The Worlds of Kelly Madden

Who You Takin’ To?

2012-02-08T10:02:00.001-08:00

I talk to myself all the time. Sometimes out loud. I always have, and didn’t think too much about it until graduate school. My degrees are in psychology. Yeah, that’s right, the major that gives names to everything you do. So when I got into school I did a lot of contemplation on just who am I talking to when I speak to myself, and who is driving the bus I call Kelly?

A little background: shrinks that focus on the physical brain call this part of us the primal brain, or the reptilian brain. It’s really old and concerned with our survival. When you pull your hand away from a hot stove that’s the old ‘gator mind in action. It can also show up in more subtle ways, like distrust of a stranger. You can kind of see its point in Neolithic times; better to run or take the first swing than to risk your own head getting bashed. Psychologists who focus less on the brain itself and more on that fuzzy concept, the mind, call this part of us the inner child, the id (Freud), etc.

I think it’s all the same. Whatever you want to call it, most people in the field would agree that 1), it’s ancient, and 2), it’s concerned about your welfare. Unfortunately, sometimes that inner voice doesn’t always mesh with what you want in your life; instead it chatters away about unreal threats, tempts us down an easier path, or can be downright mean, all in the name of protection.

Writers can feel this acutely. Constantly have one’s work evaluated and rejected can take a toll on the most resilient inner child. So here’s what I’ve done; I’ve named mine. His name is Dude. He looks like a cross between Carson from the Queer Eye TV show and Felix from the Odd Couple (TV show from the 70s for those of you too young to remember). Dude is constantly berating me for not writing enough, not editing effectively, he worries that I may never have huge sales, and comes down hard if I make a mistake like sending something twice to the same agent. He wants me to be perfect, because perfection will make me safe.

NOTE: Not that either of these two would ever do such a thing, they are simply the images that popped into my head of what Dude looks like.

When he gets on my nerves I tell him so. I start out nice: thanks Dude, but I got this covered. I progress to a bit more firm if he keeps it up: Dude, get a grip! If he still persists I say Dude, SUCK IT UP AND MOVE ALONG. I rarely have to get to level three.

Actually, we get along pretty well. The reason for that is I acknowledge Dude is just trying to help. And he does get my butt in gear if I’m having a pity party and he helps me consider how I could have done something better. All in all, I appreciate him, but just as I respect Dude, Dude has to respect me. Which is weird, because Dude IS me.

So anyway, my sister and I were talking about our inner person and she named hers too and said it helped. I had several more conversations with my husband and some friends and they were all delighted with the concept. So…I thought I’d throw it out there for all of you. Try it and see. What’s your inner child’s name? What does he or she look like? Sound like? What does your person say about your writing? What’s valid? What’s not?

And BTW, it doesn’t have to be a human. My sister’s isn’t. But it does have teeth.
:-)

New Book Signed!

2012-02-05T10:45:00.000-08:00

I'm very excited to be signed with World Castle Publishing...new book is The Reckoning. No release date yet, blurb is below. Yeha!!!

Lillith Brown's a daimon muse, a fairy creature who inspires humans to be the best they can be. Her job used to be a lot easier when humans thought muses, like all fey, were imaginary. But then something happened that changed the world forever; all fairy creatures became visible to humans. Now Lillith functions as a counselor while she finds and inspires humans. It doesn’t help that humans confuse the word daimon with demon. It also doesn’t help that Lillith looks the part. In her free time she assists the local police in cases involving the fey. Her life is complex, but pretty humdrum; that is, until her newest client is murdered. Lillith, along with her friend, Sergeant Frank Peters, are sent into a whirlwind of excitement and danger as they discover the murder is only the tip of the iceberg.

http://www.worldcastlepublishing.com/home.html

Yes Is Not A Requirement

2012-01-25T06:12:00.000-08:00

When I first started submitting books and shorts to publishers I would do two things: one, I’d check them out on my favorite site Editors and Predators to determine if the publisher was legit, and two, I’d make sure my book fit with the publisher’s guidelines. If they wanted me then I wanted them, no questions asked. On my part, anyway. Over the years I’ve had mostly good experiences.

I’ve realized along the way that just because a publisher wants your book doesn’t mean you have to say yes after you understand all of their requirements. Two encounters have been good examples of this. A publisher wanted one of my YA books. I did extensive rewrites. Some I agreed with, others I didn’t, but I did them all because I wanted it published. THEN I discover my book would be on hold, which at the time would have been a wait of two years. If the publisher would have been, say, Random House, I would have waited. But this publisher, although respectable, was a small to medium one. I took out the rewrites I didn’t agree with and sent my book elsewhere and just signed it.

Another example comes from one of my mystery books. The publisher was very excited but wanted so many rewrites to me it would have been a completely different book. (The publisher was mainly romance expanding into other genres and…no surprise…wanted more romance.) Again, if Random House I would have done it, but since not a huge publisher I sent my book somewhere else. The small plot catches were appreciated and I did fix those. (I always consider every bit of feedback I get…just because I didn’t agree with all of it doesn’t mean some wasn’t valid.)

NOTE: Both of these publishers were very nice and said they would understand if I decided to place my book elsewhere.

So anyway, all of that to say that in this day and age there are lots of publishers, especially small to medium sized one. You don’t have to say yes if something doesn’t feel right to you. And you can ask questions. For example, before I signed my most recent contract I asked for a description of the editing process. I got a wonderful response back which told me I would be involved every step of the way, which is exactly what I want.

This leads me to answer a question a reader asked. If I am so happy with Wild Child/Freya’s Bower why would I look elsewhere? Why go through all the stress of somewhere new?

That’s a good question. I do love this publishing house. Everyone is professional and nice. They know their stuff. They communicate. They are helpful. I’ve made modest sales. But I want to see what else is out there. I love to write for its own sake, but I’d like to make more money. What I’ve learned is the publishing biz is subjective and quirky, thus bumping into just the right person could be all it takes to send a book soaring. I do what I can marketing-wise, but I don’t have the income to go hog wild.

I don’t know if a new small to medium company will be better for me, but what I figure is that they know different people in the business, have different readers, or different marketing techniques. Any one of those could expose my books to just the right person.

And that could make 2012 a very good year.

A Good Airing Out

2012-01-04T11:02:00.000-08:00

My grandmother used to say this every spring; she’d take out all of her rugs and beat them over the clothes line, a year’s worth of dirt, dust, and skin cells soon wafted over the countryside. She would also scrub everything within an inch of its life, the proverbial spring cleaning.

I don’t do it in the spring. Actually, I don’t do it at all, not like she did. And spring never seemed the right time. I’d much rather be tidying my garden. I clean in the winter right after the holiday stuff is put away. I also sort my closets, eliminating what doesn’t work for me anymore.

For example, my dancing clothes. When Gary and I first started dancing I thought I’d be dressing in ball gowns with lots of glitter. Still do the glitter, but we are way too jumpy and dippy for me to wear long dresses, so out they went.

I clean in other areas too. For writing, I go through my records and make sure all my manuscripts are out. I send reminder notes to publishers or agents if they haven’t responded within their stated time frame. Along with my usual tasks this year I’ve realized that perhaps some publishers and agents just don’t work for me.

At this point in my writing career I know I can write; I wouldn’t have published as much as I have nor would I have agents asking to read manuscripts if I couldn’t. However…I think because my stories often don’t fit within a prescribed genre big publishers and agents don’t want that kind of risk in today’s market. I say that without pride or regret, as my dad would say, just an observation.

So I’ve decided to focus on boutique publishers; these are small to medium houses that focus on something out of the mainstream. I sent my Malaysian story, Chimera, to a publisher who only takes books with protagonists of color. I sent my after death story, Albatross, to a “new age” publisher. And so on. There are places that do unusual. They may not be big, but perhaps like Goldilocks and little bear’s bed, they will be just right for me.

Happy New Year.

The Space Between

2011-12-23T11:00:00.000-08:00

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!

2011-12-11T11:00:00.000-08:00

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

2011-11-30T09:38:00.000-08:00

Tinkerbell, Holidays,and Editing...

2011-11-22T08:35:00.000-08:00

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

2011-11-12T11:31:00.000-08:00

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!

2011-10-28T10:15:00.000-07:00

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

Stacy's Mom

2011-10-14T12:42:00.000-07:00

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

2011-10-11T04:53:00.001-07:00

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

2011-10-08T12:50:00.001-07:00

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

2011-09-19T11:01:00.001-07:00

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

2011-09-05T12:08:00.000-07:00

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

2011-08-21T09:19:00.000-07:00

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

2011-08-17T17:27:00.001-07:00

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

2011-08-15T04:55:00.000-07:00

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

2011-08-02T10:02:00.000-07:00

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

2011-07-19T08:45:00.000-07:00

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?

2011-07-01T07:23:00.000-07:00

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

2011-06-12T05:47:00.000-07:00

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

2011-05-31T11:28:00.000-07:00

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.

2011-05-23T12:00:00.000-07:00

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

2011-04-29T16:57:00.001-07:00

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

2011-04-21T15:21:00.000-07:00

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

http://writersandkitties.tumblr.com/

What’s Important

2011-04-14T11:14:00.000-07:00

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

2011-04-04T16:11:00.001-07:00

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

2011-03-24T08:33:00.000-07:00

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

2011-03-14T06:10:00.000-07:00

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

2011-03-07T10:14:00.000-08:00

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

2011-03-01T09:32:00.000-08:00

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

2011-02-19T09:51:00.000-08:00

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

2011-02-13T13:18:00.000-08:00

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

2011-02-04T10:46:00.000-08:00

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

2011-02-03T04:15:00.001-08:00

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

2011-01-29T12:37:00.000-08:00

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

2011-01-23T13:36:00.000-08:00

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

2011-01-15T09:33:00.001-08:00

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

2011-01-09T11:49:00.000-08:00

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

2011-01-03T16:13:00.000-08:00

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

The New Year Ahead

2010-12-26T13:42:00.000-08:00

I don’t make resolutions as such; if I decide to change something I do it no matter when it is. What I do instead is make statements of what I want to happen during the coming year. I used to call them wishes, but that sounded too iffy and as if I were waiting for something or someone to grant them.

