Serial Madness

 Posted by at 7:30 am  Contests, Writing
Jun 202012
 
Justice Legg of America
JD Hancock / Foter

So…I am having thoughts of writing serial fiction over at the Deadline Dames site.

And so, I thought I would invite you, darling readers, into the process.

Here’s what I want: something you’d like to see me write in serial fiction. Don’t pitch me your novel. Do please understand that whatever I write, I retain all rights to. (You want to take the idea in another direction, do it, spend the work on it, and submit it. ‘Nuff said.) Do understand that I reserve the right to write what I please. Do please understand that I will take everything you’ve said and go in my own direction. And don’t tell me what a hack I am to even be contemplating this.

With those codicils in place, the floor is open. Let’s do some serial wonder, my dears. Give me your suggestions…

You’re Nice Anyway

 Posted by at 5:05 pm  Life, Miscellaneous, Personal Schmersonal, Wonderment
May 182012
 
Compound Eye / Foter

Today, dear Reader, I entered the heart of darkness.

Yes, that’s right. I chaperoned a school field trip.

The Little Prince’s school went on a Dozer Day. We even had sunny weather, a rarity here in the mossy PNW.

The mental checklist went like this: Sunscreen? Check. Fresh first-aid kit? Check! Kerchief and two hankies? Check! Extra travel pak of tissues? Checkity-check check! Hip flask? … Hip flask?

OH DAMMIT.

Anyway. I was responsible for five kids, one of them my own lovely spawn. “Give me the troublemakers,” I told his teacher. “No. Seriously. It’ll be fine.”

And she did, and it was. “What, you think I was born yesterday? Put that back…The limit is two. Not three, four is right out…Oh, honey, he threw sand on you? Come on, let’s get you cleaned up…”

All went smoothly, the only hiccups being losing (and, thank God, finding) my cell phone (this was during the sand-flinging incident) and several pocket checks (“THE LIMIT IS TWO. Look, go hide those for other kids. Hide them so well nobody will ever find them.”) and one regrettable incident involving kids thinking it was a great idea to jump off huge tires stacked, I dunno, EIGHT FEET HIGH? (I put a quick stop to that, thankyouverymuch. The Little Prince’s teacher leaned over and said, “I had my doubts when you said to give you the troublemakers. I apologize.” Heh.)

I got told I was pretty, I got my hand held by every single kid in my little pod, and I got a hot dog for lunch. So it was pretty swell. We didn’t get to the driving of the big construction vehicles–the kids could sit/stand in front of the operator, and put their hands on the operator’s hands while the vehicle did its thing, it looked like a lot of fun. My little pod, instead, got to play in sandpiles taller than yours truly, in which were buried small “treasures” in plastic bags. There’s nothing like seeing a whole elementary-school’s worth of kids descend on a sandpile. It’s got to be one of the wonders of Nature.

Every child was exhausted and well and truly filthy by the time we boarded the buses to go back to school. Sitting on the bus, one of my pod–let’s call him Jerome–turned to me with a huge grin. “You know what {Little Prince’s name} said about you?”

“Nope. What?”

“He said you had a laser eye and you could make a kid behave just by looking at him.”

“Well.” I tried not to smile. “Do you think that’s true?”

“Oh yeah,” he said. “But you’re nice anyway. Look at the stickers I got!”

I tell you, of all the times today I had to keep a straight face, that one was the hardest.

I returned every child I was responsible for in original factory condition, and got to take the Little Prince home early. He had to go lie down, he was so exhausted. No doubt we will be finding sand all over the house (and my laser eye) for days to come. But it was totally worth it.

Even if next time, I am goddamn well taking the hip flask…

On Wordcount, and Snitty Entitlement

 Posted by at 10:37 am  Life, Miscellaneous, Pennyworth Advice, Writing
May 142012
 
Paul Keheler / Foter

I’m not a writer because it’s easy; screw those who think it is. I’m not a writer because I want to live some sort of privileged life, or because I want to be rich, or even because it’s the only thing I can do.

I’m a writer because it’s challenging and I’m good at it. I’m a writer because I want to make things, as Doris Egan has said.

So let’s stop the faux blue collar anti-elitism, and let’s stop talking about the number of words a writer creates a day as some sort of measure of how hard they work. (Harry Connolly)

He’s got a point.

