anymore is art. I used to illustrate children’s books and make miniature sculpey statuettes, but haven’t had much time for hobbies with writing becoming my full-time gig.

I forgot how much art recharges my batteries, or I would have done a project like this one sooner.

A few weeks back, while hanging with my super-cool college friend and budding entrepreneur Amber Case (@caseorganic), we decided on a whim to buy these cute vinyl toys (called Munny) by Boulder company Kidrobot. I guess not so much of a surprise, considering my obsession with tiny, cute things.

The concept of the Munny is a brilliant one. Sure, it’s a somewhat creepy-looking blank, white, vinyl critter that bears a striking resemblance to a hippo/dog/dinosaur (depending on your angle). But it’s also a blank slate: something you can cut, sculpt, and customize however you please. And some folks have done some really cool stuff with it.

So, feeling inspired, Amber and I set out to customize our Munny toys–and I took the opportunity to channel my somewhat-forgotten artistic side and take a relaxing break from writing.

As it turns out, firing up your juices in one creative realm can help jumpstart your creativity in the other realms, too!

Step 1: Base clay layer

We had no clue what we were doing, to be completely and totally honest. You can customize Munnys with nearly any kind of medium, from marker to paint to modeling clay. So Amber shows up with a bag full of sculpey, a good complement to my similar massive box of sculpey, and we just start rolling out sheets of clay to slap on there. Little did we know that Sculpey III and Premo! Sculpey are not generally the preferred methods of customization. Also, you are apparently supposed to bind the clay to the vinyl with some kind of special process. Whatever. Next time.

Just starting to put on the bottom clay layer

Bottom layer nearly complete

Amber was modding her Munny to look like Girafarig, and by the time she had to leave, he was looking pretty good. She had to put an aluminum foil prosthesis on his rear end for the tail–very creative!

I finished my base layer and added some pink inside the ears, which gave me an idea of how I wanted to style the rest of him.

Step 2: Adding Colors and Features

I’m a teensy bit obsessive about my nails, as it is a fun, easy, and relatively cheap way to A) stop myself from abusing my cuticles or chewing my fingers and B) to have a creative outlet. I got the idea for Ralph’s patterning from a polkadot nail set I did for my birthday last week.

Ralph has a dinosaur vibe, so I figured he needed that healthy mixture of Barney’s big spots and cartoony eyes and expression from Land Before Time. First, I added some pink polkadots to his head and back area, sculpted on a pink belly, and gave him elephant toes.

Still not sure what to do with the face

At this point, I was working late into the night and sculpting while Gossip Girl played in the background. The best relaxation of my life.

Next, I gave him ridges along the sides of his face like a Pachycephalosaurus, to add a little character and give him some interesting textures. He needed eyes, obviously, so I finally got around to adding some. I wrapped him up in a plastic bag and put him away for the night, so no stray dust or cat hair would stick to the exposed surface.

Ralph goes to bed with his eyes wide open. Kind of creepy.

Step 3: Refining Details and Character

Next I gave Ralph some crinkled lower eyelids, to give him the beginnings of a grin. Lower eyelids are often underestimated by new artists, when, in fact, they are one of the most important features on the human face. You can tell someone is smiling without seeing their mouth by the lower eyelid.

But a lot was still missing. His face was too plain. His expression felt incomplete. So I gave him some enthusiastic eyebrows and the biggest, dumbest grin I could muster. I wanted Ralph to be the toy on my shelf that makes me smile.

Ralph's a pretty good-natured guy.

After the eyebrows and dimpled cheeks were finished, I moved on to the next step:

Step 4: Agonizingly Long Hours of Smoothing and Detailing

With the help of my trusty rubber smoothing tool, a bottle of 99% concentrated alcohol, a paper towel and a paint brush, I went over the entire surface of Ralph’s body looking for imperfections. I smoothed out wrinkles and dimples with the rubber tool, then used the alcohol to brush off the top layer of clay and any fingerprints, lint, or hairs that might have snuck in during the sculpting process. I even added some cute little fangs to give him that true dinosaur look.

I was pretty happy with the final result.

Hey, you handsome boy, you

Step 5: Baking

I stuck Ralph into the oven at 200′ F (lower than the normal recommended baking temperature for Sculpey to prevent the vinyl inside him from melting) and cooked him in 10-minute intervals. I didn’t check on him soon enough, though, and a big bubble developed on his back. (Remember what I said about all that special prep work you’re supposed to do when putting Sculpey on top of vinyl? Yeah. This is why.)

I cooked for a total of 35 minutes and now he is solid as a rock, but still light and easy to pick up thanks to the vinyl skeleton. Here we are, happy together at last.

UPDATE: My totally awesome friend Olive drew this fan art of Ralph’s girlfriend, “Carmen.”

Facebook: Where the writer's group hangs out between meetings

I have the best writer’s group ever. I mean, ever. Six women who all write YA. Six women who are monumentally talented,  and each in their own unique way. We have a fantasy writer (yours truly), one contemporary, two magical realism, one working on historical fiction, and even a graphic novelist (artist and writer, whoa). I believe something like four out of six of us have been published in the past. And, to the internet’s credit, we all met on Facebook. If you like, I can do a post at a later date about how I found and organized this group, and the critique method we’ve developed to make the most effective use of our limited meeting time.

So. I love my writer’s group. But now you may ask, “Why does the headline also say you hate them?”

Because they are always right. And that usually means I have to do a lot of work.

Lately I’ve been bringing the first sections of my novel The Aeronauts to group meetings. This book has been a pretty painful learning experience for me, because the story is A) more complex than anything I’ve done before, B) involves a purely fantastical world where none of our rules apply, and C) has a lot that happens off-screen (prior to the novel’s timeline) that needs to be folded into the text in a natural, showy-not-telly kind of way.

Boy, is that harder than it sounds.

My wonderful writer’s group gals don’t just point out what’s wrong with the story–they also provide some seriously excellent suggestions on how to improve it, and devices I could employ to solve my problems. And, because we have the whole hive-mind thing going on, the ideas get refined by each participant until they are, quite literally, golden.

As a result of all this, The Aeronauts is shining brighter than ever before. One of my girls pointed out I have a little bit of a “problem” with plot progression–and suggested to me this awesome video where South Park creators Trey Parker and Matt Stone teach NYU students the key to good storytelling. Their best bit of advice: avoid “and thens.” They are boring.

The Aeronauts has a lot of “and then this happened, and then this other thing happened,” without much reason or result besides happenstance. UGH. So, while writing group has been immensely helpful, it has also been painful to step in front of the word processor and realize the scope of my required changes. And yet, there is this deep, fulfilling sense of satisfaction when the overhaul is complete.

The gem hidden inside the mush is shining brightly. Thank you, writer’s group! You girls are the bestest.

Robopocalypse by Daniel Wilson

This book gets: ♥♥♥ out of 5

Before I get into this I want to explain my rating system. Five is perfect; exceptional. Four is good, recommendable. Three is mediocre (which has, strangely, developed a negative connotation, when it actually means “middle of the road” in terms of quality). Two is severely flawed, but I finished it. I only give ones to books that I either didn’t finish or wanted to stop reading before finishing but had some compelling reason not to toss in the towel.

The thing that really frustrated me about Robopocalypse was that it started with the ending. I knew right from the beginning how this whole robot war was going to go down. It’s got this too-clever-for-its-own-good storytelling plot device, where the near-total destruction of humanity at the hands of an escaped AI is retold by the de facto soldier who helped defeat him. So, essentially, it’s a meta-meta-novel, adding to the Cloverfield premise that our soldier-narrator, Cormac Wallace, is recording a black box of historical data about the war left behind by the defeated AI.

And I think I would have been fine with that, had it not been for Wilson’s choice in having Cormac preface each “chapter,” or transcription/description/direct recollection of events based on video/sound byte/surveillance footage, with a short summary of the chapter (before you’d even read it), usually revealing the ending in the method of transcription (again, before you’ve even read it). It was just too cold and distant a way of telling a story. Interestingly, it took me forever to finish it. I never felt compelled to continue on to the next chapter, to find out what happened next, because each “mini-narrative” was relatively whole. Often I think the speed at which I devour a book has a lot to do with its sheer enjoyment factor.

On the flip side, though, and the reason I did finish reading it, were three things: 1) A brilliant premise, 2) Some novel ideas, 3) Excellent writing. Wilson is a talented storyteller, even if the manner in which he chose to weave his larger story (the kind of “hip and edgy” that crosses over into simply unpalatable) really turned me off.

I like the reasons for which Archos, our genocidal AI, chooses to turn on us; the robot apocalypse has been done before, but not like this. It leads to interesting developments in the tired, post-catastrophe “small band of humans fighting for survival” trope. Though Wilson does tend to beat you over the head with his themes, they aren’t bad themes, or uninteresting themes. The opposite, even.

I’ll drop a little secret for you: a few sections of this are narrated by a robot. And I love that. That was, really, the thing that made me finish this book. He is perfectly inhuman while being perfectly believable. I wish the whole book had been told by him.

And it’s Friday.

I’ve posted about Veronica Mars before (and how it’s the best teen TV show pretty much ever–but I’m not really a Buffy person), but this girl really went the extra distance to talk about the film noir elements of Rob Thomas’s crowning achievement in her article, “VERONICA MARS (Is Smarter Than Everybody).” She also has gathered an impressive collection of snarky Veronica gifs (if you’re into that kind of thing–and you might just be after you see this.)

GOD, I love smart, sassy girl heroes. And the noir-style detective tale? An untapped YA sub-genre that, to me, seems ripe for the pickin’s.

And while we’re on the topic of trending (and dying) genres, I read an interesting post this week by literary agent Suzie Townsend called “The Truth About Dead Genres.” She makes a great point: Write the book you want to write, not what you think you should write to stay on top of the market. There’s no way to know what’ll hit and what won’t a few years down the line.

One last thing: Just in case you weren’t already aware, this is how you eat a tic-tac like a boss. I mean, seriously, why is this not an NBC “The More You Know” ad?

photo by fmgbain

Each new query letter I write is like learning to ride a bike all over again, with the accompanying falling, scraping, and toddler-esque shrieks of frustration. I don’t think it will ever matter how many times I write a mini-synopsis–each manuscript has its own set of challenges to be overcome in breaking down a book-length plot into a short pitch.

Finding inspiration in book blurbs and dust jackets.

The first problem I’ve had writing my query letter for The Aeronauts is that the novel takes place across multiple settings. Parallel worlds, really, if we’re going to get technical. It means I have to introduce not one, but two environments within a single mini-synopsis. And while one world (Earth) doesn’t feature prominently in the story, it is the protagonist’s home and the backdrop to her character, so it requires a little airtime in the query letter.

For a long time, the organization of the mini-synopsis just didn’t make sense. I introduced Earth, then I introduced the texture of the fictional world Navica, and then the primary conflict. But it moved slowly into the action and my (lovely) beta readers found the move between the two worlds confusing.

After getting some hair follicle exercise (euphemism: more screams of frustration, followed by hair-pulling) I decided I needed a new approach. I looked up another book that deals with a character crossing over multiple worlds–The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe. A different sort of story, but very helpful nonetheless. Instead of starting with Earth, it starts with Narnia and the conflict awaiting the heroes there.

Suddenly could I not only merge two sections together (main conflict + setting texture), but introducing the conflict of the fantasy world first became a great new hook.

Highlighting the problems inherent in the manuscript.

The other major drawback to writing this query has been the realization that, through the writing and re-writing of my mini-synopsis, my draft is fundamentally flawed. It’s funny that one can get this far–as far as pitching the book to agents–only to realize certain large-scale problems with the manuscript.

I wrote a long-form synopsis for The Aeronauts a good time ago (around that same magical time when I began writing it, before we became nemeses), but the story has changed so much that the original synopsis is no longer of any use to me. Certain characters became important that I hadn’t expected; I imagine it’s a bit like casting a TV show and realizing after the first season that a minor actor is a star and needs a larger role in the forthcoming story. (The half-human, half-mermaid Prince Gueylon, cough cough, you sexy beast, you)

Writing a book is, in some ways, like carving a sculpture. You start with this big soggy pile of dirt. (The first draft.) You use a couple of tools to start whittling out a reasonable shape. (Peer critique, revision.) You carve in nuances and details. Eventually, you have a working piece of art–but even then, you’ll still find a million things wrong with it.

I really like this video, Why I Write (And Why It Only Gets Harder) by David Rakoff, where he discusses the increasingly painful process of writing. I suffer from what David suffers from: higher standards with each final product, and as a result, more stress and frustration during the editing process. And I’m finding during the query stage that The Aeronauts isn’t quite meeting my new, higher standards of storytelling.

So my synopsis has pointed out to me some obvious (and corny) plot devices whose ends could also be accomplished through more meaningful, subtle means. It’s highlighted where I’m focusing too much on the action and the twists and not enough on the important thematic elements.

Short and sweet, but with a punch.

Every word in every sentence of the query needs to be the right one, and that is where I stumble. I love this article by Lydia Sharp called “If You Can’t Say It Succinctly Then Don’t Say It At All.” The job of the query letter isn’t to give the reader full disclosure of the plot–it’s to give just enough plot to hook the reader.

So how much to give? How much to hold back? With a novel like The Aeronauts–a purely fictional setting, complex political upheaval, and mysteries that lie unopened for much of the manuscript–I get stuck in the details like a brachiosaurus in a tar pit. I have written and re-written this bad boy so many times that I barely recognize it anymore. The words on the page are strangers to me.

I suppose at some point, one has to just sign off on it. Do the best job one can, sign one’s name at the bottom, and throw it to the wind.

Ah, the joys of being a perfectionist.

Yesterday I had one of those dreaded “duh” moments while talking plot with my good friend and co-conspirator, @eddyrivas.

Antagonists have a tendency to hide their faces. In my case, while working on The Aeronauts, one of Eddy’s best plot criticisms was that the evil Empire seemed “faceless.” Sure, we knew who the Emperor was by name and reputation, but it was hard for the reader to get a full and believable sense of his badness. As readers, we get that he’s a bad guy because everyone says he’s a bad guy–but where’s the proof? Where’s that gnarled, hawk-nosed face to go with it?

The problem is in novels where the villain is simply not physically present. We, as readers, are not privy to the villain’s narration. We don’t always know where he is, what he’s doing, or what he’s thinking–which is a great plot device, but if not done right, can leave the villain’s sheer villainy feeling a little flat.

What is your villain’s master plan? Before your protagonist came along and messed everything up, what was your antagonist’s vision of the future? How did he see the plot playing out before an unexpected hero stumbled onto the scene?

Write a brief outline of a different scenario, had your protagonist stayed out of it. What are the steps in his plan? What players are involved? What is the final result?

Keeping the master plan in mind as you routinely destroy it will help lend face to your antagonist. His outrage at being thwarted by your hero’s hijinks will come pre-scripted for you.

How does your villain try to get the plan back on track? If, like mine, your villain has this daunting “faceless” quality, give him some desperation. Write him a new plan, once his old one gets thrown out the window. Keep writing new plans as the hero changes the game. Events will unfold as the antagonist struggles to make things right again, and push along your plot.

Villainy ensues.

I put a picture of Jafar from Aladdin at the top of this article because he is a fabulous example of a villain with a master plan–and one who adapts even more villainously to each wrench that Aladdin throws into his schemes. Jafar not only fixes the problems Aladdin creates, but finds opportunities in Aladdin’s mistakes, such as leaving the genie’s lamp unguarded. When writing this type of antagonist, I find Disney movies–in all their standard archetypes and plot devices–can be a great help.

Edit: Someone mentioned a good point, which is that villains consider themselves the heroes of their own narratives. Not often do villains view themselves as the bad guys. Great to keep in mind while writing that realistic antagonist!

The art of the story has been on my mind a lot lately. Part of it is polishing the first fifty pages of The Aeronauts for submissions; part of it is all the amazing talks I heard at Willamette Writer’s Conference 2012 about making storytelling into second nature. How do we weave stories that are compelling? How do we keep readers interested from the first word to the last?

So I decided to write up some of the ways I know to pump up your storytelling, keep readers turning pages, and give your novel that extra bit of kick it needs to get noticed.

