Lilith Saintcrow

First of all, I’d like to draw your attention to this excellent post by Caitlin Kittredge, The Myth Of The “Expert”. She makes two incredibly valid points: that a writer expecting to “go professional” needs an agent, and to be careful when selecting one. Blogging does not an agent make. Sales make an agent–sales and the willingness to fight to get your author the best deal. And I think this is one of the truest damn things Caitlin has ever said (among a great many true things):

Here’s the truth–as a new writer, you really need an agent. You could lose count of the myriad ways to be screwed without one, and let’s face it, paying someone 15% commission to decipher legalese, negotiate subrights and beg editors for extensions on our behalf is worth every damn penny.

I love my agent (and not just because she is likely to be reading this). As one of my editors said, “I love M., and she kicks my ass come contract time. I mean, she’s doing her job and we both know it, but DAMN, she kicks my ass! And I love it!” My agent is both a friend and a business professional who is invested in my success. She’s worth that fifteen percent. Hell, she’d be worth twenty-five. And that’s saying something, because I’ve got kids to feed.

A good, professional agent is worth their weight in gold, platinum, diamonds, or any other horribly valuable thing you care to name. But you the writer are responsible for doing your research and being conscious that this is a business relationship as well as (ideally) a friendship. Do not confuse the two relationships, and do not presume that since someone is “friendly” or has a blog, that they will be a good agent.

Anyway, that’s not what I set out to write about this fine fair snow-dappled Friday. Let’s talk about that rare and wonderful creature, the beta reader. Lots of you have asked me what beta readers (sometimes referred to as betas) are.

A beta reader is a critique partner who you can trust with your work when it’s in the raw draft zero stage. This may not sound like much, but it is huge. The wrong kind of critique can kill a work in those tender first stages, and someone with an emotional agenda can eff up your love of your work beyond repair.

A good beta reader:

* understands your style and voice, and understands the difference between them and a crutch
* can read for structure; they can pinpoint where the structure of your work has broken down
* can give feedback in a clear, constructive, supportive fashion
* has no harmful emotional agenda when it comes to your work
* has a communication style that meshes with yours.

This last point is one of the most critical. There are communication styles, some of them mesh and some of them don’t, and it’s hard to trust your work to someone who you can’t understand and give the benefit of the doubt to.

It took me two decades to find my beta (the Selkie) and I prize her about as much as my agent. I can trust a work to her in the zero-draft or unfinished stage, and I can be sure she’s not going to stick a passive-aggressive emotional knife in me OR the work. She functions as a sort of backstop and polishing phase where I can make a novel or a short story absolutely as good as possible before I send it out into the world to get rejected rudely or cut to shreds by my lovely editors.

The Selkie will highlight repeated words, mark plot holes and sometimes suggest fixes, check facts, make invaluable little smiley-faces on a manuscript when she likes something, give me an overview of the strong points and the weak points of a work, and just generally make it better. I can trust her with a raw book or short story and say, “I don’t know what’s wrong with this. What do you think?” And I can be sure of getting an honest answer couched in a diplomatic way. I can also trust her to patiently listen to me go on and on about imaginary people and situations over drinks–as I so often do, and as she does in return.

A beta reader is called “beta” because they get to see the beta version of your work, before it’s polished and ready to be submitted to agent or editor. This is a high trust and the beta reader is conscious of it.

My job, when it comes to the Selkie reading my stuff, is to take a deep breath and consider everything she says. My job is also to remember that she’s doing me a favor by taking time out of her life to read my stuff, so I’d better listen to what she has to say. I am also required to be a good friend and not go off the deep end because she is seeing the warts on this piece of work I’ve agonised over for months or weeks. (I’m convinced the woman has sheer diplomacy for blood.) In short, the beta street goes both ways; to get a good beta/friend, it can’t hurt to BE one.

Good betas and good beta-writer relationships do not grow on trees. The Selkie and I did not get to this point right away. There was a prolonged period of us getting to know each other, and getting to know each other’s work, since I’m honored to be one of her beta readers. We also had to work to learn each other’s communication styles, which happen to mesh rather nicely. We generally agree on what we mean when we say certain things. The commitment is to honesty–but not the acid hurtful one-upmanship that passes for “honesty” in so many “friendships” or critique partnerships.

I’ve seen some beta-writer relations that don’t depend on a friendship, too. The truth, given diplomatically but not hurtfully, is the basis for each and every one of them. I’ve also seen some beta/writer relationships tank spectacularly because one person (or both) falls through on the deal. It’s never a pretty sight.

