The Space Between

I recently finished a book. It's been edited by me and is now in the capable hands of its first external editor, my sister Quinn.

This is the first time between books that I've really relaxed. Always before I was unsettled. Out of sorts. Worried I wouldn't be able to come up with anything else.

Maybe I'm simply in the holiday mood, but right now I'm OK with not being in the throes of a story. A new one will be there soon. So for now pass me another cookie, and say, does white or red wine go with sugar? :-)

Happy holidays.

I’M DONE!

With another book, that is. This one has taken me a long time. There are a couple of reasons why. For one thing, my new book is a traditional fantasy except that it’s in first person, and so I had to get back into including a bit more description than in my last few action-oriented books. Not that there isn’t action in traditional fantasies, but the world building is more involved and lush.

The other reason this one took so long is because in the middle I got really discouraged. The good news is I’ve had multiple agents reading my manuscripts. The bad news is none of them ultimately wanted any of them. I know if agents are reading my stuff I can write. I know that. Intellectually. But each rejection still makes me feel like quitting, if only for a moment. So I took a break from this book and wrote a bunch of shorts, getting my publishing fix.

So I finally finished. And in doing so I’ve come to understand an interesting thing about how I write. I do lots of different readings for editing, one of which is searching for my favorite words. Every writer has them. My favorite words all have to do with expressions, body parts, and the involved muscles and tendons. What I realized is that even though conversations are "heard" in my head I also see them, and when my people talk they are constantly smiling, nodding, gesturing, walking over to one another, etc. I "see" my people so clearly that when I write all that visual stuff goes in there.

That’s the way people really communicate, but of course, in many ways writing isn't real. I like to say writing is a glorified representation of real, in the same way I wouldn’t put a whole scene about brushing teeth unless it added to the plot. Understanding how and why I write allows me to edit my work more efficiently. Now I only use those visual indicators sparingly: instead of conversation, for emphasis, or when I need to identify the speaker.

I wondered why visual is so important to me and I've come up with some probable reasons. I’m a psychologist by training and as such have spent many years watching for those sorts of non-verbal communications. I’m also an artist and would describe myself as a visual person. I think it might be a good practice to contemplate what sort of writer you are; do you hear conversations? See them? None of the above? Maybe both? I’m not sure how other methods other than visual might play into composition, but it sure would make a fascinating study.

On to the next book.

Anne McCaffrey, A Sad Passing

Tinkerbell, Holidays,and Editing...

Oh my. As in lions and tigers and bears. :-)

It just worked out that way, but here I am, knee deep in holiday magic and the joy of editing. You may detect a tinge of sarcasm. You'd be right.

I love writing. I'm happy it's my new career with all its ups and downs. I'm thankful I have the opportunity to be creative. But humans, including this one, will always display a certain amount of griping no matter what.

So here I am, almost done with a new book, and now I have a whole 'nother list of Yuletide chores that happily distract me from editing.

I was looking around you tube the other day (another distraction), and found this cute video of Tinkerbell. This one is good because it captures all of Tink's moods...happy, sad, mad, irritated, giggly, joyous. Just like how I feel during the holidays. And about my writing.

Here's to a good start of the season...

Gingerbread 2

Readers comment on the most interesting things. Or rather, they sometimes like things I never thought they would. When I posted a pic of the gingerbread house I made with my husband and some friends, I had several comments, especially about the pooping reindeer. People liked it.

So someone asked me if we were going to do it this year. Already have! We decided to do a zombie double wide trailer. I made the zombie snowman. Note the bloody entrails. Writers are a sick bunch. And yes, there is a pooping animal. A kitty. :-)

Anthology Published!

My story, Networks, is now available on Amazon...in the Indiana Science Fiction Anthology. :-)

Stacy's Mom

In most stories there’s an arc, or as I like to call it, The Something Build Up, The Something, and the Something Aftermath. Usually the arc involves an internal or external conflict with the main character, or, when the protagonist Learns An Important Lesson.

I capitalized, because the trick is not sounding condescending. The best fiction gives a sly wink to the reader as in I know that YOU know what’s going to happen, but the poor schmuck in this book that's about to get whacked doesn't without making said schmuck seem too silly or stupid.

I think this is true for all fiction, but perhaps even more so with young adult fiction. I’m about done with another YA book, and this concept has been on my mind. Most of the conflict for this age group revolves around the young person thinking he or she has it all figured out, but then…whack. Gentleness is especially important here, both for the young readers, but also for older readers remembering their own childhood.

For example, in an episode of (geek alert) Star Trek Next Generation, Wesley (a child prodigy) believes he can master a complex and forbidden aviation move that has been banned because it is dangerous. He does it anyway and someone is killed. Afterwards Wesley is still surprised he couldn't do it, yet ashamed at his part in his friend's death. The writer masterfully illustrates youthful bravado without making Wesley seem ugly.