1. Uncomfortable is good.

A story isn’t going to go anywhere unless it contains some kind of hanging conflict. A good story is a bit like watching a balanced rock tilting one way, and then the other, knowing all the while that unless something is done it’s going to fall. The tension is monstrous. It propels the story forward.

Naturally we shy away from conflict. It’s part of our programming. We want things to be resolved, for the rock to either stop tipping or to just fall over already. A conversation that ends with everyone agreeing on everything isn’t interesting, and it certainly doesn’t lay the groundwork for future story-fueling tension. Make your characters’ interactions uncomfortable. Let them fight. Let them make subtle digs. Let them disagree.

Uncomfortable is good.

2. Hike up the emotional content.

Writing good character emotion is tricky business. As writers, we have a tendency to distance our readers from our protagonists, which removes the emotional connection.

Pumping up the emotional content does not mean writing more emotional scenes. It doesn’t mean more feelings or more whining. It doesn’t mean more. It means better. Likely you already have written in plenty of emotion, but that emotion is so distant from the reader, so unreal to the reader, that it doesn’t hit home.

Cut out verbs that cause distance. “To feel” is one of the worst offenders; “Maria felt pain” is about as emotionally flat as you can get. Lead with active verbs: e.g., “White-hot pain lanced across her face.” Look for places where your prose is disconnected from what a character is actually feeling.

It comes down to the old adage, “Show, don’t tell.” Don’t tell me what she’s feeling. If she’s sad, show me that she’s sad. Make me feel it for myself. Is a cold hand squeezing around her heart? Are hot tears burning salty rivers down her cheeks?

3. Emotion leads to conflict, and vice versa.

Why do we fight? Rarely, we fight over things. Usually we are fighting over feelings that surround those things.

In Robopocalypse, two brothers are arguing over the younger one selling a prized family heirloom. The older one isn’t mad about the heirloom itself–he’s mad that his younger brother is so irresponsible he pawned it for petty cash. That he has so little regard for his heritage that he was willing to part with it. It’s an act of disrespected toward a deceased parent, who worked hard to procure the heirloom.

These are the conflicts that hit home. Where emotional tension runs high. And once conflict happens, what is the result? Bruised feelings. Discord.

Remember that sometimes characters obtain resolution from conflict. Sometimes it’s cathartic. Just remember that emotions are the cause and the effect of conflict, and they will hit the reader harder.

4. Let your characters make bad decisions.

Nobody’s perfect, especially not your protagonist–if you want him or her to be interesting, anyway. Catalog those essential flaws. Think about what kinds of terrible, terrible decisions that imperfect protagonist might make.

Now let your character make them, and watch the fireworks.

Always remember that characters don’t make decisions for no reason. There are always triggers, and those triggers are often emotion or character-driven. Is your character prideful? Call him out on a mistake. Is your character reeling from a heartbreak? Let her wake up next to her rebound and find he has a neckbeard.

Terrifying.

5. If plot is the car, character is the engine.

Remember that plot is not the driver. Plot is not what moves your story forward–characters do. Stories that rely solely on plot to progress end up like Prometheus, a hodge-podge collection of plot twists and characters that act completely out of character. You know that heroine who always just seems to be dragged along? She is the victim of plot. She makes no decisions, only suffers through every turn of the plot.

Your characters are always thinking, always doing, always feeling, and that is more than enough to propel your story forward. Avoid creating artificial plot devices. Readers can tell. Rely on what you already know about your characters, the conflicts they face, the emotional hurricane that already whirls around them. Let your characters drive the car.

This year’s Willamette Writers Conference 2012 was a startling success. I pitched to four agents and one publisher, and received from all of them requests for more. I attended sessions all three days (Friday, Saturday, Sunday) and did my best to stay sane and conscious enough to socialize.

Part A: The Program

I wish I could Vulcan mind-meld with you, if only so you could have experienced with me Eric Witchey‘s stellar, re-orienting talk on “Story Fluency: Story as a Second Language.” It’s not my place to divulge all of the secrets that Eric, in turn, divulged to us–but I can tell you that my most basic understanding of the structure and arc of story is fundamentally changed. It goes a bit like this:

-Start writing a new story every single day. Give yourself a time frame and go–no excuses. You will miraculously (or not so miraculously) become a better storyteller.

-Story is not plot. Story is emotion. Story starts and ends with what our protagonist feels, then what our protagonist does as a result.

It’s one of those total duh moments, where you knew it all along–somewhere, far back there in that amygdala or whatever–but it didn’t really occur to you until somebody said it out loud.

As with any conference, there were highs and lows. The YA track looked promising on the schedule, but a number of the talks I attended felt geared toward the novice novelist, not the serious (and grown up) YA writer. I kid you not–during a panel on dialogue, the presenter went through the grammatical basics of speech. As in, add a new paragraph for each new speaker. Punctuation goes inside the quotation marks.

Seriously?

Then, of course, there were the exceptional talks. On Sunday I attended Lisa Cron’s “Wired for Story: Using Brain Science to Hook and Hold Readers.” I will share with you some of her wisdom.

Humans are engineered to love stories. We crave them. We seek them out. Why? As a survival mechanism. For example:

Your friend escapes a tangle with a tiger. You are dying to know how he pulled it off. As he slowly reveals to you his tale of woe and danger, you are sucked in, enthralled. What if you got into a tangle with a tiger? You’d use the same methods as your friend, most likely. You add his experiences to your mental glovebox. You might even pass it on to someone else.

Cron discussed brain “expectations” and ways that writers can harness those expectations in the course of storytelling. Human brains are designed to analyze everything–so extraneous details can sometimes confuse brains that try to place them into the larger conflict of the story. Humans naturally shy away from conflict, so imposing conflict and drawing out the resolution creates a page-turning effect–”How does this get patched up? How?”

Part B: The Agents (and publisher)

I pitched to four literary agents, all geared towards YA and many who had fantasy on their wish lists. I received four requests for more–one request for a full, three requests for partial plus query plus synopsis. Of which I had none ready to go. Awesome. I am so prepared. (In my defense, I’m not attending any other conferences this year and I wanted to get The Aeronauts pitched sooner rather than later.)

One agent, whom I will not name but I totally loved meeting in person, dropped me her card before I’d even finished giving my tag line. I’ll share the tag line at a later date, but all I did was give comparisons to other YA or fantasy books–e.g., “My book is a bit like X and a bit like Y, with a twist of Z.”

I think the key with live pitches is to be casual. Talk to agents like they are people. Make your pitch short and concise. Even if it’s not all in the right order, or you mess up some words, that’s cool. They’ll ask you questions. Just be sure to introduce yourself, drop your credentials, and leap right into your hook. Be friendly. Be personable. But most importantly, know your story inside and out. You need to be able to talk fluently and easily about your novel with someone who has never seen it before. It will speak volumes about you and the quality of the work–though the agent will still request to see it before agreeing to anything.

I also pitched to Tor Books. Though I’m looking for representation, having an acquisitions editor at a big fantasy publisher like Tor interested in The Aeronauts can’t hurt my chances for picking up an agent, right? Anyway, Tor liked the pitch and has also requested a partial.

The trick now is getting all that stuff done and shipped off before they forget who I am.

Hey! If you’re in or around the Portland area, why not attend WordCamp Portland 2012 on August 18th? It will be a fun and educational event for all WordPress bloggers and enthusiasts.

Plus, I’ll be speaking! Specifically, I’ll be dropping some hints and tricks on creating content, using your blog as a creative platform, and establishing yourself in a community. The primary focus is getting creative types guerilla marketing themselves through their blogs.

To buy a ticket, visit the WordCamp Portland website. There’s a great line-up of presenters, including:

- Laura Kimball, How to Blog Once a Day

- Grant Landram, How to Build a Professional WordPress Business

- Robert Rowley, WordPress Security 101 (and beyond)

- And many others–though I have to admit that these are probably the ones I’ll be checking out, as I am not yet a PHP developer. (Thank god.)

I hope you’ll come see us on August 18th. There will be jokes.

It’s a great question–and one that she doesn’t even get close to answering.

Lewit prattles on ad nauseum about why certain YA titles (same old, same old–The Hunger Games, Twilight, Harry Potter) have obtained huge, almost cult followings in both youth and adult audiences. YA appeals to our desire for escapism, by specifically avoiding “being literary” and instead aiming for sheer enjoyment on the part of the reader; it harkens back to a time in our own youth; it gives us heroes and heroines with which we can easily identify.

But none of those regurgitated responses answer the question as to why young adult authors are overwhelmingly female. The article points out that it’s unusual for women to dominate any literary market–male authors categorically overwhelm publisher catalogs and best-seller lists. And yet, why is it that the young adult market in particular attracts female authors?

Because Lewit just has to toss around blockbuster titles like Twilight and Harry Potter, I decided to break down the question around those two series. What do Stephenie Meyer and J.K. Rowling have in common?

Both were young or new moms at the time the book was conceived. Instantly my mind jumped to a further conclusion: Perhaps it is the very nature of being female that leads more women to be young adult authors? Though the statistics are gradually changing, women are still staying home and raising children more often than men; they are watching their children develop, reading them stories, and gauging what piques their interest. Logically, it makes sense to me that moms might write stories for their children, especially when said offspring reach the teen years and start to pull away from academic pursuits like reading.

Twitter weighed in, and I think some of the answers I received there are even more causally compelling. @austenw suggested that many YA books are, essentially, romance novels for teens. And what other literary market do women authors dominate? Romance. Makes sense to me, considering books like Twilight, like Matched, like The Selection. Many of them are indeed tales of heart and woe, tailored to a younger audience.

Then again, this answer doesn’t explain runaway success stories like The Hunger Games, which is far more of a thriller/action/adventure story than a romance–though the romance is a significant piece of the jigsaw puzzle. These authors aren’t just tapping into a good romance story. They’re tapping into our emotions. Somehow, the journey of growth and self-discovery so prevalent in young adult books appeals to something inside of us. Emotionally, adolescence is very raw. It seems to me that a great author of teen books captures that rawness. More often than not, YA is written from a first-person point of view, a narrative style that instantly transports the reader into the body of the protagonist.

Through the first-person lens, everything the heroine experiences in the novel becomes more intimate, more emotionally compelling. You feel what she feels. You see through her eyes, live inside her skin.

Is it that female authors are simply better at writing such a narrative? Through some biological design, are women more easily able to tap into that emotional connection?

Making such an assumption is bold, but not altogether untrue. And, like any blanket statement, there are exceptions–most notably John Green, who writes some of the richest, most engaging narratives in teen literature to date.

Nevertheless, it’s a question worth asking, a question certainly worth delving into at a deeper level than Lewit’s flat, demagogic piece for The Atlantic.

What are your thoughts?

Look at that charmer.

Day… who cares?

At this point, I don’t remember what day it is. That’s what I love about my friend’s ranch up in Bodega. It’s just this place where you can go without cell phone reception, without an internet connection, and just see life for what it is–days passing one after another, not towards any particular goal, just an endless journey meant to be enjoyed.

So, yeah. Northern California was a good time. I can see myself returning here again and again as a writer’s retreat, just to get away from the connections and the distractions and focus on the craft. Just a week at this place, with the dust and the pool and that weird boat somebody grounded (and now lives in), and I could see some serious first-draft magic occurring.

I think the pictures will tell it better than my words ever will, though I will occasionally narrate with funny stories.

DON’T YOU JUST WANT TO SNUGGLE THAT SOFT FLUFFY DOWN yeah you do.

In exchange for getting to stay the night at the ranch, I helped wrangle some goats. After we watched the boy-goats fight each other for a while, my friend showed me how to milk the girl goats in the barn. I was a natural. Please. Of things to be a natural at, I pick goat milking. It just figures.

I headed farther north to my other friend’s 80-acre family plot. Takes about a thirty-minute drive down single-lane, winding mountain roads to reach the property, and it’s totally worth it. These are people that know how to spend the day-to-day. “Hipnecks,” they affectionately call themselves, shooting game on the weekends and growing all their own organic food the rest of the time.

What a life.

So after all this, I must return home to Portland and, by extension, responsibility. Not that responsibility doesn’t grow and prosper like some kind of mold while you’re gone–it definitely does, festering in your inbox like toxic waste.

I guess I can just forget that responsibility exists here.

The next evening I begin the eleven-hour drive from Fort Ross back to Portland, intent on getting home in time for my YA writer’s group meeting. Four cans of Red Bull and a midnight taco later, I pull into Portland at 5 a.m. I’m a little disappointed to be back. I tasted freedom and it tasted like goat milk. Goat milk and dog fur and home-cooked meals.

But I’ll remember this view from the car window as long as I live.

After crashing for the night in Los Angeles, I got my stuff together and headed up north to see a friend in San Jose. He used to work as a tour guide at the Winchester Mansion, and he’d ranted and raved to me so many times about this strange, fascinating place that I insisted we go and sell our spare limbs to go on the tour. For real: it costs three times as much as going to a movie to see the Winchester Mansion for one hour.

But I rest my case. A brilliantly bizarre place to visit.

So, basically, here’s the story: old lady Winchester loses her daughter, then her husband. Thinking it can’t all be a coincidence, she makes her way to a psychic for advice. Winchester guns have killed a lot of folks, obviously. She figures all that Winchester money is bloody money, and she’s paying the price for it.

“Bad spirits are after you,” the psychic tells her. “You must confuse them. Distract them.”

Somehow, the psychic gives Mrs. Winchester the grand idea to start building a house–and to never finish it. I’m not sure how this protects you from spirits, but what do I know?

Let’s just say that Mrs. Winchester was no architect, and she was probably a few eggs short of a dozen. She had four carpenters on staff and all of them were constantly busy, building things like staircases that lead into ceilings and doors that open to nothing (or a sheer drop, just for kicks). The house contains over 160 rooms, 110 of which we saw on the tour–and that’s not even to mention staircases that wind and double-back on themselves three times because the steps are so tiny, or the fact every fixture and window and carving contains some form of a daisy, or Mrs. Winchester’s odd obsession with the number thirteen, or even that she has a room devoted to seances. Seriously, that lady re-defined what it means to be rich and eccentric. 

Day 10 and 11: San Francisco

On the drive north I powered my way through an audiobook of Patrick Ness’s A Monster Calls (based on an idea by Siobhan Dowd). Be forewarned: this is a book that induces serious tears. Like, be ready to mop up a mess.

Once recovered, I landed at my friend Tim’s San Fran townhome. On top of writing a graphic novel serial, Tim has an immense and invaluable knowledge of superhero comics–the kind of total recollection usually only reserved for idiot savants and Jeopardy contestants. Throughout my visit we jammed on ideas for my next novel, Codename Q. The story arc is starting to come together and it looks crazy promising.

I joined some friends the next day for a birthday party down at Speedway Meadows. They’d concocted a game called “slosh ball,” which is basically just kickball with a beer in one hand. Thus, the sloshing.

Since I wasn’t drinking and had terrible shoes for kicking, I was sent off to the gulags to be a permanent second baseman. When teams rotated, I stayed put. Everyone seemed to have forgotten that I was the only one with two free hands and both my teams went nuts whenever I caught a crappy punt, like I was the Shaq of kickball.

Day 12: Day of the Teen Girl

Tim’s sister was turning sixteen, and who best to cart two teenage girls around downtown San Francisco than me? Well, actually, it’s likely that anyone would have been a better choice than me, but I seized the opportunity to study some subject matter firsthand and off we went.

If you follow me on Twitter, you might have seen me going on about the tweenie horror film the girls chose as their late night B-flick, Don’t Be Afraid of the Dark. If you’ve never seen this movie, it is essentially about the world’s most industrious 8-year-old girl and the world’s stupidest parents–basically, a kid dream movie. My invisible pen was flying over invisible paper as the girls constantly interrupted the film to gossip about school and ruminate on the likelihood of this silly heroine actually existing in real life.

As I left San Fran for the more rural Sonoma County, I tried to think of what I liked best about the city. I think I’ve settled on the architecture. It’s just so strange and bright and exotic, like some kind of mutant parrot–I can’t help but love it.