I do think that there is someone or something out there that does some wish granting, but like that old lottery joke I believe you have to help. You don’t know the joke? It goes like this:

A man prays long and hard about winning the lottery. Finally God appears to him and says, “give me a break…buy a ticket.”

I love that joke because it acknowledges the divine yet it also recognizes your part in achieving what you want. God, the Goddess, the Force, the Source, The Unknowable, whatever you call it can’t help you unless you help yourself, and that’s where declarations come in.

So. I begin every year with these sorts of statements. Here is how I do it, although I don’t in any way say it’s the only or best way.

1) Make them positive. You can do negative, as in I don’t want this to happen anymore, but I believe positive ones are more powerful.

2) Make them about you and your behavior. You can’t control others (or publishing companies and literary agencies), but you can control you.

3) Make them specific. It’s hard to work towards a nebulous goal, and if anyone is listening out there, do you really want that something to guess what you want?

4) This one might sound like a contradiction to three but I don't think it is...allow the Universe to intervene. What you are asking for may not be in your best interest. Or, there may be something better you never imagined.

Being a writer means you have to be very focused. If nothing else, declarations help you to do that. At best, Pinocchio’s Blue Fairy will bring you exactly what you want in the coming year. :-)

Blog Format Change

2010-12-17T10:33:00.000-08:00

When I first started writing this blog I wasn’t sure how to go about it. I looked at other writer’s blogs and my publishers had some ideas. One suggestion I received from a couple of sources was to review books.

I never was entirely comfortable with that. Even though I clearly state the reviews are my opinions, who am I to give one? I’m not an expert. All I know is what I like. Fair enough, but should I really put that out there in a public forum? The second thing is that I would never, ever want to hurt someone’s feelings...the author, or his or her fans.

But I went ahead with the reviews, trying to compliment as I was critiquing, which I never had a problem with… until last month.

Someone gave me some books I really did not like. (Scores of friends and family recommend books so I’m not identifying anyone here.) When I say I did not like, I mean I really didn’t like: not the setting, not the characters, not the plot, and not the writing style. I tried to like it. I started book one twice to make sure. I gave it to my husband who said the same thing. It was bad enough to return the books saying they were not for me when I knew this person loved them. I couldn’t bring myself to review them on my blog.

Because no matter how much syrup you dribble over a critique, if you diss someone’s woo no matter how nice or fair you believe you are, it can feel like you are questioning their taste.

I have recent experience with this over my (gasp) Twilight infatuation. Someone will say something nasty about the books and then a quick, “oh…you like those. I forgot.”

I have found myself in the odd position of defending these books. What I realized was that I wasn’t so much defending Twilight as I was defending my right to like whatever I want without my literary acumen questioned.

So. I’m not going to review books unless I totally fall in love with a story. From now on I’ll leave critiquing to the experts or for people who love to do it. Neither one will ever be me.

The Paparazzi's Holiday, Part Deux

2010-12-12T07:32:00.000-08:00

I've had a couple of people ask where I found the picture of the gingerbread house with the pooping deer.

I made that house. Well, not me entirely; I baked and decorated it with my husband and some friends.

OK, I mostly ate candy and watched , but I was there. And that story popped into my head when my twisted friend placed that deer in the front yard. :-)

Old Story, New Look

2010-12-12T07:06:00.001-08:00

One of my short stories, Upon a Midnight Clear, is going to be re-released by my favorite publisher, Wild Child/Freya's Bower. The new cover is below, by Posh Gosh designs.

It should be available soon, but mostly I wanted to show off the fabulous artwork.

http://poshgosh.yolasite.com
http://www.wildchildpublishing.com/

The Paparazzi’s Holiday

2010-12-06T07:54:00.000-08:00

See, Santa didn’t always have the posh digs he has now. That super-sized Mcmansion was an acquisition only after he and the misses proved themselves to their sponsors. Hey, those toys don’t make themselves. They aren’t constructed by elves, either. Those poor saps have enough to do getting the big guy ready for his yearly deliveries. And I heard that scoop right from the source.

I captured this photo on one of my regular visits to the ski slopes. We get ‘em where we can find ‘em, and snow towns are ripe with celebs. I can only hope to snap Paris falling into a drift. But anyway, there I was, a paparazzi down on his luck, on the edge of a second rate lodge.

There wasn’t even a broken down botoxed star anywhere within a ten mile radius, so to console myself I’d found a tavern where the beer and women were cheap. Maybe it was holiday magic, but after a couple of cold ones who should stumble in but two short men dressed all in green. The regulars ignored them, but my radar engaged. You never know. Pretty soon I heard them griping about their boss… mostly about being worked to death. One of them moved his hat around to scratch and I could have sworn those ears were pointed.

I followed them outside when they left. They complained all the way back to a hovel of a house: shingles falling off, haphazard decorations, and a fat surly reindeer pooping on the front lawn. It wasn’t pretty, but the place smelled of vanilla and candy canes. Weird. I peeked through the window, and there he was: the fat man himself, dressed in a ratty bathrobe trimmed in white fur. He caught me staring, put a finger to the side of his nose, and shook his head.

I took a picture anyway. Any pap worth his salt would have. But no one would buy the photo. And it wasn’t for lack of trying. I couldn’t really blame them…who’d believe it? I wasn’t even sure I did. Don’t know if he used the old place to take a break, couldn’t let go of his past, or if he used the location to take advantage of his workers where no one could see.

What I did know was I never got nothin’ for Christmas after that. That’s life in my profession. Paris doesn’t send me a card, either. I might go back, though. Maybe I could catch the misses in a hot tub…

The Gift Of The Magi

2010-12-03T11:53:00.000-08:00

The Gift Of The Magi, by O Henry, is, in my humble opinion, the best holiday story ever written. For those of you who have never read it, enjoy. For those who have, read it again. I do ever year around this time.

The beautiful water color is by Lisbeth Zwerger.

The Gift Of The Magi

One dollar and eighty-seven cents. That was all. And sixty cents of it was in pennies. Pennies saved one and two at a time by bulldozing the grocer and the vegetable man and the butcher until one's cheeks burned with the silent imputation of parsimony that such close dealing implied. Three times Della counted it. One dollar and eighty- seven cents. And the next day would be Christmas.

There was clearly nothing to do but flop down on the shabby little couch and howl. So Della did it. Which instigates the moral reflection that life is made up of sobs, sniffles, and smiles, with sniffles predominating.

While the mistress of the home is gradually subsiding from the first stage to the second, take a look at the home. A furnished flat at $8 per week. It did not exactly beggar description, but it certainly had that word on the lookout for the mendicancy squad.

In the vestibule below was a letter-box into which no letter would go, and an electric button from which no mortal finger could coax a ring. Also appertaining thereunto was a card bearing the name "Mr. James Dillingham Young."

The "Dillingham" had been flung to the breeze during a former period of prosperity when its possessor was being paid $30 per week. Now, when the income was shrunk to $20, though, they were thinking seriously of contracting to a modest and unassuming D. But whenever Mr. James Dillingham Young came home and reached his flat above he was called "Jim" and greatly hugged by Mrs. James Dillingham Young, already introduced to you as Della. Which is all very good.

Della finished her cry and attended to her cheeks with the powder rag. She stood by the window and looked out dully at a gray cat walking a gray fence in a gray backyard. Tomorrow would be Christmas Day, and she had only $1.87 with which to buy Jim a present. She had been saving every penny she could for months, with this result. Twenty dollars a week doesn't go far. Expenses had been greater than she had calculated. They always are. Only $1.87 to buy a present for Jim. Her Jim. Many a happy hour she had spent planning for something nice for him. Something fine and rare and sterling--something just a little bit near to being worthy of the honor of being owned by Jim.

There was a pier-glass between the windows of the room. Perhaps you have seen a pierglass in an $8 flat. A very thin and very agile person may, by observing his reflection in a rapid sequence of longitudinal strips, obtain a fairly accurate conception of his looks. Della, being slender, had mastered the art.

Suddenly she whirled from the window and stood before the glass. her eyes were shining brilliantly, but her face had lost its color within twenty seconds. Rapidly she pulled down her hair and let it fall to its full length.

Now, there were two possessions of the James Dillingham Youngs in which they both took a mighty pride. One was Jim's gold watch that had been his father's and his grandfather's. The other was Della's hair. Had the queen of Sheba lived in the flat across the airshaft, Della would have let her hair hang out the window some day to dry just to depreciate Her Majesty's jewels and gifts. Had King Solomon been the janitor, with all his treasures piled up in the basement, Jim would have pulled out his watch every time he passed, just to see him pluck at his beard from envy.

So now Della's beautiful hair fell about her rippling and shining like a cascade of brown waters. It reached below her knee and made itself almost a garment for her. And then she did it up again nervously and quickly. Once she faltered for a minute and stood still while a tear or two splashed on the worn red carpet.

On went her old brown jacket; on went her old brown hat. With a whirl of skirts and with the brilliant sparkle still in her eyes, she fluttered out the door and down the stairs to the street.