There was a song out a few years ago by Fountains of Wayne that perhaps does this even better. I love this song because it’s funny and poignant at the same time; the lyrics reflect amusement at the over confidence of youth, but at the same time are fondly reminiscent.

I get the feeling that someone in that band was once in love with Stacy’s mom…

Stacy's Mom

Stacy, can I come over after school?
We can hang around by the pool
Did your mom get back from her business trip?
Is she there, or is she trying to give me the slip?

You know, I'm not the little boy that I used to be
I'm all grown up now, baby can't you see

Stacy, do you remember when I mowed your lawn?
Your mom came out with just a towel on
I could tell she liked me from the way she stared
And the way she said, "You missed a spot over there"

And I know that you think it's just a fantasy
But since your dad walked out, your mom could use a guy like me

Stacy's mom has got it goin' on
She's all I want and I've waited for so long
Stacy, can't you see you're just not the girl for me
I know it might be wrong but I'm in love with Stacy's mom

Harvest

This morning the moon hung low and bright over my lake, casting a long silver-yellow stripe across the calm waters. I thought about running down the hill and scooping up a pail full of water and then dousing my plants with lunar essence. By the time I’d changed out of my PJs, unhooked the cat from my leg, and answered a phone call the morning had broken. But that’s OK. Just having the idea was enough, and inspired a scene in the book I’m working on.

I think most writers have a child like streak. Not to be confused with childish, although we all have those moments. For me, child like means recognizing, preserving, and encouraging that sense of wonder about the world. Kids know that magic can be just around the corner…if you are willing to look for it. :-)

Here’s another favorite poem …especially nice after that raven post.

The Moon's the North Wind's Cookie(What the Little Girl Said)
by Vachel Lindsay

The Moon's the North Wind's cookie
He bites it, day by day
Until there's but a rim of scraps
That crumble all away.

The South Wind is the baker
He kneads clouds in his den,
And bakes a crisp new moon that ...
greedy.... North.... Wind ....eats....again!

The Raven

I love Halloween; fall is an energizing time of year anyway, and then the mysterious overlay of Halloween… it doesn’t get much better than that.

The imagery of this holiday is so compelling: witches, ghosts, bats, and black cats all cause one to contemplate, if not the darker side of life, to at least acknowledge all is not cookies and cupcakes. Dark doesn't have to be bad. But it can be. And that shivery is it or isn’t it makes Halloween deliciously fun and spooky at the same time.

The raven is a favorite icon at this time of year. I offer two poetic tributes to this intelligent and often maligned bird. The latter is the most famous raven poem of all time by Poe. It’s not surprising that he wrote such verses, considering his other work.

The first is an interesting one. I’m not a huge Dan Fogleberg fan; I admire his talent, but his songs have never grabbed me. Except this one. I liked it so much I bought the album (yes, it was an album back then). I was disappointed, because I didn’t care for any of the other tunes. Unlike Poe, this particular song seems an anomaly, as if Fogleburg, for one brief moment, was channeling the energy of the raven.

Wish he’d done it more.



Dan Fogelberg
As The Raven Flies


I see the raven's made her nest in your eyes
She's got you thinking that her love is a prize
And you'll go under from the weight of her lies
As the raven flies...as the raven flies
She'll bring you stories that just never sound true
She'll bring you secrets that were never meant for you
And just as you come round she'll send you back through
She's in love with you...she's in love with you
Darker, darker
Don't let her talk her way into you
Lonely, lonely
You know she's only no good for you
Darker, darker
Don't let her talk her way into you
Lonely, lonely
You know she's only no good for you
I see the raven's made her nest in your eyes
She's got you thinking that her love is a prize
And you'll go under from the weight of her lies
As the raven flies...as the raven flies
As the raven flies...as the raven flies

Eagar Allen Poe
The Raven

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
`'Tis some visitor,' I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door -
Only this, and nothing more.'

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore -
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
`'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; -
This it is, and nothing more,'

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
`Sir,' said I, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you' - here I opened wide the door; -
Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, `Lenore!'
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, `Lenore!'
Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
`Surely,' said I, `surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore -
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -
'Tis the wind and nothing more!'

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door -
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door -
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
`Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, `art sure no craven.
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore -
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door -
Bird or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as `Nevermore.'

But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered - not a feather then he fluttered -
Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have flown before -
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.'
Then the bird said, `Nevermore.'

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
`Doubtless,' said I, `what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of "Never-nevermore."'

But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore -
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking `Nevermore.'

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
`Wretch,' I cried, `thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he has sent thee
Respite - respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! -
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -
On this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore -
Is there - is there balm in Gilead? - tell me - tell me, I implore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore -
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shrieked upstarting -
`Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted - nevermore!

Fear

Fear is not a good feeling. It can be helpful, say, in getting out of the way of a speeding car or quickening one’s pace sensing danger, but often I think fear paralyzes and causes futile worry and angst.