A beta isn’t like an editor, thought they do have some editing functions. Sometimes I ask the Selkie for a general read to find plot holes, sometimes I ask her to be on the lookout for certain issues, sometimes (like with the current crop of short stories) I hand the damn things over to her and say, “Bash these on the head and make them behave, mmmkay?” Part of my responsibility when I hand over my stuff for the beta read is to say clearly what I want–and to be satisfied when I get what I ask for. This is, again, a communication thing. If I want a hard, multi-level edit/read, I need to ask for it–and take her schedule into account, since she’s got her own work. This is just professional courtesy. If, on the other hand, I want just a general scan for plot holes and characterization wrong notes, I need to speak up and say that–and not be disappointed when I get it back and realize what I should’ve asked for was a hard read.

In short, the Selkie is a reader who is also a fellow writing professional. She can take a look at my work through several different “lenses” and pinpoint the flaws in it through each lens, and then give me feedback to fix those flaws in an adult, reasonably diplomatic (but always honest) way. If it sounds like a hell of a balancing act, it is. This is why betas don’t grow on trees, and if you find a good one, dear fellow writer, cherish them with all your might. Buy them drinks and be a good friend/beta in return. A good beta can teach you more about writing than you ever thought possible.

And, you know, it’s really fun to snark and industry-gossip over drinks with your beta. Because they by and large understand what it’s like to live with a head full of imaginary people and all-too-real rules of grammar. They understand when your deadlines are chewing your ass like rabid alligators and your characters aren’t cooperating, and how the hell are you supposed to finish all this anyway? Maybe you should just give it up and move to Bermuda.

And this is when the Selkie usually says, “Oh, Jesus, Lili. Just sit down and do the damn work. But before you do, have another hors d’oeuvre, and let me tell you about this story I’m writing about a rat-sticking sailor and his lady love, who can call storms…”

Yep. Love your beta(s). Cherish them. And be a good one in return.

Nuff said.

May 2009 be happy, healthy, and wonderful for all of us.

You know, when things are all set sideways from the moment one opens one’s eyes. Working out helps, but the itchy feeling of a story under the skin doesn’t. I lost about 2K going through and tightening the second YA book, and gained one and a half of new stuff. Just going through to the end is the best bet, I think. Funny how one has to relearn that with every book.

I’m thinking for the New Year I’ll start looking at nutrition as well as exercise. The exercise is fast becoming a habit, but I have to look at what I’m eating too. This will be a challenge because I like to eat and I don’t see any reason to start the stupid heinous cycle of denial and binge every “diet” out there programs one for.

Food is a problem for me anyway. You’d be such a pretty girl if you lost some weight…now finish everything on your plate, I worked hard to get you that food! It costs money and so do you!

Yeah. You get the idea. So we’ll think about this and take it in little tiny stages.

Anyway. A lovely New Year’s Eve to you. Stay safe out there–I stay home until late on New Year’s Day or the 2nd, because I don’t like messing with drunks on the road. Best just to stay home and avoid the whole circus. I might have a celebratory glass of wine, but that’s about it. Big fun at Casa Saintcrow.

It’s official–I just sent off Say Yes to the editor. We’ll see what she says.

I have the best beta in the WORLD. Amazingly, she found the story pretty clean, and pinpointed a couple of thematic threads I had dropped. So, wove those back in, got rid of some repeated words, changed some things around, and voila. The story is oodles better. For a YA vampire short, it’s pretty dark–but then, this is me we’re talking about. Sweetness and light doesn’t exactly happen in my head.

Now it’s just the gargoyle story. I’m ahead of schedule, so this should be good even if it needs a hideous amount of work on it to make it decent.

I think most of today is going to go toward reading SA again, so that I can start the lunge toward the end of the second book. Or I might just say “to hell with it” and throw out another chunk of the second book, and fix anything that needs to be fixed later after the corpse is finished and I reread the first one. I feel itchy today, like I have a pile of text wanting to break out for freedom through my fingers.

Not much else to report. I’m taking advantage of the decent (kind of) weather to air the house out. Soon I’ll close it back up and turn the heaters back on.

As a matter of fact, I’m chilled. Might as well do that now.

Catch ya on the flip side, Readers.

I spent some time this weekend working on the wiki. I got the glossary from the Danny Valentine series input and will start working on the Kismet glossary next. I really want to have the terms from Steelflower put in so I can refer to them while writing the second one, but such is life. Got to work with what I have in front of me and prioritize and all that jazz.