I made it to San Diego just in time for a poolside lounge session with podcaster, blogger, and fellow YA author Jon Yang.

Jon and I take on San Diego

After Jon showed me to some of San Diego’s finest raw fish, we grabbed a late showing of The Dark Knight Rises. I have a whole slew of criticisms about the movie (What is the deal with that thing on Bane’s face? And I didn’t realize it was so easy to fix a broken back), but overall, I enjoyed my first IMAX experience. My biggest complaint with the medium is the sound quality. Yes, great, you have a fabulous speaker system, congratulations–but it doesn’t matter how loud it is unless it’s used right. I felt like the bass was permanently damaging my ability to reproduce, and yet there were still sequences of dialogue too quiet to understand.

I had a total blast anyway. I mean, THIS GUY? Wow. Joseph Gordon-Levitt did everything for this movie that Christian Bale couldn’t. If the Batman series continues–a proposition that I view with some trepidation–I am confident it can only be better than The Dark Knight Rises because Gordon-Levitt will be the star and Bale will finally get phased out. Thank God.

Day 7: San Diego Zoo

Dang, I love zoos. Most people who call themselves “animal lovers” are usually hesitant about zoos–the cages, the living conditions, the unnaturalness of it all–but I still enjoy them, and when in a new city, I go out of my way to visit them. Most of the time, zoos are participating in species restoration efforts. Many animals, especially elephants, dolphins, and other intelligent, social creatures, get along well in zoos.

The same cannot be said for big cats.

I know you’ve seen it: A tiger pacing in endless circles. A lion who can’t stop licking his side. Big cats are just not designed for captivity. One thing I appreciated about my visit to the San Diego Zoo was the honest effort by the park designers to give the big cats room to roam–free, open space where they can lurk, stalk, and even hide from the prying eyes of visitors. Both the lion and tiger habitats were spectacular.

And, best of all, I got to see this:

Dang! Jaguars are cool.

Day 8: More Beach–the good one this time

I’ve seen some beaches, but the one where Jon and I brainstormed our NEW TOP SECRET PROJECT pretty much takes the cake for all categories. The sand wasn’t fake, like Santa Monica–more of an au natural, baby-bunny white, and the weather couldn’t have been better. We hit some waves with the bodyboard and the exposed part of my hair turned a lovely shade of algae-brown.

At long last, I head north again for the second half of my trip–only too sorry to leave behind the sunny perfection of San Diego and my new compatriot in mischief. Well, at least we had one last hurrah!

I thought about stopping for another night to camp on my way south, but I had a few freelance articles due soon and needed a layover day to get caught up. After three days of straight driving, I was ready to get off the road for a while. My friend lives in Westwood (see this article and this other article about my research trip last March), not a stone’s throw from UCLA and Hollywood; overall, a great place to hunker down in a cute little coffee shop and relax.

Cinder by Marissa Meyer

And by relax I mean, rewrite my novel that is not yet finished but needs to be finished and edited and pitched by August 3rd.

Yeah. That’ll happen.

Anyway, I threw on Marissa Meyer’s Cinder for the seven-hour drive, an excellent YA novel hovering somewhere between sci-fi and dystopian. In essence: it’s a cyborg retelling of Cinderella. Quite the premise, no? And Meyer pulls it off with style. It was hard to get Cinder out of my head while I was in the middle of it, but it did begin to lose me at the end.

Day 4: Work

Marketing mumbo jumbo, blah blah, contracting, blah blah, new introduction to The Aeronauts, etc. etc.

That evening, I hit the sushi bar with some friends. It was a typical summer night in LA: loud, sweltering, but somehow still chilly. My friend nearly got in a brawl with a server at the hookah bar and the night ended with me shouting, and I quote, “BE COOL. BE COOL!”

So, I’m rethinking my original desire to move to Los Angeles. I’m all for fast driving, but I just don’t have the energy to put full-grown men in a headlock. I ain’t twenty-one anymore.

Day 5: The Beach

Ah, yes, finally.

Santa Monica was overcast, as usual, though still warm. Overcast-sunny is pretty much the easiest way to get a paralyzing sunburn, because the thin layer of clouds lull the unaware into a false sense of security. Sun screen’s not required when the sun’s not shining, right? Wrong.

Acrobatics at Venice Beach

Venice Beach always treats me right. Of all the ridiculous saps I passed along the boardwalk, a hip-hop artist peddling unmarked CDs in multicolored plastic wrap really took the cake. When I declined to purchase his CD, he shrugged, turned, and called to his friend over my head, “Shorty can’t eat books! Shorty can’t eat books!“

As if we were all wondering.

Venice Beach is probably my favorite beach in LA: there’s always something going on there, even if the water smells like somebody’s leftover sushi dinner left out in the sun for too long. The day I stopped in, Red Bull was hosting a basketball tournament and handing out free drinks off the backs of sexy beach bunnies.

Down at the skate park, I perched on the rim with my iPhone and snapped some action shots. Now, I’m not much of a photographer, but take a few hundred pictures of something and you’re bound to get a gem. Check out these skilled skateboarders!

Culver beach had absolutely perfect weather. I didn’t make it down to Manhattan Beach, as had been my original plan, but Culver was so deserted and idyllic I decided to settle there for some sunbathing. The water was cold and stinky and an interesting shade of teal-brown-black, but I doubt anyone who knows LA beaches would be surprised.

Tomorrow: On to San Diego!

You can't see how fast I'm going in this picture, right? Good. That's probably good.

As usual, I didn’t get out of the house until at least three hours after the time I had initially convinced myself was “crazy late.” Late is the new early. I started listening to the audiobook of Marie Lu’s Legend. Holy cow, if you haven’t read it already and you’re a fan of dystopian YA, Legend is a great find.

Anyway, it was a five hour drive or so to Mount Shasta, where I navigated my little rear-wheel-drive Squirtle-mobile over road (or what passes for “road” in places like this) that was probably only intended for four-wheel-drive vehicles. Well, c’est la vie, Squirtle.

I pitched my tent and heated some soup. Rather, I tried to heat some soup, but I’d forgotten a can opener (and a cloth, and soap, and a knife, and a bowl). Hmm. No can opener.

I started my experimentation on opening a can without an opener by banging the can on a rock. But the can was upside-down and soup began to drip out. I found another rock, smaller, broken off from a larger piece so it’s a sharp slice of limestone or granite or whatever, and kneeled down in front of the soup can.

Then I just started attacking it.

So, long story short, the can was not so much open as oozing through a gaping wound in the lid. But I digress. I poured it into my magical new JETBOIL (seriously if you are a backpacker this is the best device in the known universe) and we were off to the races–meaning I had dinner.

Inside the tent surrounded by nothing but total silence, there’s a distinct lack of… distractions? Interruptions? My mom says (and to preface, she’s not a new-ager or anything) suggests it’s a lack of human energy. That people, somehow, give off an aura or energy that can disrupt the creative flow and interfere with your own thought processes.

Out in nature, surrounded by silence and stars, it’s easy to think that’s true.

I got to re-writing the first couple pages of The Aeronauts based on some feedback from my writer’s group. Essentially, the feedback was that Maria seems too flat in character, and too unconcerned with linking her last memories with waking up in a strange new place. She’s a firecracker with a temper, and that doesn’t come out at all until a good way into the story (once I’d discovered her myself).

The new introduction features a hospital scene, and there were so many exciting things I got to do with it that the previous introduction had left out. Her relationship with her mother. Her true reason for signing up for the experimental surgery that would likely end her life. The desperation of life in a hospital.

After a few hours I got tired of doing neck crunches because my mummy-style sleeping bag doesn’t bend at the knees, so I went to bed.

Day 2: Shasta to Santa Rosa

The next day I chatted with a fascinating retired guy up at the base of the mountain who had been a carpenter at Disneyland for over twenty years.

To prove I was there

That afternoon, I ended up in Santa Rosa to see a friend. Went and made a nuisance of myself at the local Wednesday street market.

I’ll be driving through Napa Valley again soon. It was truly one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever seen, even if it was only from a distance. Though I’d really wished that silver Civic in front of me would have learned how to drive before going down those twisty turns on highway 128.

If you follow me on Twitter, you’ve probably seen me talking about my new short story, currently titled D, but sometimes also known by the hashtag #MANdroid. “Mandroid” became a sort of joke after I shared the opening lines of the story with @eddyrivas.

The piece starts like this:

I have met the perfect man.

His name is D-084.

D was one of those stories I had to tell right away, the sort that keeps you up until 2 a.m. tapping away at the keyboard, feverishly getting the words down while they’re still fresh and ripe. It started as a dream–the morning kind of dream that’s so realistic you just can’t seem to shake it off. In the dream, I’d fallen in love with an android; but it was unclear whether he could return my feelings, whether we were really meant to be together. When I woke up I decided to explore this idea: is a synthetic human capable of feeling love, or is it purely an emulation?

As is typical of productions of the subconscious, this notion is a mishmash of outside influences. It was likely inspired by Prometheus and, by association, its precursor (or is it technically the sequel?) Aliens. Prometheus‘s David is handsome but emotionless; Aliens‘s Bishop is nothing to look at, but gets to heroically rescue everyone with his marvelous android powers. Somehow my subconscious merged these characters and spit out “D”–a nickname the people aboard the transport vessel Pioneer give to the android D-084 to humanize him. He’s perfect, but not handsome; impassive, but not emotionless. Also has a comm cord that comes out of his hand.

On a whim, I decided to set the story aboard a commercial space vessel. Turns out there’s plenty of conflict on a ship “out to sea” for years at a time. It requires a certain kind of person to crew that ship, to sell those years for a paycheck. It allowed D to become a thriller, a turn I hadn’t expected.

It’s been a while since I wrote an action/thriller. All in all, the high-tension sequences in D are some of my best to date. I’d guess that the complex, steampunk-style battle scenes I wrote for The Aeronauts were a sort of boot camp, and now a little scuffle in the cargo hold is easy peasy. A trickier skill to master is the development of the thrill, or the reader’s heightened anticipation of unfolding events. I think thrill is a sort of combination between psychology and mystery. A good thrill element makes the reader believe one thing, and then later changes the very foundation on which that belief was based. The best thrillers put high stakes on the protagonists solving the mystery.

I’m not much of a mystery connoisseur (unlike my S.O., who has read almost every Agatha Christie novel three times, or the Patricia Cornwell-loving members of my family–we’re related?). Considering my background in what is essentially mystery ignorance, it’s not terribly surprising that writing the intrigue and planning the reveal in D was tricky business. But, as I always manage to do if I get a jog and some bacon in me before noon, somehow I figured it out. (Big ups to my early beta readers, who provided some tips that will crank up the tension.)

So: mystery, check. Thriller, check. Romance? My heroine, Lila, was a hoot to write. I’m growing pretty bored with female leads lately–the strong, fiercely intelligent Katnisses of the world–and I wanted to maintain an element of comedy, so I tried out a nutty professor type. Book smart, not street smart.

I’m slowly coming around to the fundamental notion that character is the supreme master of storytelling. It shapes dialogue, narration, and plot progression (e.g. character decisions). Everything else, it seems, stems from the tree of character development. When I approached D from this perspective, the plot flowed much more naturally, and the conflicts were sharper and funnier. Get two very different character types in a room and watch the fireworks.

Now that all those things are checked off (mystery, thriller, romance), it’s on to step 2: Finish the f***ing rewrite. And then? Step 3: Start submitting.

To be honest, this is my first time really seriously pursuing the publication of a short story; I spend so much time on novels I’ve never bothered to break into short stories besides the random, casual submission to Writer’s Digest or the pieces that I post here on my website. Kind of silly, considering how large the “Writing/Free Reads” section of my website has grown; I produce a lot of short stories–I just prefer to share them with people for free and use them to attract new readers. The half-life of a short story for me is very short compared to a novel; I forget about them almost immediately after writing them. And the effort required to sell a short story feels like too much work for so little payoff.

With D, though, I think the piece has enough chops to make submission worthwhile. I feel like I’ve finally stepped into the ring with a decent short story. So, the question is:

Do you have any suggestions for speculative fiction or sci-fi publications that will buy short stories? I’m already looking into Strange Horizons, but there’s this little thing that they prefer stories of 5,000 words or less and D will probably come in around 9,000, all rewrites considered. It’s an awkward length, but I’m just not sure what to cut.

And even worse, I’m not even sure D is the right title. I’d love to hear your suggestions!

I am hyper-critical of my work–as in, critical to the point that I actually burst into tears during a revision of Fire & Brimstone. Not even joking. First came the tears, then the heart-wrenching sobs, then the boyfriend going slack-jawed as I began to thrash and scream. Okay. Well, I’m more emotional than some.

But rewriting can be hard. Editing your own work is, by its very nature, an emotional experience. (I’m looking at you, @RebeccaTomorrow.)  Especially if you are editing a work you first wrote (a) 6 months ago, (b) one year ago, or (c) so long ago it doesn’t even matter anymore. Pretty much everything past (a), if you write regularly, will look like a third grader went at it with a crayon and some slobber. Trust me. I’m there with you. My threshold is about four months now–the beginning of The Aeronauts, which I started back in February, reads like some mutant crossbreed of a high school English essay and Tolkien.

But there are things you can do to lessen the impact: and that is to realize that self-editing is not editing.

You need someone else. Two weeks ago, after the inaugural meeting of the new Portland YA Writer’s Group, one of the other members approached me after I announced I’d love to critique full-length work for anyone in the group. I love reading other writers’ work–though I only volunteer when the one asking is a writer I already respect.

So this delightful woman, Brie, trusted me to read and critique her contemporary YA manuscript, Nice Girl. It was an excellent book with a lot of potential, very emotional and about a difficult but topical subject. She had gone over this manuscript many times after receiving rejections from editors, and she just couldn’t figure out what was wrong. She’d grown, a little bit, to hate it–the way I get about Rubix cubes after spending ten minutes with them and only being able to solve one side.

I told her I loved it. I cried… (holds out a hand, counts) four times during the course of my reading it. Granted, I read it all in one sitting, but that in itself says a lot about the manuscript. She was flabbergasted. She’d developed such a negative opinion of Nice Girl after so many rejections that she had really thrown an artificial shadow over it. Brie couldn’t see how beautiful it was under all the frustration. She was lost, knowing there was something wrong, but she couldn’t figure it out.

There were a few problems with dialogue, sure. But the gem that was inside was pretty clear to me. I told her what I’d thought was awkward or drawn-out or over the top, and she looked like I’d just laid a giant, solid gold egg on her margherita sandwich. I suggested changes that might make some things flow better, but tried to dissuade her from thinking she needed to rewrite the whole thing.

That was the fear, deep down: that this manuscript was just so far gone she’d have to totally rewrite it.

By the same token, I think it’s important for every writer to have someone else edit his or her work, regardless of whether the writer is confident or bulldozed. And I don’t mean like, sending it to your brother Joe who will only tell you how great it is, (a) because his knowledge of what sells in the publishing industry is layperson at best, or (b) he’s your brother and just doing his brotherly job of not hurting your feelings. I mean, send it to someone who will give you real feedback. Someone who understands critique–a voracious reader with discerning taste, a fellow writer–will save you endless yes-men.

I’m going to extend the cloth a little further and suggest that, if you intend to self-publish, or if you can’t seem to find that professional critique from a peer, pay someone to do it. I can already hear hundreds of voices crying, “But that’s so expensive!” Trust me. I know. The author of Nice Girl spent, well, I won’t say it aloud because the number is pretty ridiculous, but she spent enough to keep me for two months on a single phone call. And really, while a lot was said, later she told me she didn’t think she’d gotten anything out of it.

Nevertheless–do it. To be treated like a professional, an author needs to act like a professional. To hire other professionals. Not a yes-man. Not your brother.

If you plan to go through an agent, or even if you’re querying publishers directly, hiring a professional can be helpful. Absolutely. But it’s not necessary. A good agent or editor can see the gem inside an unpolished piece of work and run with it. Editors will be provided. If I were an agent, I’d snap up Nice Girl so fast you couldn’t get halfway through going to the bathroom first.