Where she stopped the sign read: "Mne. Sofronie. Hair Goods of All Kinds." One flight up Della ran, and collected herself, panting. Madame, large, too white, chilly, hardly looked the "Sofronie."

"Will you buy my hair?" asked Della.

"I buy hair," said Madame. "Take yer hat off and let's have a sight at the looks of it."

Down rippled the brown cascade.

"Twenty dollars," said Madame, lifting the mass with a practised hand.

"Give it to me quick," said Della.

Oh, and the next two hours tripped by on rosy wings. Forget the hashed metaphor. She was ransacking the stores for Jim's present.

She found it at last. It surely had been made for Jim and no one else. There was no other like it in any of the stores, and she had turned all of them inside out. It was a platinum fob chain simple and chaste in design, properly proclaiming its value by substance alone and not by meretricious ornamentation--as all good things should do. It was even worthy of The Watch. As soon as she saw it she knew that it must be Jim's. It was like him. Quietness and value--the description applied to both. Twenty-one dollars they took from her for it, and she hurried home with the 87 cents. With that chain on his watch Jim might be properly anxious about the time in any company. Grand as the watch was, he sometimes looked at it on the sly on account of the old leather strap that he used in place of a chain.

When Della reached home her intoxication gave way a little to prudence and reason. She got out her curling irons and lighted the gas and went to work repairing the ravages made by generosity added to love. Which is always a tremendous task, dear friends--a mammoth task.

Within forty minutes her head was covered with tiny, close-lying curls that made her look wonderfully like a truant schoolboy. She looked at her reflection in the mirror long, carefully, and critically.

"If Jim doesn't kill me," she said to herself, "before he takes a second look at me, he'll say I look like a Coney Island chorus girl. But what could I do--oh! what could I do with a dollar and eighty- seven cents?"

At 7 o'clock the coffee was made and the frying-pan was on the back of the stove hot and ready to cook the chops.

Jim was never late. Della doubled the fob chain in her hand and sat on the corner of the table near the door that he always entered. Then she heard his step on the stair away down on the first flight, and she turned white for just a moment. She had a habit for saying little silent prayer about the simplest everyday things, and now she whispered: "Please God, make him think I am still pretty."

The door opened and Jim stepped in and closed it. He looked thin and very serious. Poor fellow, he was only twenty-two--and to be burdened with a family! He needed a new overcoat and he was without gloves.

Jim stopped inside the door, as immovable as a setter at the scent of quail. His eyes were fixed upon Della, and there was an expression in them that she could not read, and it terrified her. It was not anger, nor surprise, nor disapproval, nor horror, nor any of the sentiments that she had been prepared for. He simply stared at her fixedly with that peculiar expression on his face.

Della wriggled off the table and went for him.

"Jim, darling," she cried, "don't look at me that way. I had my hair cut off and sold because I couldn't have lived through Christmas without giving you a present. It'll grow out again--you won't mind, will you? I just had to do it. My hair grows awfully fast. Say `Merry Christmas!' Jim, and let's be happy. You don't know what a nice-- what a beautiful, nice gift I've got for you."

"You've cut off your hair?" asked Jim, laboriously, as if he had not arrived at that patent fact yet even after the hardest mental labor.

"Cut it off and sold it," said Della. "Don't you like me just as well, anyhow? I'm me without my hair, ain't I?"

Jim looked about the room curiously.

"You say your hair is gone?" he said, with an air almost of idiocy.

"You needn't look for it," said Della. "It's sold, I tell you--sold and gone, too. It's Christmas Eve, boy. Be good to me, for it went for you. Maybe the hairs of my head were numbered," she went on with sudden serious sweetness, "but nobody could ever count my love for you. Shall I put the chops on, Jim?"

Out of his trance Jim seemed quickly to wake. He enfolded his Della. For ten seconds let us regard with discreet scrutiny some inconsequential object in the other direction. Eight dollars a week or a million a year--what is the difference? A mathematician or a wit would give you the wrong answer. The magi brought valuable gifts, but that was not among them. This dark assertion will be illuminated later on.

Jim drew a package from his overcoat pocket and threw it upon the table.

"Don't make any mistake, Dell," he said, "about me. I don't think there's anything in the way of a haircut or a shave or a shampoo that could make me like my girl any less. But if you'll unwrap that package you may see why you had me going a while at first."

White fingers and nimble tore at the string and paper. And then an ecstatic scream of joy; and then, alas! a quick feminine change to hysterical tears and wails, necessitating the immediate employment of all the comforting powers of the lord of the flat.

For there lay The Combs--the set of combs, side and back, that Della had worshipped long in a Broadway window. Beautiful combs, pure tortoise shell, with jewelled rims--just the shade to wear in the beautiful vanished hair. They were expensive combs, she knew, and her heart had simply craved and yearned over them without the least hope of possession. And now, they were hers, but the tresses that should have adorned the coveted adornments were gone.

But she hugged them to her bosom, and at length she was able to look up with dim eyes and a smile and say: "My hair grows so fast, Jim!"

And them Della leaped up like a little singed cat and cried, "Oh, oh!"

Jim had not yet seen his beautiful present. She held it out to him eagerly upon her open palm. The dull precious metal seemed to flash with a reflection of her bright and ardent spirit.

"Isn't it a dandy, Jim? I hunted all over town to find it. You'll have to look at the time a hundred times a day now. Give me your watch. I want to see how it looks on it."

Instead of obeying, Jim tumbled down on the couch and put his hands under the back of his head and smiled.

"Dell," said he, "let's put our Christmas presents away and keep 'em a while. They're too nice to use just at present. I sold the watch to get the money to buy your combs. And now suppose you put the chops on."

The magi, as you know, were wise men--wonderfully wise men--who brought gifts to the Babe in the manger. They invented the art of giving Christmas presents. Being wise, their gifts were no doubt wise ones, possibly bearing the privilege of exchange in case of duplication. And here I have lamely related to you the uneventful chronicle of two foolish children in a flat who most unwisely sacrificed for each other the greatest treasures of their house. But in a last word to the wise of these days let it be said that of all who give gifts these two were the wisest. O all who give and receive gifts, such as they are wisest. Everywhere they are wisest. They are the magi.

THE BEST CHRISTMAS PAGEANT EVER

2010-11-28T12:20:00.000-08:00

My niece, Ruthie, is in yet another play at Buck Creek.

Oh and BTW, she is directing a musical (Oklahoma) in 2012. Yes, that's directing, the youngest director ever at Buck Creek. :-)

From the Buck Creek Players website:

THE BEST CHRISTMAS PAGEANT EVER
a holiday treat for the entire family by Barbara Robinson

The Herdmans are the worst kids in the history of the world. They lie, steal, smoke cigars, swear and hit little kids. So no one is prepared when this outlaw family invades the annual Christmas pageant. Their interpretation has a lot of people up in arms, but it will make this year's pageant the most unusual any one has ever seen and--just possibly--the best one ever.

December 3-4-5, 10-11-12, 17-18-19, 2010

Harbinger

2010-11-27T08:19:00.000-08:00

Yesterday my husband and I finished our holiday decorating. Today I completed my last edits on my new book, The Prodigy. Next week I will be sending it to a publisher.

Many writers don't submit during December because they believe no one will look at it until the new year. Probably true, but I have a holiday fantasy that goes like this: a lone assistant editor the night before Christmas pulls out yet another manuscript from the slush pile. She's mad about staying late. But the story intrigues her. She can't put it down...

Yeah. Something like that. :-)

I'm hoping that the Harbinger of Joy depicted on this vintage postcard will bring me luck...and anyone else who has a manuscript out there.

Over the River and through the Woods

2010-11-21T09:37:00.000-08:00

Over the River and through the Woods by Lydia Maria Child is one of the few Thanksgiving songs I know of. Sometimes people make it into a Christmas song by changing a couple of words, but it was written for Turkey Day.

Thanksgiving was never a big deal in my house growing up...the holiday was more of a Christmas pre-start, as my mom decorated anything that didn't move. After I became a vegetarian about twenty-five years ago the turkey part certainly lost its luster, and I never was a stuff-until-you-drop kind of gal. Unless you're talking about Skittles, but that's another story.

I love this song because it is so very Americana: the food, seeing family during the holidays, snow, and enjoying the great outdoors with a cozy interior just around the corner.

Although my Thanksgiving in many ways is not traditional, I do use this holiday to consider all of my blessings. When many in the world don't have enough to eat or drink and worry about their safety, I have the luxury of being able to write fiction. I will never, ever take that for granted.

Have a good one!!

Over the river, and through the wood,
To Grandfather's house we go;
The horse knows the way to carry the sleigh
through the white and drifted snow.

Over the river, and through the wood—
Oh, how the wind does blow!
It stings the toes and bites the nose
As over the ground we go.

Over the river, and through the wood,
To have a first-rate play.
Hear the bells ring, "Ting-a-ling-ding",
Hurrah for Thanksgiving Day!

Over the river, and through the wood
Trot fast, my dapple-gray!
Spring over the ground like a hunting-hound,
For this is Thanksgiving Day.

Over the river, and through the wood—
And straight through the barnyard gate,
We seem to go extremely slow,
It is so hard to wait!

Over the river, and through the wood—
Now Grandmother's cap I spy!
Hurrah for the fun! Is the pudding done?
Hurrah for the pumpkin pie!

Cleaning

2010-11-16T04:11:00.000-08:00

My sister dubbed me a clothes horse years ago, and as Garfield the cat would say, I resemble that remark. I retorted that I found my stuff on sale, the Goodwill, and more recently on ebay …there’s nothing like the thrill of finding designer jeans , tags ON, for a song. She replied back well yes, but that doesn’t change how much stuff you have. Very true.