So a lot of you ask me for recipes. Lots of the recipes I use (for I am a junior cook) come from books I feel a little uncomfortable quoting from, even with attribution. I will get over this as I get more comfortable with cooking. Since you guys have been asking I will try to get over that discomfort sooner rather than later. It shouldn’t be a problem with proper attribution, right?

Anyway, I did three spectacular French bread mini-baguettes this last week and thought I would share that recipe with you, since it’s simple and easy, if time-intensive.

INGREDIENTS

2c. tepid water
1 Tb yeast (or slightly less, I fudge sometimes on the yeast)
6c. flour
1 Tb kosher salt

Please, for the love of God, use King Arthur or Bob’s Red Mill or quality bread flour. Do not use Gold Medal. Please. Gold Medal and other cheap flours do not have the protein content necessary to make good bread. You can fudge by adding gluten, about 1 Tb. per 2c of crappy flour, but seriously, the investment in good bread flour is well worth it and I think it ends up being cheaper in the long run.

WHAT YOU DO

Okay. French bread is super-simple but it’s time-intensive. Dump the water and the yeast into the mixer bowl and let them stand for ten minutes. (If you don’t have a mixer that can handle bread dough, get ready to knead.[1]) After about ten minutes the yeast should be dissolved and “creamy”. Turn your mixer on low (with the dough hook in) and add the 6c of flour (see below), a cup at a time, just until the dough comes together in a shaggy mass. Then turn the mixer off and let the mess sit for 15 minutes.

This is important. It’s called the autolyse and it allows for development of gluten as well as making it easier to knead by hand (should you wish to do so). It makes a lighter bread with a better crumb, and it’s well worth the fifteen minutes. This is another reason why kitchen timers are my best friend.

After the autolyse, come back to the dough and turn your mixer on low. Let it mix for a couple minutes. This is when you add the salt. Two things here: I use kosher salt for baking; it really does make a difference and it’s cheap, too. Also, you do not add the salt until this stage because it makes the gluten fibers shorten and contract.

Here’s where a certain amount of trial and error comes in. I like my French bread dough to be just this side of tough. It’s a very dry dough that cleans the sides and bottom of the mixer bowl and, if you turn the mixer up, wraps around and slaps the side of the bowl. It’s a distinctive sound, that slapping, and one every baker lives for.

About five minutes of my KitchenAid mixing does the trick. Your mixer may vary, and if you’re kneading by hand you’re looking for a dough that doesn’t stick to your hands and cleans off your work surface. Two cups of water to six cups of flour is a good rule of thumb for me, mostly because I (big baking secret here) spoon the flour into a measuring cup and then level it off with a knife. This is something you should do every time you measure out flour, because of the tendency of flour to compact and give you much more than you bargained for.)

Now that you’ve got your nice smooth dough (it feels a little bit like Play-Doh but without the graininess) comes the most difficult part of French bread–letting it rise enough.

You probably can’t just let it rise for an hour, punch down, let it rise for 45 minutes and stick it in the oven. The flavor of French bread depends largely on the rising, which gives the flour time to break down completely and make that good, good gluten. This is also part of the reason why I plead with you not to use cheap flour. Also, there is no sugar to give the yeast a swift kick–it has to break down the flour, which as a process takes longer than the sugar rush.

I usually have to let my French bread initially rise for two hours. I put it in a greased (olive-oil cooking spray) medium-sized mixing bowl and put that in a 2.5 gallon Ziploc, which not only seals out perniciousness but gives the dough plenty of room. My kitchen is usually pretty warm, so I’ll pick an out-of-the-way spot, set my trusty kitchen timer, and bebop away. Check on it an hour later, marvel at how it hasn’t risen, kick myself for being a bad baker, set timer again and bebop away. Come back an hour later and congratulate myself for not being such a bad baker after all.

Cheap thrills, I know.

You want the dough to double at least, and it probably won’t do that in just an hour. Give it plenty of time and don’t rush this part of the process.

Now comes the shaping!

Chop the dough with your trusty dough scraper[2] into three pretty-equal portions. Take one portion and smush it out into a rough rectangle–but gently, because you want to keep some of the air bubbles in it intact. Now, roll it up the long way–that is, start at a long edge of the rectangle and roll it up like a cinnamon roll. Pinch it closed and tuck the ends under, and you’ve got a tolerable baguette-shape.