Regardless, just remember that self-editing is not editing. Sometimes, you’ve done all you can. That’s okay. Don’t worry about it. Hand it off to someone else who can be your editor. You probably don’t have to go back to the drawing board–just get someone who understands your genre to help out.*

And that stuff you wrote five months ago that now looks like something the cat threw up? It’s not. I promise. I mean, you’re better than you were then. It’s a good thing. Do your best to fix it up, but don’t let it rule you. You’ll leave it behind eventually and write better books in the future.

*Oh, yeah, editor tip? Find an editor that knows your genre. It will prevent $450 mistakes like the one made by a self-pubber I met at Write to Publish. She found that a free editor who liked werewolves and lesbians was better for her lesbian werewolf novel than the random one she found online and actually paid for. So be discerning before spending that unmentionable amount of money.

Today, Jon Yang and I discuss the recent controversy surrounding the ALA (American Library Association) annual conference, and the conflict that is emerging between librarians and book bloggers, nicknamed “ARCGate.” Some helpful links for you as you listen:

-What is an ARC?

-The blog post that started it all–”The ARC stops here” on StackedBooks.org.

-Lost Lola’s apology and explanation for the 22-minute book haul video referenced above

Jon and I debate who’s in the right, discuss the emerging role of book bloggers, and speculate what the ALA might do to prevent this conflict in the future.

Prolific Novelista - What the ARC?!

I sit down at the keyboard and pound on them like an angry chimp maybe, hmm, three hours out of every day. But how many hours do I actually spend working each day?

Sitting in a car with some friends, I quizzed them about superhero tropes. “What does every superhero have in common?” I’ve been playing with different possible origin stories for a superhero character that sidesteps boring clichés. I want to give him a history that’s both creative and caricatured, so it feels familiar, but pointedly sarcastic and funny. I really liked that about Soon I Will Be Invincible, a novel that’s both clever and original in its method of poking fun at Marvel and DC.

When I think of a real alpha-male superhero, wealthy, brilliant playboys like Bruce Wayne or Tony Stark come to mind. Naturally, I was surprised when my friend answered my question about origin stories with, “They’re all average joes that just have something extraordinary happen to them. Radioactive spiders. Radioactive exposure in general.”

I guess I’d just been so tied up in the origin story I’d unintentionally written for my superhero character that I hadn’t thought he could be an average joe. I suppose because arrogance has already become an essential flaw in his character–and to be an arrogant superhero, he needed to start out as an arrogant man. And what kind of man is more arrogant than a rich man?

A new layer was added to the set of possible origin stories and with it, possible solutions to other plot problems or voids.

Have you ever been right on the edge of sleep when that idea you’ve been examining from every side finally becomes clear? I don’t even realize I’m doing it–every moment my brain isn’t working on a task like “play videogame” or “make food,” I’m working on concepts or brainstorming possibilities. Of course the best thinking is done when the world is dark and quiet and so much less distracting, and I find myself snatching my phone off the bedside table and quietly keying in a note on the memo pad (that will, in the morning at a set time, be emailed to me automatically so I can follow up on it).

So when someone asks, “How many hours a day do you actually work?” (as if a little skeptical that I actually do work, that “writer” is somehow a euphemism for “unemployed”) I wonder how to answer. It’s really not three hours a day, or even ten when I’m working off a solid outline–but all the time, even in the midst of eating, or traveling, or sleeping. Sometimes a dream can give me a story and characters in full flesh and detail that would otherwise take days to imagine and construct. Other times, going out with a friend during a slump can reveal a setting or experience that makes it into the eventual novel.

That’s probably the thing I love the most about this job: how being a writer takes over your life, always lingering at the edge of your thoughts, casually observing. Even on vacations I get to feel productive.

Who else gets to say that besides, like, politicians?

Work on the last stretch of The Aeronauts has stalled in the wake of bachelorette parties, book club (John Green’s Paper Towns), applying for a fellowship with Literary Arts, and chomping through Beth Revis’s debut YA sci-fi novel, Across the Universe. Maybe I’ll review it and its sequel, A Million Suns, when I’m finished with them. If time permits. Or if someone asks nicely.

I’m also struggling to stay away from planning this “new adult” (“NA,” as it is affectionately called; the term means “16-18+” age range) novel about superheroes, and the middle grade novel that I–guilty swallow–might have started writing last weekend about chick viking dragon hunters.

And oh, yeah, my hair is blue.

Anyway, some presents for you:

- SlushPile Hell, an anonymous agent posting anonymous (and completely ridiculous) queries, direct from his inbox. This is pretty much exactly why Tumblr exists. Also, don’t do these things.

- Literary agent Sara Megibow (@saramegibow) does a weekly special in her Twitter feed called #10queries10tweets. Every Thursday she takes 10 queries from her inbox and writes a short Tweet about why she passed on it or asked for a full/partial.

And last but not least, an excerpt from a WIP currently codenamed The Legend of Bo.

—

“What am I going to do with you, Lora?” My mother shakes her head as she helps me out of the mud. I wipe my face with one hand so I can see her. She looks so bright against the dark rain, the black mud, and the dirty wood targets in her green dragonscale that I wonder if she is some kind of goddess. If she is, I am no demi-god. Just a mere mortal, unable to be a goddess herself, not even close.

“Sorry,” I say, a word that has become a mantra. My mother snorts in disgust.

“Don’t apologize. Do better. That is all I want from you, Lora—just hit that target once. Please. And we can go inside.”

We’ve been at it for hours. Though I am the one mired in the mud, throwing the same spear over and over and never once hitting a mark, it seems the hours grate on my mother’s nerves much worse than my own.

I almost say sorry again, but bite my lip and turn back to the three targets arranged on the far end of the field, long necks reared back in a silent roar, branch limbs splayed in ridiculous postures that I doubt have any likeness to a real dragon. I pull back my spear arm and focus on the closest target. The spear leaves my hand with a hiss.

It falls to the mud twenty yards away, not even close to a target, and I am breathless from the effort of hurling it. My mother lets out a sound that is almost like a wail. When I turn to her, she is gone, and the door of our house is swinging.

My stomach burbles. “No dinner until you hit a target,” she’d said. But what if I never hit one? Would she let me starve?

No, she wouldn’t go that far. I hope. I gather myself up and put the spear back on the rack. I clear clumps of mud from my knees and shoes. I walk to the door, but pause when I hear my father’s voice boom from inside.

“Mira,” he says. “I understand your frustration with the girl. But remember that you were a prodigy, Mira. Lora will learn eventually—not as quickly as you, but when the time is right. She has your blood in her. She’s just a late bloomer.”

“That is what I am afraid of, Bern,” replies my mother. “I’m afraid she’s not going to bloom. Sometimes I wonder if Lora is really my daughter, because none of Alene Dunmar’s blood runs in her veins—not a single drop of it.”

My father has nothing to say to this, so when it has been quiet between them for a minute, I walk inside. My father starts when he sees me, but my mother remains sitting at the table, her head in her hands, her dragon helm sitting open-mouthed beside her plate.

“Hey, Lora, there’s a leg still on the spit for you–” A look from my mother silences him. She’s never been this upset with me before. I feel cold.

“No, thanks, Dad.”

I keep my head low as I pass them and go to my room. I dig out some salted meat from a chest beside my bed and eat, tearing at it with my teeth while tears make it soft and chewy, wishing for everything that I could have been born a boy like my little brother Riggen. He has twice as much skill with a spear as I do.

If only I’d never been born at all.

1. Characterization is key. I referred to this loosely in the comments as “just make everyone a big, fat jerk,” but that’s not really the whole story.

Let’s start with this: people are twits. I mean, just look at these teenagers who mercilessly taunted a volunteer school bus monitor. A quick and easy way to create conflict in a story is to make one of your characters act like a total and complete asshat. If you’re like me and generally writing young adult fiction, that should be easy enough to do–a teenager can vacillate between being an angel and a demon faster than you can say “adolescence.” He inflames others around him. He starts arguments. He causes continental drift.

However! Your sweet, down-to-earth Georgia girl can’t just suddenly turn into a raging lunatic–right? Your characters have to have reasons to do things. And the best reasons are usually the most obvious ones: strong emotional responses like anger, panic, grief–anything that gets the blood pumping faster and the adrenaline spiking. Your heroine’s just had her heart broken, and she can do some serious lashing out with that pent up aggression.

Once you’ve got one character backed into a corner, you’ve set up the scene for some conflict. Even if all the other characters are calm, one dissenting opinion can knock over the whole bucket and cause a firestorm. Firestorms lead to more firestorms, to escalating conflict, to actions and words that may be later regretted. Your story will catapult forward.

2. Expect the unexpected. Like #1, #2 should be used in moderation. Well, really, any advice in writing should be used in moderation–but that aside, this one in particular requires being used in less-than-liberal dosages.

I’ve talked before on this blog about the notion of out of the frying pan and into the fire. (My dad was an avid fisherman growing up, so one year my brother and I bought him a t-shirt that said this phrase under some clipart of a trout, eyeballs wide, in a frying pan. Poor guy had to wear it, too.) Sometimes your story just needs a little jumpstart, and the best way to do that is to throw an unexpected obstacle into the mix.

If you’ve read Collins’s The Hunger Games series, you’re probably familiar with this recurring thought: “There is no way this could get worse. Oh, nope, there it is. Just got worse.” Creating tension is probably the best way I could ever suggest to ensure your reader keeps turning the page–and escalating tension is even better. So just when things couldn’t get any worse for your main character, throw in an unexpected event, and watch the fireworks. (Remember: unexpected does not equal coincidence! Coincidences are a cop-out, and I recommend avoiding them when you can.)

Here are some suggestions for unexpected events:

-A murder

-A fire

-Betrayal

-An assumption gone wrong (pick a given in your story like, “Obviously my best friend is on my side,” and make it a given no longer)

-A plague of toads

3. Romance. Didn’t expect that one, did you? Well, if you’ve ever been through high school, you probably know that romance is the world’s leading cause of discord and conflict. (Insert citation here.) If you really want to mess up your character’s lives, throw in a romance, and watch your neat little universe spin out of control.

My best practice for writing (and eventually destroying) romance is to hop in a time travel machine and return to my big heartbreaks. To take it personal, which is admittedly rare for me, here are some pretty depressing relationship stories you might use as fuel to ruin your characters’ lives:

-You date a guy, fall head-over-heels for him, only to find he’s in love with his best friend (who is a dude)

-You want to date a guy, but he doesn’t want a relationship. Continue casually seeing one another until you have, of course, fallen madly in love with him. Ends in heartbreak.

-You fall in love with two people at once. It is, as expected, impossible to choose between them. Everyone gets hurt.

-You start seriously dating a guy only to discover that he is a closet neo-nazi. Whoops.

4. Force of nature. I know this seems like it should be a sub-category of #2: Unexpected Events, but it is separate, and for a good reason!

There are many things in this world that humans cannot control or predict–nature, fortunately and unfortunately, is one of them. As we’ve seen increasingly these past few years, natural disasters are not only commonplace, but so maddeningly destructive that they can let loose unimaginable horrors like radioactive waste.

So, your characters are sailing across the seven seas? Throw in a serious storm. How about navigating the Gobi desert? I’m imagining that huge wave of sand in The Mummy. In addition, we’ve got:

-Floods

-Earthquakes

-More earthquakes

-Tsunamis

-Hurricanes

-California breaking off the mainland

5. Family hurts. Sure, your friend can land an insult or two when you make her mad–but isn’t it your sister, who knows your deepest and darkest secrets, who can really drive a knife into your heart?

Family matters are often the ones we hold dearest. I don’t think I’ve seen a single Disney movie that didn’t involve at least one parent’s death–and I still cry when Bambi’s mom gets shot. (Sorry, did I spoil that for you?) Moms especially get the brunt of this patricide epidemic, and for a good reason: she gestated you, gave birth to you, and for a large portion of the population, raised you. Thus, a mother’s death strikes a child in the place where it hurts the most. And emotional pain, as we all know, is great fuel for conflict and tension.

Of course, family can partake in conflict in other ways. A young character’s parent could be a drug addict, or lose a job. An older character’s siblings can bring up painful memories. Unconventional families–half-siblings, step-parents–are a great source of conflict. Try combining #4 and #5, and you’ve got something like Flowers in the Attic or the City of Bones series.

Whew. Heavy stuff.

6. Great expectations. I like this one because it requires some set-up and finesse to pull off, making it hit even lower beneath the belt.

Here’s how you start: set an expectation. The grander you make the expectation, the more painful and dramatic the failure becomes. Think about the moments in your life where you’ve counted your chickens before they hatch, only to find that not a single one of them even tried to peck at the shell. Then put down that bottle of Jim Beam down you’ve been using to cope and apply those situations to your characters.

Think of these possibilities: Hopes. Dreams. Careers. Romances. Birthday gifts. Royalty. Reality television. Whatever your character’s greatest ambition, see if you can make it even greater. We all do this to ourselves: we pump up possibilities in our heads until they balloon out of control, only to find nothing in real life can ever live up to them.

Okay: imagine that hope, dream, or ambition. You’ve got it? Perfect. Now that you have a monstrous expectation all lined up–shatter it. Just blow it to hell. I don’t care how you do it. For kids, adults are usually pretty good at crushing dreams. For adults, though, it gets a bit more complicated. Sometimes you need an event to act as a catalyst–a moment where a realization hits, or another character introduces the necessary doubt to ruin the expectation and drive your character deep into the quagmire of conflicting emotions.

So there you have it. I’m sure there are more than 6 types of conflict you could introduce to a story, but I hope at least these will give you some fire and fuel with which to ruin your character’s perfectly good life. Remember that conflict = tension, and tension = turning pages. I hope you’ll turn to this catalog the next time you feel stuck in your story, or have a scene that falls flat, and find some inspiration.

This movie gets: ♥♥♥ out of 5

Everyone is, I’m sure, aware that I am a total Pixar nut. I know every line from Ratatouille. I put on Finding Nemo whenever I’m feeling down, and Up or Toy Story when I’m home sick on the couch (or both). I defer to The Incredibles for superhero archetypes, not Marvel or DC. I still can’t watch Wall-E without going gooey-eyed.

When Cars came out, I knew something was changing. I stayed away from the film after seeing previews. It was obvious that the plot was amateur at best, the characters were caricatured and cartoonish, and despite being a musical, was no-holds-barred on stupid gags and racial/ethnic stereotypes. Eventually I decided I should see it, and was summarily disappointed. Let’s not even talk about the merchandise-rich Cars 2.

After watching the Pixar documentary, I realize now that Pixar as a film studio has done something both dangerous and rare: produced great movie after great movie, slipping only rarely, and even then, only after a half-dozen successes. Since establishing such a stellar reputation for themselves and raising the bar impossibly high, even a mediocre or simply not-great movie could get panned simply for not living up to the standards of Pixar’s previous films.

So it is that Pixar’s newest offering, Brave, is disappointingly average. By Disney or DreamWorks standards, Brave would have been middle-of-the-road: not as good as How to Train Your Dragon or Tangled, but up there–something like Spirit or Megamind. By Pixar standards, Brave is simply… not good enough.

Merida is the princess of a small Scottish kingdom. Though her mother pushes her to be a lady, Merida can’t help loving the unladylike: archery, horseback riding, adventuring–you name it. When the king and queen arrange for a tournament where the three clans will present their eldest sons to Merida in marriage, she is furious. With the help of a witch, Merida uses a spell on her mother to change her opinion about the prospect of marriage and, hopefully, change Merida’s fate.

Naturally, the spell backfires, and all hell breaks loose.

Let me name just a few movies that have the exact same premise as Brave, with a strong female character searching for a way out of an arranged marriage: John Carter, Pocahontas (and by extension, Avatar), Aladdin–I just finished Rae Carson’s Girl of Fire and Thorns, so perhaps that is why this premise feels so overdone and overly salient to me. Nevertheless, it is spectacularly unoriginal.

Now, Pixar did try to lace this film with some Pixar-trademarked cleverness and script-writing brilliance. The dinner table discussions between Merida’s parents are hilarious. Merida’s spell backfires in a particularly strange and unexpected way–though I can’t say it was ever explained why it backfired the way it did.