I was reading a weekly post of life coach Dane McCullough this morning; I am blessed to count her as a friend and I read her posts every week with great anticipation. They are always worthy of thought, but sometimes they hit me square between the eyes. Like today. Not the main part, but in a PS she wrote to address many of her client’s concerns about the earth. Here is her statement back to them:

I invite you to remember that fear is never part of the truth.

Her point being that fear might bring attention to a problem, but it is not the best way of solving it. Rather, one should reach inside and outside to find a peaceful answer.

I love that. Then I thought about how to apply this philosophy to writing. Writers fear many things. Will I ever get that big break? Did I piss off that agent because I sent her my book twice by mistake? Ditto a publisher who wanted something after the deadline had passed and I’d already sold it? Will I ever be able to support myself with writing? But I think the number one big bogy of a fear underneath all of that is: am I any good?

As I’ve stated before, “good” is in the eye of the beholder. However, I believe most writers would like a big slice of the population to consider their work “good”, aka, a publisher bought it and then lots of people bought it.

The truth is, no matter how hard a writer works and/or how good a writer is, there will be only a small population that ever has a best seller. And some of those happen posthumously. That’s the reality. And that’s the fear.

I have days where fear dominates. Why keep trying? Have I already done my best work? And is that work just not good enough to generate a best seller? Sigh.

But it doesn’t have to be that way.

I keep covers from every book I’ve sold or magazine I’ve been published in. Sometimes I make myself read old stories. I’ve started doing more shorts to get that published “high” more often. I send stuff to my sister. She always likes my stories. :-) New nail polish has been known to work. Or a bath and a glass of wine. These are my fear strategies.

And next time Big Bogy Fear comes knocking, I’ll have another helpful routine: remember what Dane said. I will let fear motivate perhaps, but I won’t let it influence my solutions.

Oh, and if you ever want to read an incredible story about how Dane didn’t allow fear to keep her from leaping into the unknown, read her bio.

She’s a great coach too, if you need one of those.


Dane McCullough
317.455.DANE (3263)
www.LifeCoachDane.com

Just In Time Writing

I’ve worked many different jobs, some good, some bad. Most a little of both. One of the more interesting professions was working in a warehouse. I was one of the few women back then driving large pieces of equipment. The environment was challenging on a number of fronts, but I learned a lot about myself, men, and how I would never be cut out to be a fork lift driver.

Anyway, something that was implemented while I was there was the Warehouse Management System, or WMS. We called it We’re Missing Something because the system didn’t work so well at first; it was intended to supply materials at the very last minute to save space and spoilage. No longer would there be moldering rubber stoppers on the top shelf. Supposedly. In practice often a shortage would cause an order not being filled on time.

But the system got better. It did save storage and money. And interestingly enough, it also caused us to get a lot faster, because we were all competing to get those orders filled.

I thought about that with regard to my writing. I used to pick anthologies that had far away submission dates. I’d write my story, polish, send, and wait. And wait and wait and wait, just like I do with my novels.

Recently I’ve decided that was not using these venues to their best advantage. Writers rarely get dates by which they will know if their work was accepted, so why not write for ones dated sooner rather than later?

So I did. And like the WMS system, I’ve become a whole lot faster. I’ve been amazed how quickly I can write a short story when a two week deadline is looming. And I don’t have to wait long for a reply, which is nice.

I really wasn’t a very good fork truck driver. But hopefully this new approach will sharpen my writing skills and I will have even more stories published.

It Happens

I am not in the Indiana Horror Anthology, sigh. I'm actually in the Indiana Science Fiction Anthology (new cover above) coming out soon.

It was a misunderstanding and I'm cool with it, although I do apologize to those who have already purchased the horror anthology thinking I was in it.

The reviews have been great...even if I'm not in there. :-)

Indiana

The Indiana Horror Anthology is now available on Amazon!! I’m so excited to be included. (My story is Networks.) It’s always wonderful to be published, even better in an INDIANA book.

I love my home…can you tell? I didn’t always. India-No-Place. Hicksville. I thought the coasts were more glam. Hipper. Close to the ocean which I adore. I only appreciated Indiana’s quiet beauty and quirkiness when I grew older.

And what is more quintessential Indiana than the State Fair? My husband and I go every year. He loves the farm animals. I love watching the people. We both love the food. The fair is a microcosm of Indiana: farm folk and city slickers co-mingle eating fried cheese and elephant ears, listening to rockabilly overlaid with raucous 80’s rock.

I’ve heard east coast people describe Indiana dwellers as bland. West Coasters have been known to call us dull. Maybe we are. But we are also something else.

Gary and I were tip-toeing through mounds of poo behind the cow pavilion when we heard a wait, wait! We turned. There was a freckled face girl, her pigtails swinging, holding up a twenty dollar bill. You dropped this, she said to Gary.

A little later on we passed the make shift memorial to the five people killed when a stage collapsed last Saturday. We sat across from the mound of flowers, cards, and stuffed animals, watching people add their own gifts. Some held hands. Others bowed their heads. Everyone who passed stopped talking, if only for a moment.