So now and then I do a giant sorting and clearing out. It’s no fun to do, but it feels good when I’m done.

I do the same with my writing records. I’ve finished editing my new book, The Prodigy, and that same sister is now editing it. (She is my first and best editor). I’ve completed the synopsis and cover letter. I’m not ready to start a new book…the contemplation phase is still going.

So what to do…besides holiday stuff? It's time to do some cleaning. I check over where all of my manuscripts are, and how long respective peoples have had them. One needed a polite ahem, are you still looking at it? Another had passed the allotted time with no answer (unless you are dealing with a particular person or you have sent materials, silence means no). So I found another place to submit that one.

Being a writer means you own your own business, and no one but you is going to remind you that these tasks need tending to. A manuscript in limbo is a story that isn’t published. And it gives a sense of control to a business that often feels like the writer has no control.

Just like eliminating those beautiful, designer shoes that hurt my feet. :-)

Kinda Wow…

2010-11-09T09:00:00.000-08:00

…is how I’m feeling this morning. It isn’t a big wow, perhaps more like a quiet woo. :-)

I finished another book: The Prodigy. I still have some editing to go. But it’s done.

I realized as I was checking for overused words and phrases, mistakes of spelling, punctuation, and consistency, that I’ve finally found that writing groove: idea gestation, compose, DONE, edit, submit, sell. (Or course, there is another whole list of stuff to do after you sell, but this is my list.)

I’m very happy I have another one under my belt. I’m satisfied to see my writing technically improve with every book…I don’t have to edit as much, yea! I’m looking forward to the contemplation and cogitation that comes with starting a new story.

But what I’m most glad about is that I finally feel like I’ve settled in. Yeah, still waiting for an agent and still very much wanting to have that best seller, but in the meantime, I feel like a writer.

A real one.

How My Life Inspires Me

2010-11-02T11:39:00.000-07:00

This is not going to be a deep moving story. But it is an example of how I often use my own life to draw from in my fiction. The following tale will make it into a book.

My husband and I got married on Halloween. This year he gave me a beautiful ring, and knowing my penchant for long baths, a bath bomb. For those of you who don’t know what that is, picture a giant cellophane wrapped ball that fizzes on contact with water. This one was named Candy Corn. Nice and Halloween-y. Last night I gathered up all my bathing equipment and planned a nice evening.

Short intermission: Gary and I have not always lived in our cozy condo by the lake. We once resided on what could only be called a homestead; a gorgeous 1920's “fixer upper” house on a huge track of land. We both realized after ten or so years that while we liked the idea of a country estate, the practicalities of said living arrangement were not so great. At least, not without garden minions. And maybe Mike Holmes. Anyway, we downsized and moved, wanting to spend our free time on things like, say, writing.

We shared our country house with various uninvited critters: mice, termites, centipedes, flies, and spiders. Big spiders, like those huge ones you see in the garden and think wow, I’m glad it’s outside. Once when I was taking a bath I swirled the water around and lo, floating atop a mound of bubbles, was one of those spiders. It was dead, but still.

So back to the present; I threw in the bomb and watched it fizz away. I took a sip of wine and looked again…thank the stars I wasn’t in there…and saw a giant spider bobbing along the warm currents. I screamed and Gary came running. Bug, I yelled. (We have an equal relationship. But in my opinion, it’s still the Man’s Job to kill insects.) He leaned over and burst out laughing.

The spider was plastic. Apparently, the makers of these bath bombs thought it would be hilarious to insert a spider into the Halloween ones. Hardy har har.

It’s funny now. And great story fodder.

Samantha

2010-10-29T05:41:00.000-07:00

I love the TV show Bewitched. Yes, I know it’s dated; the eternal question of why such a magical, beautiful, talented, and smart woman would give up everything to marry a rather cranky and ordinary man seems old fashioned and perhaps a bit sexist.

But Samantha, in many ways, was a ground breaking woman. I never once believed Sam felt trapped. She chose to be with her mortal husband. And I do believe this was the first major representation of a pretty witch, aka, a woman who was powerful and sexy in the same package.

But she did struggle to balance her need for love and her desire to express her natural gifts, something women were just beginning to address back when this show was created. And still do today.

This show inspires me. My female characters are always strong. They can take care of themselves. But sometimes they long for someone to take care of them.

I consider myself an independent and capable women. But there have been times in my life I wanted someone to swoop me up on a white horse, although I would have never admitted it. I would bet many women have had similar thoughts, if only for a fleeting moment.

One could argue this female see-saw is nurture or nature and I’m not sure it really matters, at least, as far as writing goes. Woman, because of their unique internal battles, make fabulous protagonists.

Thanks, Sam.

Book Review & What Is Young Adult Fiction, Anyway?

2010-10-25T05:18:00.000-07:00

I’ve been reading The Den of Shadows Quartet by Amelia Atwater-Rhodes. I’ve finished two of the books so I’m doing a review now. I like them. But I don’t love them. I’ve spent a large part of the weekend trying to analyze why.

Ms. Atwater-Rhodes tells a good story. Her vampire world is unique. I even like the characters. But I didn’t fall in love with these books. Which has caused me to contemplate just what is young adult literature? The most common definition is that the protagonist is a young person. Wow. That covers a lot of ground.

I read a lot of what would be classified as YA, because I need to for my career since I write a lot within that genre, but also because I love to read it. For me, I’ve discovered the following dividing line: there seems to be YA books that are written as if the protagonists really are teens, and those that are written as if the teen is an adult in teen clothing.

NOTE: Not all teens are “typical” teens. ;-)

The Den of Shadows would be the first category; these teens are teens. Vampire teens yes, but their focus seems to be finding friends, getting a mate, wedging themselves into the correct clique, getting even when someone has wronged them, fighting with parents. I think the Artimis Fowl books by Eoin Colfer are also this variety. These are excellent, fun, books, but I didn’t fall in love with these, either. The main teen, Artimis, is brilliant, but what is he doing mostly? Trying to prove himself by getting away with stuff his parents don’t know about, and often is involved in petty fights with his friends.

The other YA is very different. In these books teens behave more like adults and are dealing with adult problems. Twilight is this variety. Belle, in many respects, IS the adult in her family; her mother is flighty, and even her father who is more stable, needs to have his dinner made for him. She isn’t concerned about fitting in with other teens. The Harry Potter books fall into this realm. Even though Harry does have some normal teen problems, the main focus of the story is not trying to impress his parents (dead), and he certainly doesn’t care what his adoptive parents think. Cornelia Funke's Inkheart books I would place here, too; Meggie does not behave like a typical teen. Her relationship with her father is more like a friend. And her biggest problems are not teen ones.

I’ve read that middle grade books deal with internal family strife while true YA should be external to the family struggles, and perhaps this is some of the difference I’m seeing. The best YA, in my opinion, does deal with some teen problems yet blends in adult concerns as well, hence the mass appeal of books such as HP…kids AND adults find themselves within the pages and both groups love them.

I’m still figuring all of this out. And to be clear, I don't think either variety is right or wrong, better or worse. I can see why teens would like to read stories in which teens act like teens.

All I know is what I like to write. And to read.

Maxfield Parrish

2010-10-18T06:44:00.000-07:00

A reader asked if I did the painting from my last post. Um, no…but thanks. I wish. That wonderful painting is by Maxfield Parrish, my very favorite painter in the world. He is, in my opinion, THE painter of light, even though a modern artist has claimed that title.

He was a famous illustrator in the early 1900s into the 20s and 30s and even worked late in life. His paintings are still loved today. He dabbled in many subjects, including fairy tales. The painting I posted last time was his version of Cinderella. I like the way he portrays Cindy, young and lovely yes, but this Cinderella is not a teenager, she is a woman...a woman who knows what she wants.

Parrish portrays all of his woman like this…beautiful, but you can see personality there, too. His women can be powerful, free, strong-willed, fun loving, or contemplative, you know, like a human being instead of just a gorgeous woman.

Check these out. These are just a few of his many many paintings and illustrations. Like a good book, Maxfield Parrish takes you somewhere else, somewhere magical. Sigh.

When the Clock Strikes Midnight

2010-10-12T05:59:00.000-07:00

There comes a time in every novel that I call I Don’t Want To But I Have To. This event usually arrives ¾ into my book; the proverbial story “arc,” where all of the plot points meld. In my books this means all the protagonist’s foibles merge, and then she or he gets a big whack. After that comes the exciting conclusion (hopefully) and final resolutions.

The trouble is, I don’t much like writing the big whack. But it is absolutely necessary. Let’s face it, it’s not too interesting to read about someone living a stress-free life. Conflict is more exciting. You don’t hear much about Cinderella’s life after she gets married, for example. Small domestic squabbles don’t make for page turners, at least, not for me. I’m guessing Cindy and Prince argued over how many dresses that silver tree shook down for her. In the original tale. Read it sometime. Much better than the Disney version.

Anyway, I know there must be a story arc, I know my protagonist must reap what she has sown, I know this makes for exciting reading after the sad part is completed, but I don’t want to. By this point I care about her. I want her to be happy. And perhaps she will be, but first…WHACK!

The other interesting thing for me as a writer is that I know in general terms what the learning will consist of, but I never know for sure until I write it. That’s uncomfortable, because sometimes those scenes are more debilitating, horrifying, or unexpected than I had ever imagined.

But I must. Connor, my detective from my new book, must plow into what my readers will know she is heading for even if she doesn’t. To do otherwise wouldn’t be fair, and wouldn’t make for a good read.