Since Up, I’ve noticed Pixar following a very Disney-like trend (and one I’m not necessarily comfortable with): inserting “gag” characters, when they aren’t really critical to the plot. Okay, talking dogs–I went with that for a while. It was a little overdone, but the movie was good enough that Pixar sold it. The three red-headed troublemakers in Brave really did nothing for me. They just reeked of that annoying dragon in Mulan that was voiced by Eddie Murphy.

The ending of Brave was so boring and predictable I could have storyboarded it in my sleep. Sure, the animation was great; the scenery was masterful; the dialogue was, well, okay. But without a decent plot to carry it, these things are meaningless.

In conclusion: Save the $28 bucks to take you and your date to a 3D viewing of Brave. Watch a better Pixar movie at home, and if you’re still hankering to see Brave, wait for it to hit the Red Box.

This book gets: ♥♥♥♥ out of 5

As a rule, I’m normally not into romance novels. They’re shallow and formulaic. However, I discovered the (unfortunately titled) BODACIOUS through a fellow reviewer on Amazon, and the reviews were so good, I decided to drop the $3.99 and read it. Though this blog focuses on YA, I’ve decided to post my review of BODACIOUS and (hopefully) give this indie writer some traffic–it’s so rare to find a gem like this buried in the pile of self-published slush, I wanted to pass it on.

Sara Loomis is kidnapped by hillbillies during a botched gas station robbery. When the matriarch of the inbred family finds out what they’ve done, she commands that Sara be “taken care of.” But stuttering Cappy can’t bring himself to do the deed, so he leaves Sara at the mercy of “Bo,” a mute, grizzled mountain man living in a one-room cabin on the fringes of society. Though Bo refuses to return Sara to civilization, he shelters, clothes, and feeds her–all without ever uttering a word. What follows is an expedition of discovery, of shedding old notions and prejudices, and finding something you never knew was lost.

This excellent novel was really mis-marketed. The title is absurd, and seems forcibly drawn from the text. The cover art does the premise of the story absolutely no justice–though the paperback at least shows mountains on it. It’s a complex tale, not a bodice-ripper (okay, well, it has enough bodice-ripping to be enjoyable for a book like this), which is what I appreciated about it. If it hadn’t been for a recommendation, there is no way on this green Earth I would have picked up this book based on the cover.

Regardless, Ervin weaves an inventive, engaging yarn. With our romance culture dominated by post-Edwards (see: perfect, beautiful, always say the right thing at the right time), I am personally pleased to see a love interest emerge on the scene who is none of those things–who is a man all his own, silent, complicated, and genuinely mysterious. The first half of this novel is remarkable: we learn along with Sara little by little about our captor Bo, who is both frightening and intriguing. Eventually, from underneath all that hair and beard and bearskin, a gentle, kind-hearted man is revealed. Soon, Sara’s captivity becomes almost voluntary–an escape from her life as a high-powered reporter, from the pressures of civilization, for a simpler existence living off the land.

Ervin’s prose is captivating: simple, fast-paced, though still sophisticated. Occasionally I found the dialogue strangely clipped and unrealistic, but I was able to get past it. The characters are whole and three-dimensional. Sara resists being a Mary Sue-type character, which I always appreciate in a novel like this. She is terrified when one would be terrified (not irrationally brave, as I find some heroines are), makes the occasional stupid decision, and certainly isn’t perfect. Unfortunately, this shifts near the end of the novel, though perhaps that was intentional. Ervin’s great feat is that she manages to write Bo into a living, breathing character without his ever uttering a word. Brilliant, to say the least, and skillful on her part.

As I mentioned, the novel falters dramatically after the halfway point. Sara has conquered some of her demons, and becomes–apparently–”perfect.” Unrealistically perfect. The coincidences that follow are many and strange. The ending is disappointingly storybook, when I’d almost come to believe that Ervin was breaking out of the mold.

Despite all that, I’m giving this novel 4 hearts: for being brave, daring, interesting, and well-written, while still independently published. Bravo.

]]> http://prolificnovelista.com/2012/bodacious-book-review/feed/ 6 http://prolificnovelista.com/2012/conflict-or-why-it-matters/ http://prolificnovelista.com/2012/conflict-or-why-it-matters/#comments Mon, 18 Jun 2012 19:22:31 +0000 Kiersi http://prolificnovelista.com/?p=1321

“Hey, Dick.”

“Hey, Jane.”

“How are you today?”

“I’m fine. How are you?”

“I’m fine. Would you like to go for a jog down the hill?”

“Okay, Dick. Sounds great.”

“Great. Let’s go.”

“See you at the bottom!”

Most. Boring. Story. Ever.

But I didn’t need to tell you that. You can already tell after a cursory glance that nothing happens in this little ditty–I mean, technically, Dick and Jane are having a conversation that results in the two of them agreeing to go for a jog, but from a reader’s emotional standpoint, it’s pretty much empty.

Why?

Stories need conflict. Read this (slightly) revised version of the conversation:

“Hey, Dick.”

“What the hell, Jane? Where were you last night?”

“Having a life, Dick, that’s where. I was out with my friends. Like you should talk–you were up all night chatting with Sally and playing Diablo!”

“God, is your PMS really that bad?”

“Does everything have to be about PMS with you? Can’t I just be angry because you’re a monumental jerk?”

“Damn it, Jane. I just want to go for a little jog. Just a nice jog down the hill. Let’s drop it.”

“You brought it up. You think a little jog will solve everything, Dick.”

“Maybe it will.”

“Let’s go, then.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

This story contains many levels and forms of conflict. There’s long term conflict: “Does everything have to be about PMS with you?” Dick and Jane have probably been fighting about the same old thing for as long as they’ve been together. Then there’s short-term conflict: “Where were you last night?” This question’s probably been on Dick’s mind since he went to bed by himself. Even better, there’s a conflict happening inside this very conversation: “You think a little jog will solve everything, Dick.” Jane doesn’t really want to end the conversation here–but she’s being diplomatic, and despite how she feels about Dick as a whole right now, she acquiesces to a little reconciliation.

Though it sometimes bugs me when people in the know about writing boil storytelling down to a single rule, I think that in this case, it’s appropriate:

Everything you write should contain conflict. If a scene doesn’t have some kind of conflict–even something long-term and deep down, like “Does everything have to be about PMS with you?”–then the scene won’t work. Conflict are the wheels of the plot, the very base element that keeps the story moving and the audience engaged.

Just go back to the first conversation again. If you ever have a scene that ends with everyone agreeing happily, your reader’s going to get bored. Mix it up. Make your characters angry at one another. Make them irrational and bitchy, and you’ll see the spice come to life.

]]> http://prolificnovelista.com/2012/conflict-or-why-it-matters/feed/ 12 http://prolificnovelista.com/2012/human-sister-book-review/ http://prolificnovelista.com/2012/human-sister-book-review/#comments Thu, 14 Jun 2012 20:34:29 +0000 Kiersi http://prolificnovelista.com/?p=1304

Human Sister by Jim Bainbridge

This book gets: ♥♥♥♥♥ out of 5

Human Sister, by Jim Bainbridge - I received an anonymous email a month back suggesting I pick up Jim Bainbridge’s Human Sister. Maybe it was providence, because I was just chewing on the idea that sci-fi could be the next big wave in young adult literature, and my mind was open and waiting for a book like this to come along.

Let me just put it this way: Human Sister is challenging. It is challenging in its ideas, in its themes, and in its style. The payoff, however, is huge, and makes Bainbridge’s long discussions of neuroscience and warfare and ethics worthwhile.

Sara is not the child her parents wanted. As some of the world’s leading android scientists, they spend their time developing and understanding androids, not human children; Sara is instead raised and schooled by her grandfather, the man responsible for conceiving the first android. But life in her grandfather’s bubble becomes lonely, so Sara’s parents create an android named First Brother. But young Sara is disturbed by First Brother’s emotional distance and insensitivity, and cannot bond with him.

Soon the androids come under political attack: the American religious right decries them as unnatural, as monstrosities, and they are criminalized. After Sara’s parents and their android children flee to Canada, Sara’s grandfather begins a new, top-secret project: Michael, an android who is part organic and part Sentiren, who will learn and grow from mental infancy to adulthood much as a human would. And Sara is tasked with raising him–of being his mother, his sister, and best friend, a monumental task to manage alongside her burgeoning attraction to her cousin Elio.

There are so many twists and curves and nuances in Bainbridge’s Human Sister that it’s quite impossible to capture it–even simply to capture it’s premise–in a few sentences. Sara’s narrative is framed as a reflection, a manuscript she is writing down while mysteriously sequestered in an underwater haven with Michael. This framework taints every forward step of Sara’s life with questions. I love this style of narration (when done right), as it allows dark foreshadowing and follows her story with a sense of impending doom.

I wouldn’t call the romance in Human Sister “fiery” or “explosive” or any of those other words one uses to describe YA books. The relationship between Sara and Elio simply emerges, naturally, and progresses in a fashion that makes the reader twinge with expectancy and sigh at the results. It meanders along just as everything else in this novel does–teasing, twisting, revealing more and more of itself like a woman peeling off layers of clothing, holding back the big cards until the end. Bainbridge’s craft is masterful: the plot, while never catapulting forward like it would in an action novel, is still gripping. The prose, while sometimes overly flowery (I say this literally, as Bainbridge’s most drawn-out descriptions are about flowers and plants) is obviously crafted with care. The depth of Bainbridge’s inquiry–what it means to be human, and the moral dilemmas that accompany artificial intelligence–lies at the heart of everything in Human Sister.

I’m giving Human Sister five hearts mainly because it should be read. Though the story’s forward momentum stumbles from time to time– characters have a habit of revealing feelings or describing events in page after page of back-and-forth dialogue–I found I didn’t mind these interludes as I read along. It feels as if it has been placed correctly in this novel; if long philosophical discussions between two immensely smart people were going to happen, this is the story where it would. Better yet, Bainbridge couches the difficult topics of sex, puberty, and love in the easily recognizable format of a coming-of-age tale.

I don’t want to spoil it for you, but this novel will leave you feeling like you just watched a European indie flick. Sad, but pondering; fulfilled, and yet wondering about the future.

]]> http://prolificnovelista.com/2012/human-sister-book-review/feed/ 4 http://prolificnovelista.com/2012/how-does-it-end/ http://prolificnovelista.com/2012/how-does-it-end/#comments Fri, 08 Jun 2012 01:43:38 +0000 Kiersi http://prolificnovelista.com/?p=1301 How does it end? Work on my WIP has emotionally stalled at 114,000 words.

I just thought I had more time.

I thought the wind up to the climax would take longer. Maybe not longer–in fact, it’s far beyond the acceptable length for a YA novel. (Though it is purposefully a stand-alone tale, and Harry Potter did it, so why not? Hmm.) I simply figured I’d have it all pounded out by now, by this point in the story. That I’d know how it all would end.

Up until now I’ve worked off a general idea: There’s a big-time betrayal, an out-of-left-field twist at the end. Good guys confront bad guys in epic battle. Then comes a climactic confrontation, a showdown. The good guys win, but at a price.

For a long time, I knew those bullet points. Later I filled in some spaces, like, “The Emperor is going to have this awesome prison where the cells are suspended by chains over a giant steam boiler.” Cool. Good image.

But the mortar is missing. I have all these big awkward rocks with which to make a wall, and nothing to hold it together. The length issue–I can fix that with good editing, if it needs fixing. Without glue, though, the story won’t make it. It’ll be like a runner falling just before the finish line because he spent all his strength early.

I just have to keep remembering: first draft. First draft. Even if the writing falls apart at the end, even if the story meanders another 25,000 words (please please please don’t go on that long, please) I can mop it up like a bad spill on my rewrite. I’m not afraid of a rewrite.

What I’m afraid of is not getting it done. Ever. To just write and write until the story is gone, gone in the stratosphere, like an elevator to the moon.

]]> http://prolificnovelista.com/2012/how-does-it-end/feed/ 3 http://prolificnovelista.com/2012/interview-with-kelly-hashway/ http://prolificnovelista.com/2012/interview-with-kelly-hashway/#comments Mon, 04 Jun 2012 21:15:09 +0000 Kiersi http://prolificnovelista.com/?p=1292 Young adult novelist Kelly Hashway (author of the upcoming Touch of Death, SpencerHill Press January 2013) let me interview her last week about a number of important, burning topics. Most importantly, we talked about why she is so awesome.

Here is the interview, so you readers and writers out there can glean some of her wisdom, and turn it into prolificness! And, of course, get a sneak peek into the inner workings of a talented wordsmith. I didn’t edit a thing, just for you.

Me: So, Kelly. You have a YA novel coming out with SpencerHill Press in January of next year, a sequel already slated to released six months later, and a triquel in the works (later she corrected me that, in fact, she had finished a first draft of the final book in the series and was just waiting to be contracted for it).

Now I know that your first YA book, Touch of Death, is about necromancers. Why did you pick necromancers?

Kelly: I came up with the idea when I was writing another novel that had to do with the thirteenth sign of the zodiac. He didn’t play a major part in the novel, but when I looked into his story I learned a lesser-known myth about him. It had to do with Medusa. His name is Ophiuchus (K note: I had to look up how to spell this), and he has the ability to bring the dead back to life. I thought that was pretty cool, but necromancer books have been done before—so I wanted to do something a little different.

So in this myth, Ophiuchus was given Medusa’s blood by Athena, and that’s where he got the power to bring the dead back to life. But it turns out that only the blood from the right side of her body restores life, while blood from the left side kills. I thought it would be cool to have two characters who were descended from Medusa and had her abilities—so my necromancers can not only bring the dead back to life, but they can take away life, too.

Why did you decide to make it a three-part series?

When I wrote the first book, I left the ending because I wasn’t sure if there was going to be a second book. Usually the way I work is that I think, “Okay, this is going to be a stand-alone novel,” and then as soon as I finish I realize there’s still so much story to tell.

So I left the ending thin, and as soon as I wrote it, I knew I wanted to continue the story. The question was: should I continue writing one more book, or extend it to two? So I hashed that out with my agent. The second book ends with a cliffhanger that leaves the reader aggravated that they have to wait for the next book. The third one resolves the conflict, and my agent really like that, so we settled on three books.

That’s the magic number in YA right now, isn’t it?

Yep, three is the magic number.

So, I remember when I first looked at the “works in progress” page on your website, down below your Touch of Death series, and saw you have about a half-dozen books listed there, including your middle-grade series, two paranormal YA books, a contemporary YA book, and… a fantasy YA book? I was blown away. You write many different genres, even picture books for kids. What drives you to be so diverse in genre? Is it just an accident?

When I started writing, I actually wanted to write middle-grade because I taught that age level. So I wrote my middle-grade series first, which I just recently sold, and then after that I came up with the idea for a YA book. I never thought I would write YA, actually. That first book isn’t even out on submission yet—my agent has it in her hands now. That’s the book that inspired Touch of Death.

When I wrote that book, all of the sudden I just felt comfortable in the young adult age group. I never thought I would, but I did work in a middle school/high school building, so I was around high schoolers a lot. Then my daughter was born and she was reading picture books all the time. She’d say, “Mom, I want to read a story about this”—but I didn’t know of any books like that, so I just started writing them myself.

After that I thought, “Why don’t I try to sell it?” Next thing I knew I sold one, and I have four more under contract.

Wow. You’re brave.

Actually, I really like putting myself outside my comfort zone and seeing what I can do. You don’t really know what’s going to work for you until you try it. I always tell people, “Write out of your comfort zone and see what you can do.”

Speaking of your comfort zone, do you mostly write female characters, or do you ever write male characters? Do you venture into different voices?

My middle-grade series is told from a male point of view, and all of my YA so far feature a female point of view. My agent’s trying to talk me into doing a dual point of view (which I’m a little leery to try), but knowing me I’ll end up doing it.

You totally should! Those are some of the best YA books out there—stories told from male and female points of view. I just read Under the Never Sky where, as a reader, I feel really comfortable and familiar with the girl’s perspective, but I always looked forward to the guy’s chapters. I kept wondering, “What weird thing is he going to say next?”