That’s my Indiana.

Even Shorter

A few months ago I had a conversation with a young man who is starting a novel. What kind, I asked? He frowned. It’s not a kind, he said, it’s literary.

Ah yes, literary. Anyone who writes knows what that means. I don’t write genre. I write literary. High class. Smart. The Good Stuff.

Sigh. I could argue the merits of genre writing but why? You either like it or you don’t. Humans, a good number anyway, like to rate things. Try to “outsmart” one another. And if you have read any of my posts you will know one thing I despise is intellectual snobbery.

And alas, some genre writers are not exempt from this sad trend. I read an article in which a genre writer pooh-poohed short stories. Only those who can’t complete a novel write those. Really? I wonder what Asimov would have said about that. Wait. I think I know. He was somewhat of a curmudgeon.

But I digress. So I know what some writers say about genre. About shorts. What do you think they would say about writing greeting card verse???

Yes, I’ve gotten into that too. I’ve always been pretty good at light poetry…rhyming, structured, and free flow. In fact, I love to add them into stories. Spells are fun. And greeting card companies pay, per word, better than any other writing outlet. Some as much as 300 bucks a verse. They also allow artwork submission and I’m going to try that as well.

Of course, the big companies either have staff or…surprise…you have to have an agent. But small to middle sized ones welcome submissions. So…while waiting to hear back on my novels and writing short stories I’ve also completed my first round of verse and sent it in.

As far as I’m concerned, writing is writing.

And a check is a check. :-)

Shorts

It’s really hot here in Indiana, but I’m not talking about clothing.

I’m in that waiting mode. Making the transition from sending my novels to small publishers to medium and large ones means waiting a long time…for them to say... no. Hopefully at some point one will say yes, but in the meantime I wait, send it out again, and wait some more. It’s depressing.

I’m working on a new novel but this one is going slower, in part because it’s a traditional fantasy, but I know the other reason is because at the end I’ll have yet another manuscript to go out there…and wait some more.

When I was working in corporate America I was almost always in school. I was lucky that my employer paid for a good portion of it, even a PhD. Did I need a doctorate for my work? Not really. After all, I was doing the job. I did learn a lot and I do think my schooling improved my skills, but I didn’t need it.

For work, that is. I did need it for me. Corporate America is many things both good and bad, but one thing it is generally not is affirming. Was I doing a good job? Sometimes clients told me so. My bosses hardly ever. I always got a raise. I was never in danger of job loss. But did that mean I was good? I never really knew. But school…ahhh. Now that was another story. Every semester came a solid confirmation of Kelly Goodness.

And that’s what short stories do for me now. They are quick. They are fun to write. Easier to find markets. You don’t have to make a commitment to a character or setting. And I get that nice satisfying we want this more often.

Over the last couple of weeks I’ve knocked off a couple and already had one accepted to an Indiana Horror Anthology. (How cool is that…an anthology for Indiana writers and/or stories set in Indiana. About time. We’re a spooky state. :-) )

Unless you are famous, you’re never going to make a bunch of money on shorts. But that’s OK. I didn’t get any cash for good grades either.

Being published…it just never gets old.

White Space

I just finished a post on Gary and my dance blog entitled white space; specifically, the space between notes in music or the space between dance steps, and how both are not empty, but meaningful and profound.

Then, as often happens, I contemplated about how white space applies to other art forms. Since I draw, I’m acutely aware that sometimes too much going on can ruin a painting; there has to be “white spaces” in order for what’s important to stand out and to give the viewer resting places.

My thoughts drifted to writing. Stories need “white spaces” too. All conversation or action scenes can be tiring. Conversly, too much description is sometimes boring.

If action and conversation are the notes, then perhaps settings and explanations are the peaceful white spaces in between. The trick is knowing where to put them in, and sometimes, when to take them out.

And understanding that one person’s white space will always be another’s yawn. :-)

Whazzup?

I really like wazzup, as in hey dude, wazzup? I also like meh. It totally captures that lackadaisical feeling, as in how are you doing….meh. For me, slang is the embodiment of language’s fluidity. And English is one of the most fluid languages ever. And weird and odd.

As a comic once said, why do we park on a driveway and drive on a parkway? Why put a comma before “too” at the end of a sentence but not after “also?” (Although the “too” rule has changed in some people's mind…the last editor I had said I could do either way but I must choose. Another example of fluidity.)

I’m reading a book that is fascinating but probably one of the most pompous I’ve ever encountered, so I will not be naming it. The author traces the history of words and how they’ve changed over the years. That’s the fascinating part. The not so great part is his belief, stated strongly and often, is that some words are better than others, and when in doubt use a fancy one.

I don’t agree. When I hear someone using a “fancy” word it’s almost as if that person is looking around to see if I “got” that it was fancy. Inside I’m thinking yeah, I heard it, yeah you’re smart, and do you want me to ask what that word means so you can explain it to me?