I’ll try to be gentle.

Quiet

2010-10-08T05:21:00.000-07:00

I’m a quiet person by nature, an introvert. For those of you not familiar with personality typing, introversion is not a bad thing; it simply means one is internally motivated. Behaviorally, most introverts listen more than they talk. I chose a career as a psychologist because my introversion played into this natural tendency.

But I worked in a corporate arena, which is very different from private practice.

In corporate America quiet people are often labeled as less smart or capable. So I developed a fast talking, sarcastic, morbidly witty persona. This wasn’t all bad. I became very good at public speaking. I learned how to defend myself. And most importantly, the executives I worked with responded well to dark wit; they wanted quick solutions to their problems delivered in a humorous manner.

But that persona was never me. After I left the corporate world, I interacted less and less with people who appreciated that personality overlay. And of course, I had never used it with my friends and family. I worried for a while that I was loosing my “edge.”

My husband and I were taking a walk the other day and he asked me if everything was OK. I was surprised. We were strolling through the woods, listening to the birds, admiring the beautiful fall colors and bright blue sky. I asked him why he asked. Because you’re so quiet, he said. I just smiled and said everything was wonderful.

Paying attention to my own thoughts and observations was my first step in reclaiming the quiet. I had doused my internal voice for many years. Step two has been listening to other people’s thoughts and observations without necessarily trying to fix. I’ve realized that fixing has been a way for me to prove my worth and my intelligence, and that usually people don’t want to be fixed, they just want someone to listen.

This change in my thinking has caused me to understand people in a way I’ve never done before. Good for personal growth of course, but it also gives me a huge pallet upon which to paint stories. Humans are endless fascinating. And everyone has a story to tell.

It’s amazing what one can hear when not talking. :-)

Halloween is in the Air

2010-10-04T04:43:00.000-07:00

Today I'm bringing in the outside chairs and umbrella; I leave them out until October, always hoping for one last day on the porch. And it never happens.

Don't get me wrong...I love fall...but there's a tinge of sadness as the last warm days fade into the coming winter. Living in the Midwest displays the turning wheel of the year in a way that cannot be ignored.

As a writer, the changing seasons remind me that I only have so much time to get down on paper all the stories that whirl about in my head. I must balance that hard cold fact with living in the moment, as that is where my inspiration comes from.

I never want to forget that life should be fun, and is often funny. I found some wonderful Halloween invitations that capture that humorous feeling. Check them out: a ghost and witch tug-of-war, and a bunch of elves helping a witch get ready for a party. Doesn't get much better than that.

I Love You Because

2010-10-01T06:16:00.001-07:00

My niece, Ruthie, is in yet another play at Buckcreek. She isn't onstage, but she served as stage manager and worked with props. Check out the broccoli and everything else you see the actors handling. That would be the work of Ruthie.

Here's a bit about the play off Buckcreek's website:

"Premiering for the first time in Indiana, the new musical I Love You Because is a modern-day retelling of Jane Austen's classic novel, Pride and Prejudice with the gender roles reversed. Described as "a modern day musical love story," this new work boasts a rich and tuneful score by Joshua Salzman with book and lyrics by Ryan Cunningham. This slightly nutty take on modern dating is set in New York, the city of romance where relationships end badly, and where those on the rebound fall for the wrong person."

Book Review

2010-09-25T06:38:00.000-07:00

I just finished The Shadow of Your Smile, by Mary Higgins Clark. This author was recommended to me by my sister Quinn, and because I’m writing a mystery right now I decided to read one. This author is quite successful. My sister says her plots are always the same; the perp is in fact a sociopath…someone who can blend into to society but wait…he or she is really a killer. Quinn thinks the fun is guessing who it is.

And she was right. I began the book with a ho hum sort of feeling; it’s a traditional mystery, third person, a rather detached sort of style, lots of people introduced, big on plot less on setting and character development. No magical bits. :-)

But then I couldn’t put it down. I had to know Who Done It. Without giving it away, I guessed only half the ending. I was really trying. And Ms. Clark still fooled me.

Masterful.

I’m glad she’s written many books.

Feelin' Groovy

2010-09-17T11:51:00.000-07:00

I’m smack dab in the middle of my new, as yet unnamed, book. Well, maybe not exactly in the middle, but pretty darn close. This one’s going fast…I love writing mysteries. It’s such fun creating a puzzle and then solving it. And although I do enjoy writing for young adults, it’s also interesting to compose a story with an adult protagonist.

Today I finished a chapter, sat back in my desk chair, and realized how happy I was. Even though I’ve got a lot going on with books and publishers and agents oh my, it’s a good busy. The writing lifestyle, while hard, is also wonderful.

Yes, there are pitfalls, yes it can be disheartening. But writing is also exhilarating. And writers are rarely bored; there are always new characters and plots popping into my head. I feel very lucky to have the time, the inspiration, and the tenacity I need to write.

I’m not much of a take a break, bask in the now, gather up roses kind of gal. But today, just for a moment, I understood how much fun I was having.

It was a great couple of minutes. :-)

Back to work.

Slow down, you move too fast
You gotta make the morning last
Just kickin' down the cobblestones
Lookin' for fun and
Feelin' groovy

Hello lampost
Whatcha knowin'?
I've come to watch your flowers growin'
Ain'tcha got no rhymes for me?
Doo Bee Doo Doo,
Feelin' groovy

Got no deeds to do
No promises to keep
I'm dappled and drowsy and ready to sleep
Let the morningtime drop all its petals on me...
Life, I love you,
All is groovy

Paul Simon

Wild and Wooly

2010-09-09T06:36:00.000-07:00

It’s been a little crazy lately.

Right now I have a complete manuscript with an agent. She did not specifically ask for an exclusive read, but that’s pretty much understood. Another asked for the same book, but only wanted the synopsis. I sent the synopsis. However… after reading the synopsis if he wants the whole thing, I must wait until the first agent responds. (The thinking is the first agent is putting a lot of time into reading a complete manuscript while the second agent only has a page or so.)

It is perfectly acceptable to query more than one agent. If is also OK to query agents and a publisher about the same novel. If you sell it you can tell the agent hey…I sold it to a big publisher, want to represent me?

So. While the agent stuff is going on I sent that same complete novel to one publisher. Another complete novel is at a different publisher. Yet another publisher asked to see a synopsis of a different book, which means I can’t send that book anywhere else, even though they only have the synopsis. Publishers and agents have different rules.

This is all par for the course. Agents and publishers have unique wants and requirements; some want the whole thing right away, some want queries first, some ask for partials. Add to this mix...exclusive requests at different times in the process.

Yes, that’s a lot to keep track of. I have a document that I meticulously keep notes of where everything is. But I’m sure I’ve made mistakes. I don’t know specifics, I only know in the hundreds of documents I’ve sent I’m positive that I have. I try not to worry about it. Editors, agents, and publishers are, after all, human. What I hope is that if I’ve queried an agent more than once, he or she will smile and say that woman really wanted me. :-)

But since I do want to be professional, I do my best. I think all writers should. The tracking system doesn't have to be fancy; mine is a word doc with every book's comings and goings.

Remember that if you’re feeling like you are in a bit of a writer’s whirlwind that’s a good thing; you have a bunch of stories out there and a number of people who want to consider said stories. As my husband would say, chill, relax, breathe.

And keep track.

Taking It

2010-09-03T05:45:00.001-07:00

Take it like a man. Just get over it. I was only joking. Don’t be so thin skinned. I’m just trying to help.

Heard any of those? Our society says one should be able to “take” a joke, meaning one should be able to laugh at oneself. I whole-heartedly agree with not taking yourself too seriously. Let’s face it, we all do silly things. To pretend otherwise is to deny your humanness.

I have a hard time defining the difference between a playful jab and a stinging slap. But like the famous Supreme Court judge and his definition of pornography, I know it when I see it. For me, when someone is “teasing” me about things I am insecure about that is no fun. Sometimes even if I am secure, if I hear about it over and over it becomes tiresome.

Unless it is a big deal I just ignore it. That way when something really bugs me I know people will listen and hopefully cease.

As a writer, “taking it” most often occurs when your book is being edited. An editor’s job is to find the mistakes. You WANT them to find mistakes. Another part of their role is to suggest changes and additions. Again, you want their advice. The tricky part is knowing when they have gone too far.

I’ve worked with sweet editors, ridiculing editors, picky editors, and editors who want to completely change my story. I don’t say anything to Mr. Ridicule or Ms. Picky; I ignore the bashes and follow their rules, even if I don’t agree.

A couple of times I’ve been asked to change something I felt would destroy the integrity of my story. Because I usually do anything an editor asks without question, they listen when I politely ask for a discussion.

Just like ignoring minor teasing, you must know when to pick your battles. If you argue over a word choice, for example, you may have no chips left when a truly important issue comes your way.

One last note: I thank every editor I’ve ever had, even the interpersonally challenged. Every one has worked hard, and every one has added much to my final outcome.

But I put the sweet ones in my liner notes. :-)

Cross Pollination

2010-08-27T06:07:00.001-07:00

I've started my new book. It feels good. This one has been rolling around my brain for some time. The main reason for the wait was because my husband started a ghost book a year ago just about the time I would have begun mine…about ghosts.

The two tales had similarities; both first person, both female detectives who could see ghosts. Especially since this was his first book I didn’t want to steal any thunder…or his idea. After his was safely sold (coming out next year), I decided I could write mine.

I told him about it. He reminded me that all stories have been written, and that my telling would be completely different from his. He thought it was silly that I even mentioned it…or to have waited.