Well, in Touch of Death, one of the most complimentary things my agent said to me was that I nailed the male character and accurately portrayed the things that he would say. That’s why she really wants me to do a dual POV for one of my upcoming books.

That’s a huge compliment. I’m looking forward to that one, Kelly.

So, while we’re on the topic of your upcoming books, I’ve noticed you’re pretty hush-hush about the manuscripts you have in the works. You don’t really blog about them specifically. Is there a reason for that? Or does it just not come up to share the concepts or characters you’re writing?

Well, when I first started out blogging a few years ago, I talked about what I was writing a lot more. But once I found my agent she told me, “You have to take everything down before we go on submissions,” so that made me stop talking about what I was doing except for little things, like “I’m writing in this genre” or “I’m this far along on the manuscript.”

I do try to keep the ideas to myself until we get a contract and I’m allowed to talk about it more.

So it’s at your agent’s request, then.

Kelly: The editors at the publishing houses, too. They usually don’t want me saying too much about a manuscript until things are finalized. I am with different publishers so each one is a little different in what they want. For example, SpencerHill will let me do readings for up to one hour, so I’ve already done readings for Touch of Death (even though the book wasn’t even fully edited at that point!).

Well, you’re drumming up excitement for it. That’s great marketing.

While we’re on the topic of your blog… wow, you are a crazy woman. You’re always posting to your blog, commenting on my blog, and generally maintaining an internet presence. However, I do know that you also have a daughter. How do you balance the sheer quantity of writing that you do, and the marketing that you do, with your family life? That just seems like way too much for one woman.

The thing that helps right now is that I only have two jobs: mom and writer. I’m also doing a lot of freelance editing right now, which takes up a lot of my time. But I’m happy with that—I love doing editing, too.

Not having another full-time job on the side gives me so much more time to write. When my daughter was younger and napping twice a day, I’d have about four hours worth of nap during the day when I could write, and then again when she went to bed. She was in pre-K this year so I had three days a week where she wasn’t home all morning when I could just write, and then again in the evening.

Summertime is a little tough for me, but my husband pitches in a lot. He takes my daughter out and gives me time alone in the house when I can write. I find time anywhere and everywhere I can.

I try to do my social media stuff in the morning. I’m usually the first one up and the last one to bed. I’m totally guilty of sneaking in blog comments while we’re eating dinner.

Sounds like you have a smart phone that you hide under the table.

Actually, no, I don’t, but I have two laptops in the house, so it doesn’t matter whether I’m in my actual writing space or just sitting on the couch pretending to watch TV.

And you’ll just have your laptop out and open? Ha ha!

My friends laugh at me because they’ll send me messages and I’ll respond in, like, two seconds because my computer is always on.

Attached to it at the hip!

Well, I guess that takes us to the big question: How are you so darn prolific? It just blows my mind to see you posting this “I’m almost done with this manuscript that I just started!” stuff on your blog. Is there some secret potion you take that makes you write like a madwoman?

To be honest, I wasn’t always like this. It used to take me months and months to write a book. I used to look at people who did NaNoWriMo and think, “How on Earth did you write a book in a month?”

It all started with Touch of Death, when I pitched the idea to my agent, she said, “I know three editors who are going to want this,” and she pitched it to them before I’d even written a single word.

Whoa, so much pressure!

Yeah, right? So she kept emailing me and calling me, asking, “How are you doing? How far along are you?” I ended up writing it in fourteen days.

And, honestly, the story came out so much better when I wrote it that quickly. I didn’t have time for me to think; it was all the characters and their story. I was just getting it down. It flowed so much better that I write all of my books that way now. I try to make sure I have a two week period where I can just focus on my book and not do anything else. I’ll just write for hours at a time without stopping.

So you must go into it with a pretty well-fleshed-out outline?

I had twenty-four pages of notes for Touch of Death before I started writing it. My agent laughed at me. She thought I was completely crazy. I had the entire story planned out so well in my head that when I sat down to write it, it just all came out. I put a lot of time into it up-front with my planning so I can write that quickly. Usually I don’t even touch the planning while I’m writing, it’s just there in case I ever get into a situation where my fingers stop moving across the keys and I think, “What am I going to write next?” Then the planning work I did is there to back me up.

That’s a great idea. How many words per minute do you write? Have you ever taken one of those Mavis Beacon typing tests?

Hmm… No, I haven’t, not since high school when we were forced to take typing. I want to say I got somewhere close to eighty, maybe? I don’t know. But my record for words in a single day is 15,000. That’s the best I’ve ever done.

OK, you have officially kicked my butt.

My agent puts me to shame. She wrote a book in four days once.

WHAT? Who does that?

I don’t know. When she told me she did that I was writing Touch of Death, and I just kept telling myself, “If she can do that, I can write this in two weeks.”

That would be the ultimate writing competition, like NaNoWriMo—except it would be, like, “NaNoWriWe”?

I keep hearing about this new 17-day challenge that’s going around, where you have to write a whole first draft in 17 days.

I’m totally going to do that.

Well, those are all the questions I had already planned to ask you. Your first book is coming out next January, and your second one that summer. Is your publisher waiting a year to release the third one after that?

The third one is not contracted yet. SpencerHill contracted me for the first two, so hopefully the third one will get contracted too. If the first one sells well enough they’ll probably say, “Yes, we want it.” It is already written, I just have to go back and revise it now. I’ve just been waiting for the second book to be revised so I don’t get too far ahead of myself, in case changes are made. Book two is in revisions right now, so I think I’ll be revising the third one this summer.

So why are you working with multiple publishers for your YA and middle-grade book series?

SpencerHill Press does publish some middle-grade, but my middle-grade is actually with Month9Books. They lowered the age of my characters a little bit, and they’re taking my books and making them shorter—which is going to be fun for me because then I can write them really quickly!

What’s the average length of those?

These are early chapter books, so they’ll be somewhere between 15,000 and 20,000 words each.

That’s short!

Yeah. When I saw that, I thought to myself, “Well, my record is 15,000 words in a day, soooo…”

That is insane. If you could write a single one of those books in a day… whoa. [Note: I couldn’t even express how mind-blown I was by that thought.]

I think it’s going to be challenging to make it lower in age level. It’ll be tricky for me to go from YA to that.

Well, you’ll have hit every major age group at that point. Filled up your catalog. Now when do you start writing adult books?

You know, I haven’t even thought about that. I’ve written one adult short story, but I don’t do much writing in that genre. I do edit a lot of it, though, for other people, but other than my clients, I haven’t read an adult book a long time. I stick to middle-grade and young adult. I guess I never grew up.

I know what you mean.

Well, it sounds like you know what you like to write and you’re good at it, so I’m looking forward to your first YA book coming out. Thanks for spending the time with us today, Kelly.

Of course! [That girl is so gracious.]

]]> http://prolificnovelista.com/2012/interview-with-kelly-hashway/feed/ 5 http://prolificnovelista.com/2012/snow-white-and-the-huntsman-review/ http://prolificnovelista.com/2012/snow-white-and-the-huntsman-review/#comments Sun, 03 Jun 2012 06:30:09 +0000 Kiersi http://prolificnovelista.com/?p=1274

This movie gets: ♥♥♥ out of 5

Rarely do I cough up the cash to see a movie in the big theater–I’m simply too spoiled by the $3 local haunts, where you can score cheap pizza and a beverage to go along with your flick, to bother.

Two things convinced me to drop the buck for Snow White and the Huntsman: a crush on Chris Hemsworth the size of our national debt, and a tiny spark of hope that Kristen Stewart could still act after the Twilight movies seemed to have sucked out her soul.

Perhaps Charlize Theron’s immortal Queen character had already gotten to her before filming started.

In the crafting of the brilliant visual artwork of Snow White, the story and screenplay were, unfortunately, left undeveloped. I could go on and on about the textures, the color themes, the keen costumes, the visual metaphors–but does any of that stuff really matter when the dialogue falls flat? When most of the main characters’ lines sound rehearsed, forced, and joyless?

It’s as if the actors had no fun at all making this movie.

Like most other Grimm stories, the tale of Snow White is rather, erm, grim. The dreadful events that lead up to the plot of Snow White are played out well: a queen dies, leaving behind a grieving king and his beautiful daughter, Snow White. The king remarries to a gorgeous stranger (played by Theron), who murders him on their wedding night and then lets in an army that takes over and crowns her the new Queen.

Introduce Kristen Stewart as the now grown-up Snow White: starved, lonely, and imprisoned in a cold, high tower. Stewart masters this part of her role. She is a Cinderella type, charming and still full of innocent spirit despite her circumstances; unfortunately, it wears off, and by the time she’s escaped the tower and made it to the aptly-named Dark Woods, she’s about as dry and dark as her backdrop. I can’t decide if the problem’s in the script, Rupert Sanders’s lackluster direction, or Stewart’s inability to portray any emotion except “I just stuck a lime wedge in my mouth,” but something was missing. That lime-wedge expression was on her face all through the Twilight movies. At the time, I thought Stewart had simply grown bored with her role as Bella and didn’t know what else to do with her eyebrows and lips. Maybe they’re just stuck that way now.

As the premise goes, Snow White is supposed to be some embodiment of hope. Halfway through the movie, a white stag with unnaturally spiderweb-like antlers appears, (like some kind of Princess Mononoke Lite) and after an awkward and symbolic pat on the nose, a dwarf declares that Stewart is “the one.” How he knows this is anyone’s guess, or even what ”the one” is supposed to mean, but I think we can interpret that Snow White is going to save everyone. And yet, never once does she act even remotely like a ray of hope. Okay, so she’s charming, sweet Cinderella when she’s locked up in that dark tower, but she gets out in the sun for the first time in ten years and suddenly, not even the handsome Chris Hemsworth can bring a smile to her face.

How does this whole falling in love thing happen?

To try to convince me of the “love story” thing, the writers of Snow White threw in an aristocratic-looking character named William (played by barely-pubescent Sam Claflin), the son of some duke who is important. I imagine the goal was to generate drama with love triangle intrigue, but with a pouty (yet, still handsome) Huntsman on one side and a courtesan with scrub tree facial hair on the other, I just didn’t feel torn. Honestly, without all the gorgeous camerawork and top-notch effects, Snow White didn’t have much of an emotional draw.

The real star of the show is Theron’s Ravenna, the queen who usurps Snow White’s crown. She gets all the visuals, all the stunning effects, and does a really excellent wild-eyed mad sorceress thing. Unfortunately, the Queen receives about the same treatment as Snow White: just when I thought she was about to get interesting, to have a little depth to her character, she flattened. Or maybe Sanders flattened her. Who knows.

Though, mad props to her for slithering out of a pile of bird gore and feathers with an awesome costume on. Even in the direst of circumstances, that woman never forgets to conjure up a giant feather collar or a dangly chain headdress thing.

There were definitely some great things about this movie, and they make it worth seeing. The dwarves are, though a bit trite, still charming and their costumes are a nice nod to the Disney classic–not to mention some star appearances by Nick Frost of Hot Fuzz fame and Bob Hoskins, a.k.a. “Smee.” The fairy landscape (and the character designs in it) gave me a childish joy to behold. But it just seemed that even in this sparkly nice world, surrounded by cute animals and totally adorable flying mushrooms, there was no spark at all in Snow White or her Huntsman, as much as I wanted it. I wanted so badly to love Hemsworth’s battle-hardened drunkard, but the dialogue he’d been given was too weak for any charm to shine through.

Now, there is an epic battle, and it’s almost worth the price I paid to see this movie. I think Stewart works much better as a Joan of Arc-type character than a Snow White, especially with her hair pulled back like that and wearing some flashy armor. Of course, it’s Hollywood’s usual over-the-top epic-ness, which works more as a style (like film noir is a style) than good filmmaking. I’ve gotten comfortable with that over the years and I simply brush it off like that oh-so-perfect first kiss cliché.

As with most modern retellings of classic fairytales, there are some clichés to be expected; and if you can set aside the less-than-lustrous dialogue and a couple of plot holes, you’ll enjoy the action and the seriously fabulous special effects.

]]> http://prolificnovelista.com/2012/snow-white-and-the-huntsman-review/feed/ 8 http://prolificnovelista.com/2012/a-lesson-for-all-authors/ http://prolificnovelista.com/2012/a-lesson-for-all-authors/#comments Fri, 01 Jun 2012 21:12:47 +0000 Kiersi http://prolificnovelista.com/?p=1260

Kiera Cass's agent Elana Roth, calling a reviewer of Cass's book a "bitch" on Twitter

As a reviewer, I’ve experienced an author’s wrath first-hand. In my particular case, my negative book review spectacle was more fueled by said author’s rabid pack of fans than by the author herself–later incendiary comments on Goodreads by someone named “Marilyn” even accused all of us who wrote negative reviews about the book of “colluding to ruin this good woman’s reputation.”

Regardless of that hilariously absurd allegation, the whole situation got me to thinking in broader terms about the blogosphere and the ramifications of its naturally low barrier to entry. To set up a blog these days, all you need to do is visit a site like wordpress.com or Blogger and create an account. Pick a theme, add some content, and you’re up and ready to post some book reviews. Social media networks such as Goodreads lower the barrier even further, so anyone with a computer can sign on and review a book.

By the same token, authors use these platforms to great success. Kiera Cass (who I will talk about more in a moment) keeps an online journal where she talks about book releases, signings, and more. I recently added a book to my Goodreads’ “to read” list after reading a fabulous blog post by that book’s author. I’ve built relationships with other debut YA authors on Twitter over things like cover reveals and critique partners. Social media–including my Twitter, my Facebook, and my blog–have all done a lot of my marketing for me, because I simply enjoy using these mediums to talk about my passion. (Which means I am always working, and by the same token, never working.)

My friend Abi over at A Hunger to Learn pointed me to a much larger-scale debacle than my indie-pub incident. This controversy stars Kiera Cass, New York Times best-selling author of The Selection (to which I gave a panning review here), and a high-profile blogger-slash-book reviewer who goes by Wendy Darling.

So Wendy writes this review of The Selection. She gives it one star, and cites some very valid reasons she didn’t like the book. Even though she’s a little harsher on The Selection than I was, I think she’s right in a lot of ways about the quality of writing, the clichés, and some other things.

Then the bomb drops: Kiera Cass’s agent, Elana Roth, calls Wendy a bitch. I am not even joking around here. A professional–not an author, a breed of “professional” known pretty well for being slightly insane and prone to outbursts, but an actual literary agent–stoops to grade school name-calling because someone didn’t like her client’s book.

Holy. Fucking. Cow. (Read Wendy’s full disclosure on her blog about the incident here.)

Does this actually, really happen in the grown-up world? I flash to an impromptu high school reunion I went to last night and the petty, trite things we did to each other back in those days, when we were still 90% idiot instead of the average adult’s 20 or 25% idiot (caused by some normalization of hormones).

Not to mention that, at the same time as this name-calling action on Twitter, Wendy is being bombarded on Goodreads and her Midnight Garden blog with personal attacks by some “Anonymous.” Then shit gets truly, up-and-down-are-reversed real when said “Anonymous” tries to distribute her and her husband’s personal information. Even Publisher’s Weekly gets involved by doing a piece on the whole ordeal called, “Should Agents and Authors Weigh In on Citizen Reviews?”

At that point, Wendy’s fellow readers raise their heads, look around and go, “What the hell? This isn’t right.” Even readers that hadn’t read the book have far less respect for Cass after her and her agent’s behavior, and are questioning even picking up the book (regardless of the review). We wonder if one of us ever criticizes a book, if we’ll get personally attacked and/or sabotaged by the author that wrote it. It’s happened before the Selection debacle: a negative reviewer of Julie Cross’s Tempest was slandered ad nauseum by Cross’s agent and fellow authors.

Kind of a scary thought.

To make it worse, agents and authors are conversing openly about how to pad higher-star reviews with likes by organizing fans and, sometimes, fake accounts on sites like Amazon or Goodreads. It’s one thing to use the system as it exists–with “like” or “helpful” functionality, so more trusted or prestigious reviews appear higher on the list than others–and it’s a completely different thing to actually cheat it for your own benefit. Openly.