I actually do measure most writing days by wordcount, for a variety of reasons. Chief among them is the fact that it works for me; it short-circuits a number of nasty little voices in my head. Wordcount goals, for me, say “They don’t have to be good words. You can go back and chop and slice and make them pretty later. Get them out now, worry about the quality later.” (No doubt a number of people would snarkily remark that such a view is most likely what’s wrong with my hack work, but oh well.) The wordcount goals get me sitting down, nailed to the chair until I get past “priming the pump” and get into the state that is most conducive to creation. It’s a skill, not magic, and the more I cultivate the habit of writing every day the more magic actually happens. I got (and still get) a lot of flak for saying “writers write, do it every day“, but so what? I truly believe the consistent habit is what will get your writing where it needs to be, and it is your best friend if you want to get published–or just get better. Wordcount goals are a tool, and they may not work for some writers. They may work, but not well enough, for others. The critical thing is to do the goddamn work, and do it consistently.

Connolly’s post is more about the snideness directed at creatives lately, but I’m not going to talk about that. Because frothing at the mouth is tres unattractive on me, and it’s all I would be capable of doing if I started talking about how snitty people get sometimes when a writer is not giving exactly what said snitty person thinks they’re entitled to receive. Instead, I’m just going to wander over into the corner and set up my wordcount for the day.

Over and out.

Underimpressed

 Posted by at 10:17 am  Rant Rant Rave
May 102012
 

“Mewling quim“, Mr. Whedon? Really? You’re proud of that?

Look, I like your work, and I even contributed to the Nothing But Red anthology. I was glad to, that post was awesome.

But I don’t think you’re the friend to feminism you’re seen as, and there’s only so far that post of yours will take me.

* Buffy sleeps with Angel…and he loses his soul. Sure, it’s because he’s “happy.” But as yet another instance of a teenage girl’s sexuality turning a boy into a monster, well, it’s narrative ground that’s been tread before.
* Just like the equation drawn in a few episodes of Faith’s aggressive sexuality (Xander, anyone?) being a component of her moral ambiguity and ease of shaking off murder.
* Mal calls Inara a whore, several times, in overt and covert ways…in a society where Companions are supposed to be so “respectable” that the ship wouldn’t be allowed to land without one on board.
* River Tam is so powerful…that her “neurons are stripped,” she’s “crazy” and uncontrollable, and her brother–and Mal–have to save her, over and over and over again.
* Zoe’s physically satisfactory (one presumes) relationship with Wash is cut short by his death, but her (second fiddle and faithful lieutenant) relationship with Mal is kept intact.

And don’t even get me started on the titillation factor of Willow and Tara. This is by no means an exhaustive list of questionable narrative choices when it comes to portraying women, and Whedon’s by no means the only one who does it. I suppose one could blame Hollywood at large–after all, it’s holy writ that any woman who possesses actual sexuality in a studio film must either be horribly disfigured/dead in some fashion (if unrepentant) or brought/remain under the control of a male figure by the end of the film (if properly repentant). (The one exception I’ve seen was The Last Seduction, and that wasn’t a box-office success despite being an incredible movie.) I understand that when one is soaking in a misogynist culture, it’s hard not to obey the tropes and assumptions coded into the very base of said culture.

All culminating in being “proud” of basically calling a woman a cunt. In a PG-13 film. Proud.

My ambivalence just ratcheted up a notch. Not to mention my disappointment.

Interesting Awakenings

 Posted by at 1:46 pm  Book Update, Life, Miscellaneous, Personal Schmersonal
May 092012
 
fusion-of-horizons / Foter

I’d forgotten what it was like to get up every hour or two during the night with a small mammal desperately needing one’s help.

Well, to be honest, I hadn’t quite. One doesn’t forget things like that, they remain burned into one’s brain and nervous system. It makes for interesting awakenings–one finds oneself halfway across the room, clothes on and reflexes primed, before becoming fully conscious. Or one surfaces in the backyard, ankle-deep in dew-wet grass, blinking and holding a leash.

After a while, you might as well just stay up and write.

Anyway. Yesterday evening, thanks in no little part to Code Boy, who pitched in for sick-animal care so I could fall into the story and stay there for a long while, I finished the first draft of the second Bannon & Clare book, The Red Plague Affair. It starts with poison, sewage, and cardiac arrest; it ends with whistling. In between is plague, blood, murder, Mending, a mass grave, and the Moriarty to Clare’s Sherlock (in an homage-y sort of way). And more!

It’s resting safely with my editor, agent, and faithful trusty beta reader.And now I’m in the snapback phase, which means I should be working on the second in the Tales of Beauty and Madness…

…but instead, I’m doing laundry, ministering to the sick mammals, and thinking it would be awesome if I could kill some pixels, and kill ‘em good. WoW probably isn’t the best use of my time today, but dammit, I need a break.

Over and out.