This author thinks writers should do the fancy. I disagree even MORE with that. In my opinion, a writer’s job is to take the reader somewhere else. If a reader is forever puzzling over a word that takes him or her out of the story that’s not good. As a reader myself, an interesting word now and then is fun. A skillful writer can use the word in context so the reader can figure it out. But more than a few and my attention wanders.

I try not to do this and I never mean to, but I’ve been admonished for using a word someone might not know and I’m glad my editors pointed it out. After all, I’m writing for my readers as much as for me. And I don’t want them to say huh? or worse, feel stupid because they don’t know the word.

I don’t celebrate illiteracy, but I also don’t laud the reverse. If I’m choosing, I’d much rather spend time with an interesting person with a 6th grade education that a PhD with a case of intellectual snobbery.

But in the end, I guess that’s what makes people so fascinating. After all, that author I’m reading would make a great character. I might have to kill him off in the first chapter, though. :-)

Doin’ The Happy

Maybe not “doin’” lately. Attempting.

I’ve written several posts about being happy and what it takes to choose this state. This particular post is about tests. Life tests. And how that impacts one’s happiness.

My husband Gary has been going through some trying times; in short, he just left a terrible working environment for greener pastures. It’s been, to say the least, a stressful time. And although I don’t pretend for a minute to have gone through anything close to what he endured, I suffered right along with him. There is something very horrible about watching a loved one in pain.

My happy quotient took a nose dive. Nothing seemed as bright or shiny. Nonetheless, Gary and I still managed to do things we enjoyed and we didn’t let it affect our relationship.

It did, unfortunately, severely affect my writing. I know there are many who write best during sad or angst-filled moments. I am not one of those. I need peace, a beautiful space, and happiness in order to create. I did write a bit, but my heart was elsewhere.

But…if writing is my career you Just Do It no matter what. Easier said than done if your career is based in artistic expression. What I decided to do to move myself forward in housekeeping. I researched new markets. I did some individual marketing. And I at least contemplated my new book and made some decisions about that. As the expression goes, life happens. If you are a writer, you have to develop solutions that keep you in the game no matter what the universe throws at you.

The good thing is all your experiences, both good and bad, can be fodder for stories. Maybe I will never use this exact event, but the pain I saw my husband go through I will never forget, and will translate, I hope, into authenticity the next sorrowful scene I write.

Being able to connect with humanity is what writing is all about. In this case “connecting” was very painful. But I came out the other side stronger than ever. And hope, strength, and optimism are things I always put into my stories.

Indiana Authors & Illustrators

Another quick marketing post. Don't know if all states have them, but Indiana has a website for their children's authors. Since I've written several YA books I wrote and asked if I could be listed, and after filling out a form they posted my books.

Here I am. :-)

http://childrensauthors.in.gov/index.php?page=madden,%20kelly

Also a great place to find fellow writers close by.

I've been doing a lot of marketing research lately and I thought I'd give a shout out to, in my opinion, the BEST place a writer can go to find publishers, agents, and advice. This site states very clearly who are the bad guys and the good guys. Wow. A place that actually looks after writers. It's free too. When I make it big they will be getting a donation from me.

My only wish is that the listings would be done by genre, but you can still find what you need by trolling through, letter by letter.

http://pred-ed.com/pubagent.htm

Hyacinths For The Soul

If of thy mortal goods thou art bereft,
And from thy slender store two loaves alone to thee are left,
Sell one, and with the dole
Buy hyacinths to feed thy soul.

Moslih Eddin Saadi, Gulistan (Garden of Roses)

This poem is a favorite of my mom’s, and I love it as much as she does. To me it means humans not only crave beauty, we need it to survive as much as food and water.

I’m reminded of a story I read about women in refugee camps. What did they want almost immediately after being fed? Lipstick. I don’t think that desire is frivolous. They wanted a small bit of glamour in the midst of terror and chaos. Beauty, after all, is a marker of our humanity.

Today I was one of the millions watching the royal wedding. I know there are contradicting opinions on the validity of royalty, but for me, this wedding was a hyacinth.

The setting was breathtaking. William and Katherine were the very essence of romance as they walked down a tree-lined red carpet. When the angelic voices of young boys serenaded them with a centuries old chant, my eyes filled with tears. As a writer, suddenly the images of Arwen and Aragon flashed into my head. I realized where Tolkein must have gotten some of his breathtaking imagery. His iconic settings were likely inspired from the lush English countryside and historic events like the one I observed today.

And books are certainly hyacinths for the soul.

In times where beauty can be rare and where many suffer, hyacinths are more important than ever. Yes, the wedding was expensive; so was our presidential inauguration. There are other expensive and controversial pursuits, such as space missions, the world-wide maintenance of historical sites and museums, and the Olympics. I believe all of these are hyacinths. They are examples of humans at their very best.