I’m lucky to be married to such a wise man.

He’s right, of course. Taking one example, how many books recently have been written about a woman choosing between a vampire and human lover? Let's see, Stephanie Meyer with Twilight, but then there’s Laurell Hamilton’s vampire series, and Sunshine, by Robin McKinley. All of these books are VERY different, yet all contain a similar theme.

There is no way a completely original idea is possible. And even before the written word, there were stories told around ancient campsites. Human archetypal memory is very old.

The way it emerges, however, is completely the author’s own. And that is impossible to copy, because no one could duplicate another’s soul.

Ahhhhhh.

Hope

2010-08-21T09:39:00.000-07:00

Hope is a good thing for anyone to have. I think writers need an especially good dollop of the stuff.

I’m an adequately confident person, by which I mean I believe I’m a good writer, but I also know I can always improve my craft and/or a particular story. In other words, I think I’m pretty good at distinguishing between bad advice and a bad story. I’m also an “up” sort of gal, practicing being happy with a vengeance, as I firmly believe the concept of happiness is a verb, not a noun.

So I’m mostly positive in general and about my writing career. Do I get down? Ever react in a silly, illogical way? Have disgusting pity parties with my stuffed lion? Yeah. I do. It’s embarrassing. But I’m writing about a recent melt down because even though I'm confident, happy, and have had success, I don’t always practice what I preach. ALL writers, I’m convinced, have their black moments. It’s a hard business.

So. After publishing with small to medium publishers I’m now trying to 1), sell to a big publisher and 2), get an agent. I sent my newest book, Chimera, to a big publisher who actually accepts non-agented stuff (few do). Usually it takes four to six months to receive a form letter rejection…I know this because I’ve submitted other manuscripts. You can guess where I’m going. After three short weeks I get the no go.

I was really sad. I decided that this publisher had my name in big bold letters posted in the mailroom: ATTENTION! ANY BOOK BY KELLY MADDEN SEND BACK! And perhaps in a smaller script: but if you want a good laugh read, then shred. (Here’s where that writer’s overdrive imagination does us no good.) My husband, bless him, didn’t make fun, but calmly stated that perhaps someone IS looking out for my stuff and reading it right away (knowing it would be good) in the hopes it would fit with this year’s portfolio.

I would have none of that. I moped all evening. Then right before I went to bed I checked my email. And lo, an agent from a well-respected agency wanted to read Chimera. I know that this agent looks at many manuscripts and so this is certainly no guarantee of representation. But being asked means someone who knows about writing and the industry picked MY manuscript out of the hundreds of partials she receives every month was…hope inspiring.

I don’t know if she will like the completed book, think she can sell it, or if we will “click”. But being asked was an honor. And the request came at a point when I really needed it. Divine intervention? I don’t know. But I never have believed in coincidences.

At any rate, I’m using the fresh infusion of hope to start my new book. Zero to sixty in five, four, three, two, one…

Book Review

2010-08-15T06:09:00.000-07:00

I just finished Year's Best Fantasy, 9th Edition edited by D.G.Hartwell & K.Cramer. It was the worst of times, it was the best of times. Sigh.

I have noticed a tendency of late, and not just within the written word, for what seems to be deliberate confusion on the part of the creator. I recently saw the film Inception. I don’t want to make a practice of reviewing anything other than books, but this movie captured exactly what I’m talking about.

I will say that the movie was brilliantly shot and some of the best visual effects I’ve seen. I LOVED the scene of the woman bending the world around, for example. Some of the acting was also quite good. The film also caused me to think deeply about the subconscious and how it rules us even when we think it doesn’t.

What I disliked was what I perceived as deliberate confusion; you are dumped into the world headlong. Lovers of the movie call this complex, but no matter how layered the plot became it didn’t seem deep at all, just…confusing. Perhaps this subterfuge is laziness; I guessed the ending within the first five minutes.

But no matter the reason for this plot device, whether faulty talent or creative license, I don’t like it. I do like being surprised. I enjoy figuring things out. I love twist endings. But I don’t want to be lost in a maelstrom of artiness. And many of the stories chosen for Year’s Best Fantasy were of this variety. Plunked down into alternate universes without a map isn’t fun to me. How can I care about these people (or aliens) if I don’t know anything about them? How can I like the story if all I get is an oh…you are REALLY inside a bottle in the middle of a desert?? (I made that up.)

And then, thankfully, Peter Beagle rescued me. If you don’t know, Mr. Beagle is one of fantasy’s best…he wrote The Last Unicorn. And The Rabbi’s Hobby is a fine example of his work; a page turning mystery, compelling characters, and an ending so sweet yet not sappy I cried. There were other good stories in this collection. The Queen of Sunlit Shores by Liz Williams is elegant, if a story can be elegant; gorgeous prose, beautiful descriptions, and a delicate plot that is both warm and icy. Lady Witherspoon’s Solution, by James Morrow, is the creepiest feminist story I’ve ever read. Caverns of Mystery, by Kage Baker, is modern yet old fashioned, a bittersweet coming of age tale. I also enjoyed Gift of a Spring by Delia Sherman, a lovely story about an older woman (not often represented in fantasy)…or is she?

In every one of these above mentioned stories there was something that caught me by surprise. But I also was engaged by fine character development and settings, and ….a plot. Confusion for confusion's sake isn’t for me. I’m glad to see some authors…and editors…agree.

Focus

2010-08-08T13:21:00.000-07:00

As I was starting my dissertation my committee chair asked what my topic was. Here’s the conversation:

I want to do it on trust.
Uh huh, that’s rather big. Narrow down.
How about trust in organizations?
Still too big.
How about executive trust?
Of what?
Trust of the company, trust of each other, trust of their employees.
Too big. Pick one.
Ok, of the company.
How will you test that?
(I roll out three research methods.)
Pick one.
(I choose comparing executive trust of the company to a well known trust theory.)
That theory has three parts. Pick one.
I wouldn’t.
He sighed and said all right, but you will have a mighty long dissertation.

Boy did I. The thing ended up being three hundred pages long. And of course, I had to defend each and every part of that theory comparison. I wished I had listened to my chair and picked one component.

The tendency to Go Big has carried with me into my fiction. I’ve come up with plot lines so big that only a huge book or a trilogy could fullfill them. I’ve written more than one sequel…without selling the first book.

I also tend to jump before really thinking about everything the book idea might entail. For example, I’ve dived into traditional romance before realizing I didn’t really want to write sex scenes. I’ve started books and gotten bored half way in.

Not to say that going big or jumping is all bad: I believe the ability to construct an over-arching plot for three or more books is a good thing. And even though my last book, Chimera, was a whole lot harder than I thought it would be, I love how it came out even though I didn’t consider the work involved.

I’m between books right now. So what am I doing? The first thing is to flood myself with input: books, movies, TV shows about new things, and interesting conversations. I receive flashes of insight from seeing other’s creativity, anything about nature, or listening to people’s thoughts and opinions. I jot any and all book ideas down so I don’t forget them.

The second thing I do is look again at what is selling. This changes constantly. I find editors and read up on what they want. I peruse Amazon. I talk to people about what they are reading.

The third thing I do is relax. Being without a book to work on is unsettling. In a way it reminds me of when I was between boyfriends. I felt free and full of possibilities, but also lonely and scared. But I knew if I embarked on a new relationship too soon I might not be ready.

As my husband often says to me, breath, chill. The book will come.

But I hope it hurries up.

Writer’s Mark

2010-08-02T15:14:00.001-07:00

When I worked in corporate America I wore “plastic clothes”, a moniker I bestowed to denote both the fakeness I felt wearing them and the material of said garments. Not to say the time spent was all bad: I made a good salary, I have a nice retirement, I met my closest friends there. I worked hard and was successful, but I never truly belonged.

On the weekends I wore my freak flag proudly, donning my weird and (to me) wonderful clothing. And then there were the tattoos. Like most, I started small, placing one on the inside of an ankle so it would be hidden. Then I got another on my shoulder. Followed by a big one on my lower back. All safely covered by those plastic clothes.

I’m getting another tattoo next week. But this time it’s rather obvious…on my right wrist. My husband, although never telling me what to do, noted, that will be in plain view, you know.

I know.

I was going to wait on the Official Writer’s Tattoo for when I made it big. Then I could truly say I was a writer. And writers can have tattoos any place they want. But I was thinking the other day if I truly believe I’m a writer, then why have I placed such an arbitrary standard on myself?

Usually if asked what I do for a living I would say I’m-a-retired-psychologist-from (insert big name company)-but-now-I’m-trying-to-be-a-fiction-writer, in one breath. I realized I was doing that because 1)I needed the “smart cred” and usefulness justification from my old profession, and 2), I didn’t feel as if I were a “real” writer unless I had a best seller.

But something happened a few weeks ago when I was asked. I started to say my line. Then I stopped, looked the person straight in the eyes, and said, I’m a fiction writer, you? We had a lovely conversation. And I believe she will be buying some of my books.

Next week I will get that new tattoo. Each one I’ve gotten so far has been in response to some sort of life change. This one may not seem like so much of a milestone externally, but the internal shift it represents is tremendous.

Of course, now I have to come up with something really cool when I do have that best seller. :-)

Supporting Fellow Artists

2010-07-28T11:31:00.000-07:00

Artists sometimes only have each other to lean on, and that's why I believe we should all support each other whether we use paper, computers, or words. My niece, Ruthie, is in yet another play, this one titled Alice In Wonderland Junior.

If you've never been to Buck Creek Theatre in Indy you should. Every play I've seen there has been top notch.