Peeing Solo

 Posted by at 10:28 am  Life, Miscellaneous, Weirdsville
May 072012
 
Lawrence Whittemore / Foter

A lot of people replied to my last post. It’s nice to know that wanting to be alone is something that I’m, well, not alone in.

A significant percentage of people suggested the loo as someplace to go to be alone. I hate to break it to you, but after two toddlers and various pets, peeing alone is not the norm.

The kids are older now, but there were years of having bodily functions witnessed by wide-eyed little humans. First of all, what do you do when you’re the sole childcare provider and you know that leaving the little darlings alone for even thirty seconds of emptying one’s bladder means you may come back to a burning house, a limb lopped off, or something else equally unpleasant? (You think I jest? I do not, sir or madam. Toddlers are ambulatory chaos machines.) Plus, they were fascinated, and that fascination only grew as they became potty-trained. The Little Prince, a decade old now, still enjoys making various bodily noises and waiting for reactions.

I guess he always will.

But that’s nothing compared to cats. For some reason, every cat I have ever owned will decide–for months–that they must witness the Small Room Ritual. Various strategies will be employed, from yowling and stretching a paw under the door, to sliding between my ankles as I step inside, or streaking through the rapidly-closing door and scolding me if a whisker gets caught. With that done, the cat will invariably sit and observe with bright-eyed interest. The kind of interest they give to, for example, small wriggling bits of prey.

If nothing else inspires performance anxiety, being observed thusly by a clawed and fanged animal who will probably be the first to eat your face should you expire alone and unmourned will. And then, they suddenly quit doing it, leaving one even uneasier…until the next time they decide they absolutely must witness said performance again. In case, you know, it’s changed or something? I don’t know.

And…that’s nothing, compared to the dog. Miss B’s cold wet nose is practically attached to my knees all day, and God help both of us should I dare to close the door while performing an evacuation of any type. She has, after much moaning, learned to leave me alone while showering–mostly, I suspect, because she hates being dragged into the shower and washed, because afterward she can’t smell herself and it’s like being blind, OH THE DRAMA AND THE HEADSHAKING AND THE RACING AROUND THE HOUSE RUBBING ON THINGS. But the five to ten minutes spent trying to convince her not to cram herself through the door just can’t be spent when I have, so to speak, business to conduct. And the forlorn wailing outside the door should I manage to sneak into the Small Ritual Room by myself has to be heard to be believed.

I think she’s afraid the flush might drag me with it, and she’ll have to herd the cat with nobody watching for the rest of the day.

Anyway. Peeing alone rarely happens, and the loo is really not the sanctuary it could be. Although, with the way things are, I should probably be grateful there’s no goddamn squirrel in my shower, peering at me while I try to…ummm, yeah.

But that’s another blog post.

Miss Havisham Impersonation

 Posted by at 3:50 pm  Life, Miscellaneous, Personal Schmersonal
May 042012
 
VinothChandar / Foter

I’m not Garbo, but still.

I’m talking about the urge I get every so often to lock up my house and retreat to its recesses, snail in a shell, turtle hunching down. Not go out unless it’s absolutely unavoidable (and with the Internet, why bother to leave at all?) and to withdraw from even written interaction for a while. To take a bath in solitude.

Well, except for the cat. And the dog. And the kids. Pure solitude’s impossible to find unless one retreats to a mountaintop or something.

I read Anthony Storr’s Solitude a while ago, during the fallout from the divorce. It was good to see, in print, a discussion and celebration of being alone that didn’t presuppose one’s crazy to want to immure oneself behind a wall or two for a while.

I wonder, when this mood strikes me, if it’s somehow part of the constellation of weirdness that makes me, or just that I can indulge it because I have the luxury of working from home.

Anyway…I suppose I’m asking: what do you do, dear Reader, when you “just vant to be alone”?

Terror and Reading

 Posted by at 8:27 am  Event, Publishing Biz, Weirdsville
Apr 182012
 
mrehan / Foter

So on Monday I was at McMenamin’s Kennedy School, where I hosted Ted Kosmatka and Shanna Germain for the SFWA’s Pacific Northwest Reading Series. It was a lovely event–thanks go out to Mary Robinette Kowal (who put the first sentence of her new book on my right breast) and David Levine, as well as Mark Nieman-Ross (who was disappointed I didn’t finish my salad, but glad I didn’t vomit from terror) and the lovely folk at Wrigley-Cross Books, who had copies on hand for signing and purchasing. (Hint: they also have event-signed copies for sale through their website.)