But perhaps more importantly, they give us hope that there will be a future for humanity, one filled with more hyacinths that we can possibly imagine.

Writers and Cats

I know it's a stereotype, but this site is so cute I couldn't help it. :-)

http://writersandkitties.tumblr.com/

What’s Important

I read an article the other day in one of my fashion mags. Yes, a fashion mag. Like TV, they get no respect. But anyway, the article was about the author’s struggle for balance between personal achievement and personal relationships. She talked about Carol Joyce Oates, who recently wrote a book on grief after the death of her husband.

Oates states that having been published often and praised often did nothing to ease her loss. And how obtaining her heart's desire of having her work recognized was, in the end, not important. She uses Mark Twain, who lost a child, as an example. Would he have given up Huckleberry Finn for that child? No question, said Oates.

When I first started reading this article I thought to myself, well, easy enough for YOU to say, Carol. You’ve published, like, 50 books. I know she must be devastated losing her husband. But still. Then I kept on reading. The Mark Twain story got me. I think it was the exchange part of it.

Which forced me to realize that every time you choose to pursue an individual goal, you sacrifice time with others. With loved ones. With your special partner. I’m not saying I think lovers, family members, and friends should be glued to each other at all times. But the book for a child touched me deeply.

At this point in my life I want Big Recognition for my books. But…at other times I have wanted different things. I’m sure years hence I will want something else. What has stayed the same is my connection to those I love. And although I haven’t known my husband all my life, I cannot imagine life without him now.

When I did counseling work I sometimes asked people and groups what they would want on their tombstone. This exercise often provided great clarity. For me, too. Would I like Famous Author on mine? Sure. But if I could only have one phrase, I’d rather have Kelly, beloved of Gary.

I’d trade any book for him.

Slogging Along

I’m in the middle of my new book, Bittersweet. Actually, I'm past the middle, but it feels like the middle. My character is on her way to completing her quest. I know what the ending is. But Something Else Needs To Happen. I don’t know what this Something is. This happens with every book. But it will work out. It always does.

Yet...

What if this book is the one I can’t figure out? What if this time there is no Something Else? Or what if I’ve lost it and will NEVER be able to figure out what any book needs????

Sigh.

I’m reminded of one of my favorite poems, Half Way Down The Stairs by A. A. Milne. I love this poem because it seems to celebrate outwardly doing nothing yet thinking quite a bit.

Kinda where I am right now.

Halfway down the stairs
is a stair
where I sit.
there isn't any
other stair
quite like
it.
I'm not at the bottom,
I'm not at the top;
so this is the stair
where
I always
stop.

Halfway up the stairs
Isn't up
And it isn't down.
It isn't in the nursery,
It isn't in town.
And all sorts of funny thoughts
Run round my head.
It isn't really
Anywhere
It's somewhere else
Instead.

Book Review

I just finished reading Changing Planes by Ursula LeGuin, another favorite author. I should say re-read, because I’d read it a number of years ago, given it to my sister, who just returned it.

LeGuin is probably most famous for her Earthsea books, which I also loved. They were made into one of those made for TV movies. I didn’t like it. They changed the story a lot, which sometimes works and sometimes doesn’t, in my opinion. This time I didn’t think it did, mostly because those dreamy books were turned into an action movie. The author was not pleased because whoever did the changing also tried to make the trilogy into some kind of Religious Statement, which she did not intend.

I understand her anger. But I can see why someone reading Earthsea might have come up with his or her own interpretation, wrong as it was.

LeGuin has a way of poking gentle, and often not so gentle, fun at modern beliefs, practices, and social norms. Changing Planes is no exception. The premise is if you are in an airport and you focus hard enough, you can change planes. Planes as in planes of existence. But only in airports, because it takes boredom, bad treatment, and horrible food to produce the correct mental state. That right there is hilarious, and one of those not so gentle statements.

The stories occurring in alternate dimensions are even more so: a plane catering to American holidays run by captive natives, another where genetic programs have produced people who can’t sleep, a kingdom where those who are different are killed, an island of very sad immortals...all of these destinations pointed to situations in our own world, even if the author had no intention of doing so.

LeGuin’s pieces are, at the very least, philosophical fantasy. I understand why she wouldn’t like her prose “explained”, especially by a TV producer. On the other hand, to have someone take something away from my work, even if it wasn’t intended, I think is pretty cool. In fact, I would love it if two different people got completely different meanings from a story I had written.

But that’s just me…in my own private plane of existence.

Book Review

I just finished Dragonhaven by one of my favorite authors, Robin McKinley. She isn’t everyone’s favorite. Some people say she doesn’t explain enough about her worlds. That she leaves loose ends. Sometimes unfulfilled endings. And OK, there’ve been times I wanted more explanations. Or a wrapped up ending.