Especially the ones with Ruthie in them. :-)

A very merry unbirthday
To me
To who?
To me
Oh, you

A very merry unbirthday
To you
Who, me?
To you
Oh, me

Let's all congratulate us with another cup of tea
A very merry unbirthday to you

Now statistics prove that you've one birthday
Imagine just one birthday every year
Ah, but there are 364 unbirthdays
Precisely why we're gathered here to cheer

A very merry unbirthday
To me?
To you
A very merry unbirthday
For me?
For you
Now blow the candle out, my dear
And make your wish come true
A very merry unbirthday to you

Writer: Robert B. Sherman Lyrics: Robert B. Sherman

Editing and Underwear

2010-07-27T04:40:00.000-07:00

I can only hope this post did not come up on some weird internet search. But I believe in the comparison.

I hate spending money on underwear. I know some women love it, but for me anything frilly, fancy, and sexy means scratchy, impractical, and uncomfortable. Basically, I want my undies to be functional and disappear from sight and my mind when I put them on. In conclusion, my idea of good underwear means if they are doing a good job I shouldn’t know they are there.

Same with editing. I’m in the midst of editing my newest book, Chimera. I won’t say how much I detest editing again. Oops. :-)

Editing, if done expertly, should never make itself known. Doing a good job means no one knows you spent hours doing it. It’s sad contemplating all of that toil is never noticed unless you miss something, much the same as a trying on a million bras only to discover it shows through your garment, but that’s the way it is.

And that goes for over editing as well. Yes, I believe one shouldn’t use too many words such as “was,” but sometimes, as Freud would say, a was is just a was. Even though it’s subtle, “was walking,” is slightly different than “walked,” especially when using first person.

Ditto for fancy verbs, again, especially using first person narration. Since you are writing as if inside a person’s head think very carefully before using too many interesting words. Would a normal person say “I galumphed over to the closet?” Probably not, and that verb would be distracting to the reader.

Just like underwear, functional practicality wins over lacy and racy. Usually. The mark of a good writer is knowing when to pull a surprise out of the drawer. Heh heh.

My Baby

2010-07-18T08:20:00.000-07:00

My husband and I attended a party last night; most there were younger than us, what we like to call Prime Baby Years. Three of the women were pregnant, the others had small toddlers running about. They were all very cute (the kids and the pregnant women), but for the most part that’s what the conversation revolved around. My brother calls this phenomenon see-the-baby-hold-the-baby-touch-the-baby-the-baby-the-baby-the-baby. :-)

My husband and I are happily child free, although we do very much enjoy inhabiting the aunt and uncle role, and I occasionally befriend an external child. We do like kids. And we understand that when you have them they are, especially at first, your entire life. They should be! Raising the next generation to become productive and loving humans is the most important job in the world.

But there are other pursuits, and other worthy endeavors. I’ve just finished a novel. The gestation, if you can stand the metaphor, was hard. There is still much work to do in rearing it to adulthood. And I’m as proud as proud can be, although I have no pictures of it.

I was bursting last night, hoping someone would ask me how I was. I admit it; I wanted to brag. But no…all conversation was about earthbound, or yet to be earthbound, children.

Unless you are an artist, or think of your work as creative, you don’t name what you produce as the children of your soul. Additionally, some people will believe your offspring isn't special. This is particularly true for a writer. Often people volunteer that “they always wanted to write a book”, or “they have a book in them if only they had the time.” (These same people often think they can sing. Try it. Ask them.)

By the end of the party I was OK. I don’t have to have people asking about my baby. It’s a secret love. And fortunately, a love I can share with my husband and sister, both of whom are writers.

Good enough for me.

Done!!

2010-07-14T14:51:00.000-07:00

And after I gave myself permission to take a break and did actually relax, I finished my new book, Chimera, in two days. Funny.

Now the real work begins.

Taking A Break

2010-07-08T15:23:00.000-07:00

I was talking to a friend the other day about breaks, specifically, I didn’t think she was getting enough time to herself. But I love my family, she said. You still need time alone alone, say I. Everyone needs a break…even from things (or people) they love.

Physician, heal thyself.

I’ve been flagellating myself lately for not moving as quickly as I think I ought on my new book, Chimera. I’m plodding along, but not at the frenetic pace of my last two novels. As I’ve said before, this one is harder because of researching an unknown (to me) setting, but there’s more to it than that.

Lately I haven’t felt like it.

So I berated myself for not hitting it harder. I examined myself for morose moods ala my last two happiness posts. I even wondered if I needed to pick up some side work if I wasn’t churning out words. Then I had an epiphany when I told my friend she needed a break; I wasn’t sad, I wasn’t lazy, I didn’t need more stuff to do…I just needed time off.

I think about writing all the time: my current book, future books, editing books, marketing books. I get up with these thoughts and I go to bed with them. Wherever I am, whatever I’m doing, characters pop into my brain with a nagging hi there, and, what have you done for me lately? This isn’t bad, but like my friend and her family, even though I love writing we could use some time apart.

It’s summer. The weather is lovely. I’ve spent some nice days on my porch doing…nothing. I read and drank wine and listened to the birds. I’ve visited with friends and shopped with my mom. I’ve worked on several paintings and created a new style. I’ve glued rhinestones on my dance clothing. I’ve watched movies on the couch with my husband.

When I worked in corporate America I took breaks. They’re called vacations. And I never felt bad about that. As a writer, vacations and breaks look different than two weeks on the beach, because I’m finally living my dream career and don’t need that long to recover.

However, writing is a job. I believe I wrote a post about that. :-) Some writers say they write daily. That’s cool, but it’s not me.

Now where did I put those sunglasses?

Happy 4th

2010-07-04T05:39:00.001-07:00

May you find inspiration, literary or otherwise, in the fairy-like sparkles and glittering showers of this day. Happy Fourth of July!

Doin’ The Happy Part Two

2010-07-01T03:58:00.000-07:00

I received an interesting question based on my last post about happiness. The reader asked, but what if you try and try and never have a best seller? In other words, what if I do all of those things I listed but my writing plans don’t work out?

Perhaps I should add one more category for happiness: resiliency.

Dr. David Burns wrote a fabulous book called Feeling Good. It’s meant to help people with depression, but I think it’s good for anyone. I read it often. Even Kelly Sunshine needs a tune up now and then. :-) Anyway, he quoted studies that state people pretty much stay at the same emotional equilibrium (either born with or developed) no matter what happens.

That said, he acknowledged when bad things happen people are sad. Period. But after awhile people right themselves to their own particular level of happy…or not happy. He even studied people with terminal diseases and after the initial shock and grief, they reverted back to where they had been before the diagnosis.

As Lincoln said, everyone’s about as happy as they make up their mind to be. And Lincoln had many sad events happen to and around him.

So what do you do to get back on track? Here’s what works for me.

One. Acknowledge bad things will happen. No one lives a charmed life except Samantha, and even she had a cranky husband most of the time.

Two. It doesn’t help much to compare yourself to others. You can always find someone worse off and someone better.

Three. Talk it over with a friend or family member or get help if you can’t shake it off. I don’t think there’s anyone who couldn’t use a good shrink at least once in their life.

Four. Either except or move on. Complaining about how you wish it was does no good. Well, a good whine now and then can be therapeutic, but not if it turns into the never ending story.

As I writer, here’s what that means for my happiness resiliency.

•I must accept bad things will happen, e.g. rejections, writer’s block, a stupid editing mistake that goes into print before I can stop it.

•I understand that comparing my progress to Stephanie Meyer will only decrease my happiness.

•If I have a really bad time I will talk it over with my husband or my sister; they both love me AND they are writers. I will keep moaning to a minimum and be happy with what I’ve done.

•And if I come to a place where I’m tired of beating my head against the wall, I will do something different.

But I don’t think I’ll have to. See? Doin' The Happy.

The world is so full of a number of things, I'm sure we should all be as happy as kings. -Robert Louis Stevenson

Doin’ The Happy

2010-06-30T08:05:00.000-07:00

The Happy is what my sister and I call being positive. She’s says I’m a natural at it.

I do think some people are born with a naturally sunny outlook. I may be one of those. And overall, it’s pretty cool. But like everything in life, a “good” trait always has a down side, just like a “bad” trait always has a good side.

If you are a positive person sometimes you are not allowed to have a bad day. As a writer, I have them. Sometimes, gasp, I have a pouty week after a particularly hard rejection. If I do complain which I rarely do, what I often get back is “oh you’ll make it. You always make it,” as if I never suffer.

Also, some people equate cheerfulness with a less than stellar intellect. As a writer, (and this is true for all arts), many people believe you must wallow in the depths of despair to produce Great Work, as if writing about happy things is less important, or that a positive person can’t write about sad things.

Finally, some folks just don’t like being around happy people. I think the saying misery loves company has more than a grain of truth. Happy can also be seen as fake, as in there’s no way anyone can be that happy.

Even with these downsides I’ll take my Pollyanna outlook. Being happy is, well, wonderful. I get up every day excited about what might happen. Usually. And after coffee. And I do think everything will work out for me.

I had a friend ask what I thought the components of being happy were, in other words, how does it work? How can anyone, even those born to be Eeyore, be more like Pooh?

Here’s what I think. Like many behavioral descriptors, “happy” does not function as an adjective, but as a verb; that’s why I call it doing the happy. It doesn’t just plunk into your lap.

So. Number one. You must consider carefully what does make you happy and do more of that, but just as importantly, jettison stuff that doesn’t. This sounds simple but in practice can be very difficult.