I’m going to just say it: I don’t like this trend. As writers and authors, young adult-specific or not, we are professionals–not Charles Bukowski. If you’ve ever done a peer critique, or even just asked a friend to look over a few paragraphs for consistency, you know how to take negative opinions about your work. You use them to make yourself better. You learn from them.

And you never respond by attacking the person who critiqued you. In peer critique–that person spent the time to look over your work and give honest feedback on how to make it better. In the publishing world–that person paid good money for your book, and did their best to help other readers make educated choices about what they spend their time reading.

Come on, now. This is grown-up land.

I’d highly recommend this article by Beth Revis (via my friend Eddy) called “How to Respond to Negative Reviews.” In here is a lesson that all authors–published or unpublished–should take to heart.

When you publish a book, you indicate that you want people to read your book;  you put it out there for people you do not know to pick it up and read it. It’s a non-verbal agreement.

The same is true for social media. If you want to be a part of the big experiment–to be active on Twitter, to interact with your readers, to participate in Goodreads–you have to accept at some point that someone isn’t going to like your work. Beth points out in her article (linked above) that many great works of fiction that we consider classics–Maurice Sendak’s Where the Wild Things Are, Hamlet, even Harry Potter–have received one-star ratings on Goodreads that number in the thousands.

So, yes. Someone out there won’t like your work; but that’s no excuse for alienating your readers. Be the bigger man or woman. Turn your cheek. A lesson not just for authors, but anyone in a professional industry, to take to heart.

And please, future agent–please don’t ever do to me what Elana Roth did to Kiera Cass. I bet she was pissed when this thing blew up in her face.

]]> http://prolificnovelista.com/2012/a-lesson-for-all-authors/feed/ 12 http://prolificnovelista.com/2012/the-5-rules-of-building-believable-mythology/ http://prolificnovelista.com/2012/the-5-rules-of-building-believable-mythology/#comments Fri, 01 Jun 2012 00:37:07 +0000 Kiersi http://prolificnovelista.com/?p=1255 Creating mythology has been a bit of a hobby of mine over the last few years, perhaps even longer than that (I blocked out most of my early writing career, as it went approximately nowhere). Particularly since the revival of paranormal fiction, and this new “revised mythology” fad (the Percy Jackson books, for example), the flames of original mythology have also been ignited.

I decided to write this post after honing some world-building in my upcoming novel, The Aeronauts, and on the coat-tails of an interview I did with the delightful and lovely Kelly Hashway. We talked about her January 2013 novel, Touch of Death, which is based on some interesting Greek mythology of its own, completely separate from the Riordan cloud.

After reading a couple myths and working on one of my own today, I asked: What makes good mythology? Is there some formula? Does it always have to drawn on existing legends and history, or can it be born completely new?

I think the answer is: both. But there are some important things to keep in mind when developing mythology, whether it is the completely original history of a fictional world, or a new spin on an old tale. I have done my best to be clear and concise in these five suggestions, and of course, this is all my own opinion. Perhaps you will find some wisdom.

1. Tone of voice.

If you think about traditional Western theology (which is what I will focus on, as it is my area of greatest experience, though there are many similarities between say, Western and Chinese mythology), much of it is told in a particular tone of voice. A sort of Homeric, epic voice, that generalizes in some places–mainly sparing detailed descriptions of things, places, actions–and focuses more on the feelings and actions of the characters participating in the story. Here’s an example from the story of Ophiuchus, a lesser-known tale Kelly will talk about in the interview I’m posting tomorrow. Check out the following passage, where Zeus is angry at Asclepius for his transgression against Hades:

“Zeus struck down Asclepius with a thunderbolt.”

Bam. Thunderbolt. Dead. No talk about how it happened, or how his dead body looked as it fell, charred, to the ground. Just Zeus, thunderbolt, dead.

2. Greater thematic elements.

While mythology is sometimes directionless, having many twists and turns in the story, in the end there is usually some take-away. Believable fictional mythology serves a greater purpose in the story where it is being told, augmenting whatever thematic and plot elements that have already been established. For example, betrayal is a good (and common) theme in mythology, where one party betrays another party for a selfish goal, and is then hurt/killed/rebuked.

It’s okay to over-simplify a theme in a legend or myth–that’s sort of the point. Your greater story is where the large-scale version of the theme unfolds; your myth is a sort of microcosm, a background story that lays down some framework for your world-building. Other themes that I’ve found commonly appear in mythology are:

-Family disharmony, familial murder

-An action of extreme emotion that results in regret

-Lust and the negative effects of lust

-Mortal vs. immortal, and how beings sometimes travel between the two

3. Keep it short.

Remember in #1, where I mentioned the tone of voice that often generalizes and skips over details? Keep that in mind as you develop your mythology. Myths are short. They can be remembered easily and communicated verbally over the fire. The story is the most important part, and it shouldn’t be so long and twisting that the bard reciting it gets lost or confused. Similarly, it should be long enough to be entertaining, and have enough plot and twist to keep readers and listeners interested.

4. And that whole “epic” part?

The ramifications of your mythology should be huge. Try to explain the world with your myth, whether it’s this world or one you’ve invented. Create origin stories, even if they are totally bogus, that impact how individuals in your story perceive their universe. Going back to thematic elements, incorporate the grander themes in your story into your myths.

Think big. Don’t be afraid to make sweeping generalizations. Myths in the Bible are a great source of inspiration for creating mythology, where all of the human race is often boiled down to a handful of individuals (think Adam and Eve). Resting the fate of the world in the hands of a few is a good tactic in developing a legend, and gives that grand scale, “epicness” to your story.

5. Things can happen that don’t really happen.

This sounds obvious, but it’s true. Forsake all the rules you know about the world, and create new ones. Planets can’t talk. Who cares? Neither, is it likely, that Zeus or Athena existed, but they make for great stories. Horses can’t fly. Men can’t craft thunderbolts with a hammer and anvil. Many of our myths originate in ignorance: before we knew that the sun was a great ball of gas burning millions of miles away (thanks, Pumbaa), we made up stories to explain what it was, and how it had gotten up there in the sky. Apollo pulled it around on a chariot. The Egyptian god Ra was the sun, or sometimes it was merely a part of him, like his eye.

Whatever world it is that you’re building, try to rewind it to a time in history when things weren’t explained, when people weren’t as sophisticated as they are in the present. How could these phenomena in their daily lives have come to exist? Think the Just So Stories by Rudyard Kipling, where Kipling pretends to explain things like How the Leopard Got His Spots in a traditional African tone.

In the end, remember that you want your mythology to say something, that otherwise couldn’t be said in narration. Made-up legends (or even modified ones) should fill a hole that couldn’t be filled by other means. They are a good way to show culture and how it has developed, or been influenced, by these verbal stories. Look to existing myths and legends for inspiration, and see how they have filtered down through the ages to appear in popular culture, thousands of years later.

]]> http://prolificnovelista.com/2012/the-5-rules-of-building-believable-mythology/feed/ 2 http://prolificnovelista.com/2012/the-power-of-arbitrary-deadlines/ http://prolificnovelista.com/2012/the-power-of-arbitrary-deadlines/#comments Wed, 30 May 2012 16:38:44 +0000 Kiersi http://prolificnovelista.com/?p=1245

I'm getting back into making 3D art in Photoshop. Like I need more distractions right now.

Arbitrary deadlines are, in all likelihood, the only way I ever get anything done.

I know it sounds crazy, but it’s true. If you’ve ever participated in NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month), you’re probably familiar with the power of an arbitrary deadline. There’s no monetary reward for finishing on time, but there is a subconscious reward: I did it! I got it done! And in only one month!

I apply the same principle to my daily writing, my weekly writing, and occasionally, even to a particular novel as a whole. As an example, many of you know I’ve been working on a novel called The Aeronauts, a sort of Waterworld-meets-steampunk YA fantasy. Some time ago, I told myself I wouldn’t let it drag on for more than four months; once I reached that point, I could safely say I’d lost the thread of the novel and it was time to wrap it up.

Well, we’re coming to the end of May and, of course, the end of my first arbitrary deadline. It came so fast and so suddenly (what with traveling all spring-long) that I was completely unprepared for it.

In order to tackle this challenge, I’ve made myself another sort of arbitrary deadline: Finish the book by the end of the week. Nose-to-the-grindstone style, forsaking all other obligations, I will finish this thing. Word count hovers at somewhere around 97,000, which, as anyone in the YA industry will be happy to tell me, is far too long for a YA book. OH WELL. Too bad, so sad. And there’s still about 15,000 more to go before the story finally wraps up. That’s epic fantasy for you.

I’ve made great progress so far. Yesterday I put down somewhere around 5,000 words–and boy, did I forget how producing a lot of quantity in a single day can produce a high-quality piece of work! There’s some kind of unity I find in writing whole sequences all at once, some kind of power in the emotions and the scene transitions that I might otherwise miss.

I forgot how much I loved hard, arbitrary deadlines. A few years ago, when I was writing the second book in The Devil’s Throne series, I had a friend who was waiting (im)patiently for the sequel to be finished so she could read it. There was some kind of event at the end of the summer–a trip, maybe–and I’d agreed to have the book ready in time.

I had a four-day weekend, and over the course of that weekend I churned out the last 20,000 words of the novel. It was a total blast, I worked hard but still had time to party, and that last section of the novel was better than anything I’d written yet to date.

Accomplishing anything large-scale is about playing the subconscious game with yourself. Knowing the things that make you tick (for me, it’s deadlines) and utilizing those holes in the armor to get something done. As an individual I respond well to certain kinds of stress, to knowing that the finish line is imminent and I need to be ready for it.

Even if there’s no punishment for not completing a novel in time for an arbitrary deadline, there is a sense of failure, that I wish to avoid. It’s one thing to say to a boss, “Sorry, I need a few more days.”

It’s quite another to have to say that to yourself. That would be the ultimate disappointment.

]]> http://prolificnovelista.com/2012/the-power-of-arbitrary-deadlines/feed/ 3 http://prolificnovelista.com/2012/days-of-blood-and-starlight-cover-reveal/ http://prolificnovelista.com/2012/days-of-blood-and-starlight-cover-reveal/#comments Fri, 25 May 2012 16:50:23 +0000 Kiersi http://prolificnovelista.com/?p=1236 Okay, normally I don’t get into this kind of thing, but Laini Taylor’s Daughter of Smoke and Bone really hit me where it hurts when I picked it up a few weeks ago. (Read one of my rare five-heart reviews here.) Ever since Taylor’s brilliant prose, unstoppable storytelling style and simply beautiful concept knocked me off my feet, I’ve been waiting with a pounding heart for any information about the sequel, Days of Blood and Starlight, to emerge.

Well, my bookish prayers have been answered, and Entertainment Weekly dropped a cover reveal today.

If that doesn’t get you excited for the Daughter sequel, I don’t know what will. And there’s probably something wrong with you.

]]> http://prolificnovelista.com/2012/days-of-blood-and-starlight-cover-reveal/feed/ 3 http://prolificnovelista.com/2012/learning-to-fly/ http://prolificnovelista.com/2012/learning-to-fly/#comments Tue, 22 May 2012 20:22:42 +0000 Kiersi http://prolificnovelista.com/?p=1212

Photo of American Air Force Pilot by juffrouwjo, Flickr (click for link)

My YA fantasy novel, The Aeronauts, is maybe-sort-of-finally reaching its finale. Soon. So, so, so soon. I hope. I’m rounding on 90,000 words now (longer than the average YA) and I think it’ll be another 15,000 at least before everything is said and done–probably one more month of work. Friends tell me that since it’s a fantasy, long is okay. Well, it better be!

Before anything else, I have to say this about The Aeronauts and its protagonist, Maria Gomez: it has been a hell of a fun ride so far. This book is such a blast to write that if it’s even a quarter as fun to read, I think it’ll go over well with teenage audiences.

Anyway, one thing that has really kept me going through this epic fantasy novel has been Maria’s sense of constant discovery. Everything in this world is new. Maria is, frankly, the best kind of person to suffer this crazy thing (being basically teleported to a strange world), because she embraces the madness instead of running away from it. She really relishes the freedom it gives her–both freedom from the things she left behind on Earth (not so pleasant), and the freedom of amazing new things she’s found in the world of the Aeronauts.

One of those new freedoms is flying. I personally have never had fantasies about flying (except maybe on the back of a dragon, that is a strangely recurring dream of mine), but something about it calls to a place deep in Maria’s heart. Since I’ve been so wrapped up in this book I haven’t had time to blog as much as I’d like, I thought I could instead bring you all in to the world that’s captured my heart and show you what I’m working on.

Specifically, how Maria learned to fly.

---

The Aeronauts

an excerpt

“Wait, wait. You’re really going to let me fly? Today?”

Longfoot shrugged. “Sure. Now is as good of a time as any without the Captain around to see us. The longer I can keep from getting demoted, the better.” He spit, but he had a mischievous look in his eye. He knew he was being perfectly complicit in her disobedience—and he liked it. “You’re going to fly Poile’s ship. It’s the only one left that’s still in working condition.” He eyed his own yellow-striped plane. There was still a hole in the floor from their flight in the storm.

Maria pressed her helmet down over her hair and Longfoot yanked the chin strap tight. The goggles followed, turning her vision foggy and narrow.

“They’ll save your life,” said Longfoot, as if sensing her discomfort.

“Didn’t save Poile’s life.”

The lieutenant tossed her a heavy jacket, a faded version of his green and white one. “Don’t take a cannon to the chest and you’ll be fine.”

First he showed her how to open and close the airship’s main hatch. Inside, he pointed out two other sections of the wooden body that would open and allow escape if enough pressure was applied. Not that she’d survive the fall to the sea if she did climb out, she thought.

“Get in,” he told her, ushering her up to the cockpit. The airship hummed under her feet, like it was a living, breathing organism. Longfoot crouched over the seat so he could point out each lever and switch on the control panel.

“This controls the pitch,” he said, gesturing to a lever in the center of the panel, between Maria’s knees. She’d seen him use this one the most.

“Pitch?”

“Right. Pitch, yaw, and roll. Pitch is basically up and down, but reversed. Here.” He pulled the lever down towards her. “This would make the nose tilt upward.” He pushed the lever back up. “This would send you into a dive.”

Once she’d assimilated this information and moved the lever over the rails a few times, Longfoot moved on to a pair of handles in the center of the panel.

“This controls your yaw. Side to side. If you want to look right,” he tilted the handlebars so his left hand was on top, “you turn it like this. Same for left. If you want to roll, just pull towards you as you change the yaw.” He turned to the right and the left handle came towards him. The ship rocked in its bay, the rudder flailing. “Got it?”

“I think so.” Maria took the handlebars in her palms and tested the resistance. The machinery seemed so rudimentary compared to, say, her mom’s Honda, but it was simple and efficient—something from a long bygone era in Earth’s history. “Pitch, roll, and yaw,” she said, tapping the corresponding controls.

“Good. Now. Emergency equipment.” Longfoot showed her a familiar pull handle to the right of the panel, under the swell in the wood. “In case of a water landing, this deploys the landing gear.”

“Oh, right. The skis.”

“Skis?”

“Nevermind.” She giggled. Maybe that would be her contribution to the technological revolution happening on this strange, backward world.

Longfoot went on. “This controls your tail.” He flipped a switch. The ship groaned as the tail fin angled down. “Raise it to get more lift, but it will slow you down. Lower it to go faster, like in a dive.”

He showed her a half-dozen other controls, and that wasn’t even all of them. The pedals weren’t used often, just to make sudden changes in the amount of drag held by the wing sails.

When the basic overview was over an hour after they’d started, Longfoot ushered her down from the cockpit. He showed her how to unbuckle the straps holding the ship down.

“I’m going to fly first,” he told her. “Watch what I do. I’ll try to teach as we go.”

After opening the hangar door, Longfoot strapped her into the rear seat, finished releasing the ship, and hopped into the pilot’s chair. He lowered the tail and flattened the wings. Cranking the pitch lever down, an invisible thermal seemed to pick them up, and with slow grace the airship floated out the hangar door and into the sky.