But I forgive her for any and all of the so-called mistakes because she writes so wonderfully. Although…when I first started Dragonhaven I wasn’t blown away with the character or story. And the author’s familiar frustrating here-we-are-in-our-world-with-ebay-and-current-news-yet-exactly-why-are-there-dragons-and-how-did-they-arrive is in effect. I thought hummm…perhaps the first book of hers I won’t love? But then it happened. That sneaky, snaky spiraling of words that always draws me in. Slowly. Without me knowing it. And soon I can’t put the book down until I’ve finished it in one big gulp. Which by the way, is one of the dragon’s names.

Perhaps one “downside” to creating such beautifully written worlds and stories is that the reader wants more. If I had to choose between too much information and not quite enough, I’ll choose the mystery any day. Sigh. I still wish Dragonhaven had gone on longer…

Predators and Editors

The question I'm asked most is...how do I get started in a writing career? What I've always answered is after you've honed your craft go join Writer's Mart. And although I'm no longer using that service, it was well-worth my money. They have articles about all things writing, from how to write a cover letter to what an agent does.

But after you've gotten your feet wet and are finally in the treading water stage, then what? You know how publishing works. You know how to query an agent. You have developed and polished your writing style.

In my opinion, the BEST resource for experienced writers without an agent (or even if you do have one), is the website Predators and Editors. Here you will find large lists of publishers and agents with descriptions of what they do and don't want. Most importantly, this site rates them...hence the usage of "predator" in their title.

This is the site I use most often to find places to submit. It's free, although you can donate. Which I will be doing after my first Ginormous Sale. :-)

http://pred-ed.com/

The Writer’s Speech

I’ve been thinking a lot about writing dialogue. As so often happens, I get inspiration from what some would call “high” and some would call “low” sources. I recently saw the movie “The King’s Speech." The stuttering king brought aberrant speech patterns front and center for me.

Then there was that video of a dramatic reading of a breakup letter I posted last time, the so-called lower end of the entertainment spectrum. (I say “so called” because I don’t believe in high or low, good or bad, intellectual or dumb…I think those descriptors are subjective, but anyway.) I studied that break up letter with great gusto because it clearly demonstrates that how we humans speak is not how we write…usually.

And that is true especially when we are angry or otherwise passionate; we often don’t make sense when we talk. Or yell. :-) But when we write a letter, even a furious one, we are expected to compose complete and logical sentences. That’s what writing is...a way to go over our words, smooth, and edit our communication.

That break up letter was one of the funniest things I’ve ever read, but I don’t think it would make good fictional dialogue. Neither would too many scenes of the king stumbling over his words. Being real is very important. But being too real is tedious, boring, and perhaps TMI, even if that’s the way people really act and speak. Fiction is supposed to transportive.

Writing dialogue is fiction, and thus part of that equation.

When Not to Put it in Writing

Or should I say, when NOT to put it in writing....OK????

Watch this video. It's really funny. But it's a good reminder not to put angry feelings down on paper, real or virtual. Ever. Even if those emotions are justified. Even if you are correct. Probably especially if you are correct. They never go away. And do you really want your pissed off letter on some agent's web page? I didn't thinkkkkkkkkk so. :-)

Deep Into the Forest

Valentine’s Day Eve finds me in the woods, but not in a bad way. I’m about a third done with my new fantasy book. It’s been fun immersing myself in what I would classify as a traditional fantasy, albeit I’m writing in first person.

I’ve noticed a few things along the way. First, to use or not to use “medieval speak”, such as thee, thou, milady, forsooth, etcetera. I’ve decided not to. As my sister says, we don’t really know if people spoke that way, it’s hard to do well and consistently, and, even when you do accomplish it can be irritating for the reader.

Second, where are we, exactly? Old earth? OK, but that limits you to say, dragons. Most fantasy writers ask the reader to imagine an alternate earth somewhere out there or a parallel timeline. You know, where there are dragons. :-) I’ve decided to do that. Which opens up its own can of worms, such as, are there worms? And should they be in a can?

What I’ve chosen to do is try not to be too earth-like. So, while I may use the word apple, I don’t have my apples coming from a known orchard or dipped in Kraft caramel coating. My criteria? If it’s too distracting or jumps out at me when I re-read I choose another word.

Lastly, how does the magic work? I think this one is very important. Are people born with magic or must you learn it...or both? Does it bubble up from some sort of magical font? Ride in on a comet? There are some who believe fantasy is easier to write than Sci-fi because you don’t have to explain the science, but I disagree. Magical boundaries and criteria are just as important.

At least, they are in my book. Tally ho and all that rot.

A Nice Gift

I think the best sorts of gifts are surprises: a card in the mail for no reason at all, my husband bringing home a special kind of bath goo, a stranger telling me she loves my dress.

I received a totally unexpected gift yesterday from a literary agency. I never really expected to hear from them one way or another…lots of agencies don’t answer when they mean no, especially big famous agencies like this one. I certainly didn’t expect the kind note I received in response to a query.