I like to bake my baguettes in this trusty little pan I picked up at Bob’s Red Mill out in McMinnville (damn but that store is dangerous to my bank account). Please, for the love of God, REMEMBER TO HOLD IT OVER YOUR SINK AND SPRAY IT WITH COOKING SPRAY/OLIVE OIL SPRAY. I prefer the olive oil spray, but either will do. You want to make sure you can get the baguettes OUT of the pan after baking (trust me on this) and spraying it over linoleum flooring is a Bad Idea. (Don’t ask. Just…don’t ask.) You could also hold them during the second rise with a heavy floured cloth, but if you’re advanced enough to do that I don’t need to tell you, right?

Shape and plop in the other baguettes. You can stretch them out a little if you want, and they do not have to be perfect. This is home baking, after all.

Now they rise again. I like to put them in that old trusty 2.5 gallon Ziploc and cover the open end with a kitchen towel. This rise can be as short as 45 minutes or as long as an hour, because the yeast has a fresh crop of food and is working overtime. When the baguettes have doubled in size, that’s about when you should bake them.

Twenty minutes before you’re going to bake them, turn your oven on 450. Put a cast-iron skillet on the bottom rack, you’re going to be baking on the middle rack. If you have a baking stone, it can stay on the bottom rack. I suppose you could take the baguettes out of the pan and cook them on a stone, but I don’t. I cook ‘em in the pan, because I like the convenience and the little bubble-shapes on the bottom of the loaf. You can also shape them and let them rise on a big ol’ (greased or parchement-lined) baking sheet if you want. Remember, reasonable convenience is the name of this game.

When your baguettes are finished rising and your oven is preheated, get a small coffee mug[3] and put three or four ice cubes in it. Splash a little water in there too. Then, slash the tops of your baguettes (I do three slashes with a sharp knife, but a serrated knife or a baking razor will do the trick too.) and slide the pan into the oven.

Now, very quickly, toss the ice cubes and water in the skillet on the bottom rack and close the oven, and turn it down to 400. The burst of steam will give you a nice crust, and the overheating to begin with means your oven is at a good steady temperature all the way through the baking cycle. You can also spray the oven walls with water before you close the door, but I don’t like that–too much chance of spraying the bread, which will give your crust spots, and it doesn’t provide steady enough steam. The skillet method works wonders, is relatively cheap (because you can use a cast-iron skillet for ALL SORTS OF THINGS, from bonking home invaders on the head to cooking flapjacks) and is easy-peasy, all things I applaud.

Each oven is different, so here is another place where trial and error comes in. I bake my baguettes for 22 to 24 minutes. I know they’re done when they:

* smell right, something that is difficult to explain
* make a hollow sound when I tap their tops
* look right, another hard-to-explain thing.

Your oven may take 20-28 minutes to bake, depending. YMMV. The best indicator is that lovely hollow sound when you thump the middle of the loaf.

Now, once the timer rings and your loaves are golden-brown and hollow when you thump ‘em, turn off your oven and prop the door open just a little, and leave the baguettes in there for 2-4 minutes. This last step makes sure they bake for the maximum amount of time without burning, which gives you lovely caramelized crusts and long shiny strands of gluten. Take ‘em out and immediately pop them on a wire rack to cool.

I like to use these with soup, and when they are two-three days old (which rarely happens) I slice them up and drizzle them with olive oil, sprinkle with garlic, and broil them for crostinis. Mmmmmmhhhhh.

French bread is simple because it’s just flour, salt, yeast, and water. It looks hard only because it’s time-intensive–that simplicity means you have to allow the yeast enough time to do its thing. The variables–quality of flour, time spent rising, the temperature of the oven, etc., etc., are all easy to control with a little thought on the part of the home baker.

So, enjoy! I’ve got a couple of short stories to polish today, so I bid you a civil adieu and much luck with the baking.

[1] The best thing for my baking has been my handy-dandy KitchenAid Professional 600. And when I get the pasta attachment…look out, world!
[2] I know cash is tight these days. I do advocate the proper tools because I’m a baking fiend, but there is almost always a way around the tool if you really can’t afford it. That is the spirit of home baking, I think, because this should be fun. There’s precious little reason to do it otherwise. I’ve had enough of cooking being a chore and an almighty-nasty-time. I want it to be fun.
[3] I don’t like doing this with a glass because they can slip and then there’s all sorts of nastiness ensuing. Coffee mugs are tough, they hold enough, and they have the nice handle so you don’t lose your grip and toss them into the oven. Again, just…don’t ask. Trust me.