Maria swallowed a gasp. Fildha was soaked in midday sun, nothing like the blanket of gray fog coating the city the day before. The castle stood to the southeast like a cloaked sentry, a mirrored lake curling to its side just beyond. The mountains to the west cast a jagged shadow over the stone houses and paddocks that dared to inch their way up the foothills.

She remembered she was supposed to be learning how to fly, and turned her attention back to Longfoot’s hands as they flew over the controls. Movements that had once struck her as senseless made obvious sense now: rotating the sails like a hog over a fire to catch the wind, turning the handles to angle away from the mountainside, cranking the central lever down to gain some altitude. Maria nodded in appreciation. Longfoot wasn’t a bad teacher.

The ship swooped down into the shadow of the dock, only to curve back up again so the sky filled the windshield. Maria’s heart pounded the inside of her chest with exhilaration.

“Technique is only a small part of piloting an airship,” Longfoot shouted to her over the whistle of air rushing through the wood slats. “Wind is rarely predictable. You have to listen to it. Feel it. And respond appropriately.” A column of air surged up beneath them, sending the tiny airship rocketing upward with a jerk. Longfoot rolled the plane to the left and they soared past The Rebel Heart. Below, men on deck waved and shouted at them.

Longfoot let a current of strong wind pull them south, towards the sea. It felt like two strong hands carrying the tiny airship—no more than a paper plane—along for the ride. The lieutenant performed simple maneuvers and showed her how they were accomplished: rolling to avoid enemy fire, making good use of lulls in windspeed to soar, slowing down for close-in handling, which he reminded her she’d be using for take-offs and landings.

They traveled upward where the air grew thin and circled the massive peak that overlooked Fildha. Maria had a harder time feeling the wind up here, but it was still there, like a faintly throbbing heartbeat. She began to notice undulations in the wind’s force—strong, weak, and strong again, each shift with a different character. Like ripples in water, she thought. How very zen.

Longfoot glided back down to the dock and Maria decided she liked gliding the best. The hum of the Haverite seemed to slow down, the sound reminding her of a cat’s leisurely purr, as they coasted.

“Be careful not to come in too fast or too slow for a landing,” said Longfoot, gesturing to the controls. He punched the sails, but not hard, cutting their speed. “Turn down your velocity gradually, so you don’t just flounder and lose your momentum. You won’t fall out of the sky, but getting started again once you’ve stopped is difficult at best.”

The nose of the airship dipped and they began to gain speed again. Maria’s heart sprang into her gullet, hiding just behind her tongue as if braced for impact. The Rebel Heart appeared, a slash of brown against the gray landscape. It bloomed before them, but Longfoot dove to the port side, raising the tail to reduce speed. He cranked the nose up and the hangar door appeared, a black square etched in the Heart’s smooth belly.

“The key is not to fly directly into the hangar,” said Longfoot. He turned the handles so the airship was positioned parallel to the Heart. “You’re going to have to turn around when you get inside, so it’s best if you can glide backward into your ship bay.”

“Like parallel parking,” said Maria.

“What?” Longfoot asked over the roar of the wind ricocheting off The Rebel Heart’s massive hull.

“Nothing.” She watched his expert fingers flip a switch to activate rapid slow-down, and he rolled the ship sideways by tilting the handlebars. It glided right into the hangar deck and pivoted at the same time so the tail drifted easily into the bay.

Then they were out and the airship with the white stripe was buckled down, unharmed. It took Maria a few moments to get her breath back.

Longfoot peeled back his goggles. “Do you have any questions?”

She shook her head. “Not yet.” Not removing her own goggles, Maria stood next to the cockpit and leaned against the side of the hatch. She retraced all the switches and levers on the control panel, reminding herself what each one did.

Longfoot was taking off his helmet when Maria turned to him and said, “I’m ready.”

“Ready? For what? It’s lunchtime.”

“No.” Maria shook her head. “While it’s fresh. I want to try.”

“You can’t just try, Maria. Try, and we die. Meat against mountain. You must do.”

She grinned. “How very Yoda of you.” Longfoot opened his mouth to ask what she meant, so she raised a hand and shook her head. “Nevermind. But please, let me fly once, and then you can have the rest of the day off from me.”

He grimaced. This was the part he’d been dreading, she could tell. Putting his life in her totally incapable hands.

Suddenly, Maria didn’t feel so incapable.

“I have to do this,” she said to him.

“Why?” The question asked for more than just what she’d already told him—about feeling helpful, being useful. He knew there was more.

Maria ran one hand over her temple, as if she had a headache. This would make her sound crazy, she knew, but Longfoot had tolerated her craziness thus far.

“Alba,” she said. “Colonel Alba told me in a dream that I had to fly. And Poile, too.”

Longfoot gaped at her. “Poile?” he asked.

“Yeah. Tall, medium skin, shaved head?” She waved a hand over her hair. “Gray eyes, thick eyebrows? High cheekbones?”

Seconds passed as Longfoot stood staring at her, saying nothing. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and opened them again.

“That’s Poile, all right,” he said, amidst a sharp intake of breath. “And he told you to learn how to fly an airship?”

Maria shook her head. “He just told me, ‘fly.’ Over and over again. He’s been in my dreams a few times since I first saw the Aeronauts doing training exercises.” Her voice grew smaller. “Since Alba died… he’s been in them, too. Saying the same thing.”

A manic giggle erupted from Longfoot’s mouth, and he quickly covered it. They exchanged a look.

“I’ve just never heard anything like it,” he said, and had the courtesy to blush at his outburst. “You never met Poile. So how could you know what he looks like?”

Maria frowned. “Exactly.”

Longfoot leaned back, ran a hand through his hair in frustration, and brought it down to rest in a fist on the side of Poile’s ship.

“Well, if Poile said it, I guess we’d better teach you how to fly. I just hope you don’t end up the same way he did.”

“Me too.”

 —

“All right, remember: tail, wings. You need to pick up what little wind is available to you inside the hangar.”

Maria nodded, absorbing each word like a sponge, adrenaline spiking through her arteries. The harness in the pilot’s seat was far more comfortable than the one in the rear seat, she thought with an indulgent smirk.

The airship was floating, no longer buckled to the floor, and they were drifting up and towards the far port-side wall. Maria flipped a switch to lay the wings flat and cranked the yaw so the airship drifted back to the center of the hangar deck, nose aimed at the sky. Already she felt the wind outside leaking into the hangar in lazy bursts, coiling up under the ship with anticipation.

They drifted forward, not as quickly as when Longfoot was piloting, but with enough momentum that the airship eventually made its way out the hangar door.

The nose angled down and they began to dive.

“Pitch! Pitch!” Longfoot was shouting, and it distracted her. Maria reached for the control stick and pushed it down, hard. The nose was flung upward, wrenching at the sails, causing the ship to lose equilibrium. “Crank the sails! Give it some juice!”

“Shut up!” Maria shouted. She couldn’t focus with him yelling in her ear like that. Instead of reaching for the switch to rotate the sails like Longfoot instructed, she tilted the yaw away from the looming mountainside and executed a sideways roll.

It had the same effect. Wind filled the sails and launched the ship upwards, but at a better angle now that she had tipped them almost perpendicular to the ground. They roared past The Rebel Heart so the hulking ship became a blur in the port window.

Maria exhaled a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding as blue sky unfolded before them. She lowered the pitch, flattened the sails, and the airship leveled out. Air flowed over the nose, the body, the wings, like an invisible sheath—she could feel it outside her body as well as in, running through her blood. She imagined she could close her eyes and see it moving all around them.

“How was that?”

She glanced over the seat. Longfoot’s eyes were unfocused, confused. It took him a second to register her.

“Watch where you’re going,” he said, but it was half-hearted. The airship crested a column of hot air and Maria adjusted the tail, giving them some lift. “It was good, Maria. Actually, it was really good. Great, even.”

A warm sensation bloomed in her chest.

“Great?” she asked.

“You’re a natural.” He inhaled sharply. “I was sure we were going to die.”

Maria laughed. “Every baby bird has to fly sometime,” she said, angling the nose down by a fraction, and rotating the sails to glide.

“What?”

“Nevermind.”

Maria soared across the countryside, seeking out thermals for coasting and thin air for practicing her dives. Each time she dropped the pitch and began to plummet, she heard Longfoot gasp with fear behind her, and she grinned. She loved being able to move so freely, to manipulate all three dimensions this way. The wind coursed through her, a heartbeat all its own that pounded in unison alongside hers. The ship was a shell, an extension of her body, its wings her arms and its rudders her fingers and toes.

Nothing had ever gotten her soul bleating with pure delight like flying, not even riding on the back of Dante’s motorcycle—before he’d wrecked it. Flying was magic. Unadulterated, blissful magic.

Maria felt the gust coming, like a sixth sense of radar pinging in the back of her skull. She punched the sails to catch it and Poile’s airship burst forward, scattering a cloud into creamy white ashes.

“Not Poile’s ship,” she said aloud. “My ship.”

Maria grew bolder as Longfoot’s hands clenched tighter to the back of her seat. His fear made her fearless. It was like learning to drive all over again, her hands on the steering wheel, her mother’s knuckles white as they clenched the oh-shit handle while her foot pressed down hard on an invisible brake pedal.

Below them, stony farms and green paddocks and serene glacial lakes blurred together into a kaleidoscopic patchwork of pastoral colors. Maria discovered that thermals resided in pockets, dotting the landscape like pins on a dartboard, and the pattern began to unravel. They became predictable, and she sought them out, pulling up the ship’s nose just before they hit a column and letting the sails fill with air from below. The ship leapt into the sky and in one fluid motion, Maria rolled starboard and they sailed in a perfect, looping circle, upside-down for one bottomless moment. Longfoot’s girlish cry filled the cockpit as the ship leveled out again.

Maria whooped. “Oh my god! That was incredible!” Her heart sang, pounding out a furious rhythm. “I’ve never felt anything like it!”

“Back,” gasped Longfoot over the seat. He sounded so small, so terrified, Maria cringed. She should have warned him first. “I need to go back.”

“Sorry.”

They flew back to The Rebel Heart in silence. The hangar door stood open, gaping. Maria remembered Longfoot’s instructions: Don’t fly straight in. She cut the speed, executed a twist, and trotted backwards into the hangar. The ship bumped the bay twice, hard, before she settled into position.

Longfoot didn’t move as Maria hopped out of the ship and buckled it down. When she came back to help him out, his face was ashen, and a dark trail ran down the inside of his pant leg.

The excited thrum in her chest turned to shame.

“Oh, Lieutenant Kyrell.” She tried to help him down, but he waved her off, and clambered awkwardly out of the ship by himself. Her stomach twisted with each wary step he took.

Without saying anything, Longfoot walked to the far end of the hangar and went out the door. It clanged closed behind him. Thankfully alone, Maria rolled down the hatch. Darkness enveloped her.

And yet, she couldn’t help the giddiness. It surged inside her as she crossed to the ship with the milky-white stripe and ran one hand over the pockmarked windshield. The wind under the ship’s wings—it had felt like her own wings. When the sails adjusted to catch the wind, it was really her feathers adjusting. The tail, her tail, a tail she never knew she had.

Maria couldn’t wait to fly again. She’d fly by herself; and she’d do a hundred loop-de-loops.

]]> http://prolificnovelista.com/2012/learning-to-fly/feed/ 7 http://prolificnovelista.com/2012/insurgent-book-review/ http://prolificnovelista.com/2012/insurgent-book-review/#comments Sat, 19 May 2012 18:23:24 +0000 Kiersi http://prolificnovelista.com/?p=1205

Insurgent by Veronica Roth

This book gets: ♥♥♥♥ out of 5

Insurgent, by Veronica Roth – The latest installment in Roth’s wildly popular Divergent series lives up to its “sequel” title with vigor: it starts exactly where Divergent left off, with the faction of Erudite having effectively declared war, and only a few of the Dauntless to stand in their way.

But Jeanine’s attack on the Dauntless compound may have more levels of complexity than either Tris or Tobias ever expected. The faction leaders of Abnegation and Amity are hiding important information, and Tris’s pursuit of the truth may cost her everything.

Insurgent is a tale of details and mysteries, and unfolds more like an adult action-thriller than a dystopian YA. It treads steadily in the footsteps of Catching Fire and Mockingjay (the second and third books in the Hunger Games trilogy), where a sharp-minded teenage girl puts together the pieces of the puzzle long before any of the adults get around to it, and as a result, she subverts them at every turn.

Insurgent may as well be called “Divergent, act II.” It has no real beginning, but leads into a definite climax that we will undoubtedly see play out in the third volume. Much of the book feels like a middle, except that by now, I’ve forgotten what happened in the beginning, because I read it last Fall. The first few chapters of Insurgent move at a painstakingly slow pace as Roth transitions from the conflict of the first novel into the larger, more complex plot line of the second. It isn’t until about halfway through the book that I really feel Insurgent ”takes off” and establishes an identity of its own, separate from its precursor.

While Roth convinced us to love Tris in the first volume, in Insurgent she becomes a little harder to empathize with. At first the shift is jarring, in that you find yourself repeating, “Don’t do it, Tris!” Soon I came to realize that this is intentional, and serves a greater purpose; on top of that, it’s exciting to live inside the mind of a character locked into a careening, downward spiral. We get to know Tris in a way we never did before, and though I found some of her selfless acts a little too Abnegation to be realistic, I couldn’t help but like her more.

One thing I adore about Roth’s writing style is that she rarely pauses for blabber, and Insurgent continues that trend. The land is locked in bitter war and the blood flows freely. As before in Divergent, Roth doesn’t gloss over it. Tris is haunted by each death she witnesses, especially by those for which she feels responsible, and the weight of it contributes to her personal growth (or descent into madness, depending on your viewpoint).

Even better, the romance between Tris and Tobias explodes once Roth finds her stride in the second act of Insurgent (I found it fairly pale and formulaic prior to that moment of realization). Though there is some forced soap opera-like back-and-forth, I think Roth achieves what she set out to do with resounding success. I just wish it hadn’t taken so long to get to the good stuff.

]]> http://prolificnovelista.com/2012/insurgent-book-review/feed/ 0 http://prolificnovelista.com/2012/white-girls-dead-girls-and-fancy-dresses/ http://prolificnovelista.com/2012/white-girls-dead-girls-and-fancy-dresses/#comments Thu, 17 May 2012 19:26:30 +0000 Kiersi http://prolificnovelista.com/?p=1193

Kate Hart: Uncovering YA Covers: 2011

I wrote a controversial post some time ago regarding young adult book covers that have been announced for 2012 called All the White Girls, where I suggested YA authors need to get their shit together and start writing books about something other than white chicks in flowing dresses. I found it immensely disturbing that not a single book on the Top 25 YA Books of 2012 featured a cover photo of anyone besides a white girl.

A bunch of commenters suggested the problem lies with publishers and not authors, as cover designers in YA are rarely faithful to the look, ethnicity, race, or whatever of the book’s protagonist for which they are designing.

Today I discovered this post by YA author Kate Hart via my twitter peep E.C. Meyers. Kate breaks down over 600 YA covers from 2011, scientifically, in a number of fascinating and revealing ways, including how often you might find a headless, dead, or back-shot model on a YA cover.

Kate Hart: Uncovering YA Covers: 2011

Kate doesn’t stop at just analyzing model poses and cover color distribution (which is, in itself, quite telling of the YA cover trend). She addresses another major concern of mine regarding diversity in young adult literature: gender distribution. The men that are featured on YA book covers tend to be headless or shown from the back–which, of course, is not limited to male models, but nonetheless. Kate even does a brief analysis of self-pubbed and indie book covers in the YA category for comparison, and makes a surprising discovery: self-pubbed and indie books are even less diverse than those published by major houses.

I was surprised by that last revelation, and then wondered why I found it surprising. I’ve read a number of agent “wish lists” lately calling for multi-racial or ethnic perspectives, so perhaps that is a clue.

Kate’s analysis is disturbing to say the least, but also educational. These moments are the ones that will, hopefully, push YA authors to be more diverse in their topics. Be sure to read the full post here: Uncovering YA Covers: 2011

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