No, I wasn’t offered representation, but I got something almost as good…a personal note from the agent’s assistant telling me not to give up, and that my book, although it didn’t fit the agent’s portfolio, would surely find representation somewhere.

She didn’t have to do that. She didn’t even have to answer at all. But that small paragraph made my day, and more than that, fortified my resolve.

Thanks, Jenna.

BARBECUING HAMLET

My niece Ruthie is in another play!!! It starts tomorrow...here's the scoop from the Buckcreek website:

BARBECUING HAMLET
a hilarious farce by Pat Cook

Wouldn't it be fun to direct Shakespeare's Hamlet? That's what Margo Daley thought until she is hired by the Peaceful Glen Memorial Players. She must turn the play into a melodrama, the sponsors' names must be added, and it must also be set in the Old West! Fast lines and even faster exits punctuate this farce as this troupe of misguided actors find out what it's like when they begin Barbecuing Hamlet.
February 4-5-6, 11-12-13, 2011

Chalice

I just finished The Chalice by Robin McKinley, one of my favorite writers. I loved this book; as usual, her characters are divine, the environment lush and alien, and the story kept me from putting it down much. There is also a side romance which is sweet and exactly how I like romance…not part of the main story, somewhat of a surprise, but if you think about it afterwards its not.

One of the many things I enjoy about McKinley’s prose is how she thoroughly, yet slowly, immerses the reader into her world. As a fantasy writer, I know how tempting it is to launch into big explantions. Ideally, you give the reader just enough so there is no frustrating confusion without so much information that it distracts from the story.

McKinley is a master at this. Chalice is not set on Earth, at least, not the earth I know. The land, the politics, the cultural mores, are all her invention. Weaving all of that into her tale without overwhelming the reader is a real talent. And no one, in my opinion, does it better.

Into The Fantasy

After more than a few fast paced mysteries and YA books, it feels good to settle into a traditional fantasy. Not that there isn’t action, but the tale is unraveling itself slowly. There’s more time for description. Exploration of the world. Long journeys and destinations. The environment becomes very real, which is especially important when the story is not set in the modern world. Or on earth.

It’s fun. I enjoy every part of writing a book (except the editing and marketing), but developing the way my world appears, sounds, feels, and tastes is my favorite part. I have to watch myself, though. It’s easy for me to get lost in too many flouncy paragraphs.

So…even though third person is most often used for traditional fantasy, I’m writing in first. First person keeps me grounded. And, it’s first person through the eyes of a young girl. A child would never go and on and on and on about the forest.

And so, hopefully, neither will I. :-)

The Blue Sword

The Blue Sword is the name of one of Robin McKinley’s books, but I love the Hero and the Crown even more. The blue sword is an important part of both stories, which is why I chose it as the title of this post.

I’m in-between books now, a disquieting time, I think, for any writer, but more for me this time than any other point in my writing career. I’ve written many books and short stories, and sold a number of them. I have one at an agent’s, another (asked for) at a publisher, and am waiting to hear back on several other queries from agents and publishers. I could write a sequel in any of the recent worlds I’ve created, but which? I don’t want to write a sequel until I’ve sold the first…made that mistake before.

I could come up with another world, but I find I’m rather tired. I love the worlds I’ve created, and I’d like to stay in one for awhile. So here I am, waiting, and wondering what to do next.

I’ve almost decided to do something completely different from what I’ve been doing, first person paranormal mysteries and YA adventures, and delve deeply into another form and format…a traditional, third person fantasy.

A traditional fantasy would have different meanings depending on who you ask. For me, it means some kind of alternate world with the protagonists on some kind of quest. One of my favorite in this genre is Robin McKinley. I’m reading a collection of her short stories now, and will probably read the Hero and the Crown before I begin mine.

Her characters are all wonderful, the stories are fabulous, and the settings and descriptions are the best I’ve read, but what I love the most is the sparseness of conversation. Her people speak without speaking, letting their actions say what is in their hearts. Reading her books inspire me.

And besides, on a cold Indiana afternoon there is nothing better.

Holly and Ivy

The holiday decorations are packed away, the presents are opened, placed, consumed, or forgotten about, and in my part of the country the winter has set its teeth into the ground and my bones.

But an early birthday gift thawed my chilly skin and melted my heart…my niece and nephew found and presented a book to me that I hadn’t read since I was a child: The Story of Holly and Ivy by Rumer Godden, illustrated by Adrianne Adams (cover above).

The book is about the power of wishing. It is a sweet and magical story with wonderful characters. But what I love most about this seemingly simple tale is how the author presents the strength of yearning in such few words. She doesn’t have to tell you what Ivy experiences …you feel it through her actions and wishes…and through Holly’s, Peter’s, and Mrs. Jones’.

I love this book so much. I read it again, even though the Yuletide is past. It was the perfect gift from two very sweet gift givers.

And that makes me love the book even more. :-)

Happy New Elf Year

A brand new year and elves...doesn't get much better than that. :-)