The readings were fantastic. Ted read from his new release, The Games, and let me tell you, the birth sequence? Creeptastic. Then the ever-lovely Shanna knocked it out of the park with the first half of a short story featuring rats, a pipe, and twins. *shudders gleefully* I am waiting for the end of the story to be posted on her website, because I need to know what happens next.

I ended up reading from my upcoming Bannon & Clare novel, The Iron Wyrm Affair. Despite being terrified enough to almost pass out (yes, really, Jay, I am that scared of public speaking) I think I might have done an okay job. Certainly nobody threw any rotten plant matter at me.

After the reading, there was a general move for the bar, but I had to (TMI) attend to my fluid balance. It was then I discovered two things: the loos at the Kennedy School are haunted, and a text from the Princess telling me a Duct Tape Emergency had transpired and my presence was required at home. Which meant, of course, I scrambled out the door. Ghosts are One Thing (yawn) but duct tape is Quite Another. I made it home in time to find the emergency had passed and one-half of my sleepy children slumbering peacefully, the other half drowsy and proud of herself for Dealing With It.

*sigh*

So that was my Evening Of Leaving The House, OMG! I rather think it went well. And to all the fans and readers who came out to support us: thank you! You are who we’re writing for.

Now it’s time to go recover…

Beauty, Madness, Red Plague

 Posted by at 8:38 am  Book Update, Life, Miscellaneous, Personal Schmersonal, Publishing Biz
Mar 142012
 
deflam /Free Photos

Yeah, so…apparently I’m dating. This surprises everyone, me included, but I guess when he carries all your stuff through Ikea and brings you flowers each time he sees you, that’s really guy-code for “I like you.” (Who knew?) Plus, my inner goddess approves of all the adoration. It’s nice to be flattered.

In other news, it’s been Officially Announced, so I suppose I can finally say something about it here: Razorbill will be bringing out my next YA series, Tales of Beauty & Madness, soonish. I’ve been fascinated with fairytales and Brothers Grimm for a long time, and the first Tale, Heartless, is something that’s been boiling in the back of my head for a while. I’m working on the second book now–the series is also partly my homage to Kieslowski’s Three Colors, which just about exploded my tiny little brain when I saw it the first time. Further bulletins as events warrant–I will tell you, though, that my working title for the first Tale was Snow White and the Seven Mob Bosses. Heh.

I’m also working on the second Bannon & Clare, The Red Plague Affair. I broke 25K yesterday, and the book is finally starting to hang together as a whole, though it hasn’t made that clicking sound and started pulling itself forward under its own steam (ha ha) just yet. There has been a monkey, a broken neck, and the death of a character so far, though. So the initial signs are good.

How about some links, too? Anna Genoese gives a piece of Very Good Advice, Chuck Wendig talks about creativity, Ilona Gordon notes a few things about procrastination (and I should tell you, both graphics pretty much approximate my working style), and a very interesting piece on Cardinal Richelieu. Enjoy! I’ll be over in the corner beating my head on my desk and weeping softly while I try to make Red Plague suck a little less.

Wish me luck.

Sunday at Ikea

 Posted by at 2:02 pm  Life, Miscellaneous
Feb 272012
 

We stood there, a crowded Ikea throbbing behind us, for about twenty seconds. Then, I breathed, “Oh, my GOD,” and we looked at each other, in perfect accord.

“It’s…” He shook his head, obviously lost for words.

“It’s like all my childhood cartoons come to life,” I supplied, helpfully.

“Yeah.” He assesses the crowd with a quick glance over his shoulder. “Damn. It’s behind glass.”

“My hands are full.” I stare for another few seconds. “Take a picture.”

“…you know, I thought you were gonna tell me to break the glass and take it. And I would have met you in the parking lot.”

A giggle escapes me. “I don’t want to get arrested, or come up with bail money. Next time.”

“You’d come up with bail money?”

“I’d feel responsible. Take a picture!”

“Okay, okay…”

That was my Sunday at Ikea. It was GREAT.

Now it’s Monday, I’ve got a ton of work to catch up on since I spent the weekend getting the site restored (and finding out I’m missing my Sports Bra of DOOM post, which saddens me) and tearing my hair out over importing what I could save. (I never in a BILLION years thought I would use LJ as a backup. This is me, shaking my head.) So yeah, this makes twice the site has cratered…but now I have twice-daily backups running. NEVER AGAIN. It only took twice, right? I’m not a complete dolt.

So I finally get back to The Red Plague Affair and kill that sodding monkey, which was left in purgatory over the weekend. I feel sorry for the little beast, but it has to die. If I work like a demon for a couple days I should get back on track. Unless some damn thing ELSE happens. *shrugs* I’m ready. But I tell you, if something does happen…

…we might need that bail money after all.

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