Which is why number two is the putting into practice part. As a writer, I can say writing makes me happy. OK, then I need to do that. But I ALSO must get rid of unwanted activities that may thwart my writing. What else? Getting published at major house would make me happy. We all know the answer to that is much marketing work and perseverance, which may make me happy in the long run, but sucks in the present.

Which brings me to number three: dividing time between the present and the future/past. I believe this is crucial for happiness, and a delicate balancing act. Many spiritual teachings say that only in the now can true happiness occur, and I agree that feeling the sun on your face, snuggling with your partner, or a enjoying a sport are in the moment activities that bring pure joy. But…if you never consider yesterday’s lessons or plan for the future, you will never enjoy accomplishments or feel the thrill of reaching a goal. Not to mention paying the bills, which will certainly impact the here and now.

Number three is the hardest. For those of you who have never heard Jill Taylor speak, the video below is worth your time; if you can’t spare twenty minutes then forward to the last five. She describes finding that magical space between the present, the past, and the future better than anyone I have ever heard.

I’ve never met Jill, but I know her father, Hal. They are both explorers of the mind. Enjoy. And may you all find your happy place, writer or no.

Review: The World’s Finest Mysteries and Crime Stories, edited by E.Gorman & M.H.Greenberg

2010-06-26T09:35:00.000-07:00

World's finest? Really? I always chuckle when I read an anthology with this sort of title. Why the world’s finest? Because theses editors thought so, that’s why.

I certainly can’t tell you they are the world’s finest because 1), who am I to judge, and 2), I don’t read a lot of crime fiction, but overall I enjoyed the selections. Crime fiction, as I have stated in a previous post, is hard on the psyche. Someone usually dies and that’s sad. Also, especially in noir crime fiction, the detective or policeman solving the crime isn’t much better than the perpetrator, which can be depressing. They don’t call it noir for nothing.

So it’s taken me awhile to finish. I did have some favorites. Just favorites. Not the world’s finest.

I liked Blood, Snow, And Classic Cars by J.Hansen. The story was well crafted, but the reason I enjoyed this one so much is because of the detective. I admired the detective because he neither glorified nor debased the human condition. The fictional town contained an assortment of genders, orientations, races, professions, etc. While folks around him were making the usual stereotypical judgments, the detective did not…but at the same time, didn’t think anyone was above the crime. At first, the detective seemed ho-hum, just doing my job, miss, sort of guy. But bit by bit I realized there was so much more to this man, and by the end of the tale I loved him.

I also enjoyed Star Thief by B. Dubois, one of the best psychological mysteries I’ve ever read. It could have been written in a chilling way, but instead this author chose to present the killer as pitiable and sad. This is the only story that made me cry. Masterful.

Finally, Beautiful, by J.Deaver, put the most fascinating spin on a stalker story ever. It is very sad, yet powerful. This one totally caught me by surprise at the end, and I love that.

This collection would be great on a snowy day in front of the fire, sipping brandy. Just make sure you’re at a happy point in your life.
:-)

Guesses

2010-06-25T06:37:00.001-07:00

This post, as do many, came from a conversation with a family member. I have a creative and intelligent family. A bit quirky, perhaps, but weird and wonderful. Most of these discussions tend to be with my sister Quinn, but the other day I had one with my nephew Ben.

He, in partnership with my sister, has written a fabulous book…and I got to read it first! I loved it. One of my compliments was that I guessed some plot points, but didn’t others. Ben immediately wanted to know where and what I had guessed, as if guessing is a bad thing.

I thought about that for awhile. I decided there are three main reasons for guessing a plot point:

1) The plot is too predictable.
2) The author has “shown a gun” and used it later on.
3) The plot is following an archetype.

Obviously number one is a “bad” reason for guessing a plot point. Fortunately, Ben did not have any of these. However, he did have some twos and threes. These numbers are not "bad", and in fact, are “good” reasons one should guess.

Number two says essentially that if a writer talks about something more than once (you may have red herrings, after all), he or she should actually do something with it. It’s not fair to readers to discuss at length a magical whatsit and then never use it.

Number three is more complex, and relates to my last post about tapping into the universality of human existence. Jung called these archetypical experiences, and later on Joseph Campbell wrote about observing these themes over and over again in all sorts of media, such as the Star Wars movies. For example, the relationship between Luke, Leia, and Han Solo.

Even if Luke and Leia were not brother and sister, Luke would never have ended up with Leia. Luke had a quest to fulfill. And even though Han Solo may have seemed to be the stronger, more adventurous one, it was Luke who had a destiny to fulfill, with little time to devote to romance. So, watching the movie, most people probably guessed Leia would end up with Han. It’s a gut feeling based on a universal archetype.

Ben’s story had a similar triad, and I correctly guessed who the girl would end up with. This is not bad. It gives the reader that “ ahhhhhhhh” feeling at the end.

I remember in one of my first novels I went against archetype. My female protagonist was on a quest. The quest archetype says very clearly that in order to fulfill the quest something must be given up. At the end of the book I knew this, but I couldn’t stand to hurt a character I had grown to love…I wanted her to have it all. My sister called me on it, and I changed it. It had to be.

Archetype guesses feel good. They keep us connected to what is human. But of course, small twists and new ways of telling an old familiar story is what makes an author special. And yes, Ben did that too.

Oh to be an Aunt to such amazing kids.

Taste

2010-06-18T12:20:00.000-07:00

Something I've learned over the course of writing and submitting is just how subjective liking something, or even a part of something, is. I know that's rather a "duh" statement, but in the past I never gave it much thought.

Even two people who are very much alike in taste don't always like the same thing, or can see something differently. For example, my sister and I were discussing a book we both enjoyed. I found one sequence jarring and unnecessary. She thought it was a fair outcome. Here are two people who share genetics, points of view, and taste. If we have differences, how is it that a whole flock of unrelated people can unite via the pocketbook to produce a best seller?

I’ve given this much contemplation. The picture I've included with this post is a fractal: a geometric shape that can be split into parts, each of which is a reduced-size copy of the whole. Only recently have we had the mathematics plus high speed computers to understand these beautiful and complex entities.

But they've always been evident in nature...and in artwork. People may not have realized they were creating fractal drawings, but they must have felt the "rightness" of it. And still do. Check out the next paisley shirt you see. Carl Jung said this was because fractal images (he called them mandalas) are universal, in other words, they are part of the human collective unconscious.

Writers, while not creating with drawn images, paint with words. I believe a best seller, whether considered high literary art or trashy genre fiction (kidding…that’s what I write), has to tap into something universal. At the same time it must be uniquely told. So I got to thinking about how my five top favorite young adult characters could be represented in one sentence that says “universal,” yet “here’s how I’m unique.”

Harry Potter

Young boy struggles with being different at school and at home…as a wizard.

Dorothy (Wizard of Oz)

Young girl wants to be different and thinks she has to leave home to find it…in a magical world.

Hardy Boys

Two young men want to prove themselves in an adult world…as teenage detectives.

Bella (Twilight)

Young girl struggles with insecurity and her own mortality…while she chooses between an immortal and a mortal lover.

Frodo (the book isn’t YA, but he is)

Young hobbit struggles with a responsibility he isn’t responsible for…in an alternate universe.

I found that exercise very interesting, and then proceeded to boil down my own books. I was happy to find I could do it.

In the end, it doesn’t matter if a book has parts or pieces that you many not like or wish wasn’t there. Details make for excellent discussions, but if a story reaches into what Jung would call the collective unconscious people will respond regardless. I’m sure you’ve heard someone say “I know I shouldn’t like this book but I couldn’t stop myself from reading it.”

That statement means the author has touched the core of humanity. Readers, even if they or critics think it’s “bad”, won’t be able to resist. It’s something very primal…unless it’s the same old thing.

In some ways, every story already has been told. It’s our job as writers to craft universal truths in a way no one else has done before.

Whew.

PS. Those one sentence blurbs would be great starts for query letters. Hummmmm…

Cats

2010-06-17T11:50:00.000-07:00

A reader asked to see more pictures of my cat, Spriggan. I hesitate to write too much about my pet; living with a cat is such a writer’s stereotype, and, do you really want me to go on and on about her?

But like any proud parent, since you asked…here she is. If it looks like she’s about ready to spring, well, three’s a reason her nickname is psycho kitty.

I also decided to post my three favorite feline poems. Just so it’s not all about Spriggan.

I love this poem because it’s so magical and peaceful.

Fog
By Carl Sandburg

The fog comes
on little cat feet.

It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.

The next poem I love because the language is like music. Say it out loud. See?

Pinkle Purr
By A. A. Milne

Tattoo was the mother of Pinkle Purr,
A little black nothing of feet and fur;
And by and by, when his eyes came through,
He saw his mother, the big Tattoo.
And all that he learned he learned from her,
"I'll ask my mother," says Pinkle Purr.

Tattoo was the mother of Pinkle Purr,
A ridiculous kitten with silky fur.
And little black Pinkle grew and grew
Till he got as big as the big Tattoo.
And all he did he did with her.
"Two friends together," says Pinkle Purr.

Tattoo was the mother of Pinkle Purr,
An adventurous cat in a coat of fur.
And whenever he thought of a thing to do,
He didn't much bother about Tattoo.
For he knows it's nothing to do with her,
So "See you later," says Pinkle Purr.

Tattoo was the mother of Pinkle Purr,
An enormous leopard with coal-black fur.
A little brown kitten that's nearly new
Is now playing games with its big Tattoo...
And Pink looks lazily down at her:
"Dear little Tat," says Pinkle Purr.

The last one I love because it captures the essence of cat behavior.

The Rum Tum Tugger
by T. S. Elliot

The Rum Tum Tugger is a Curious Cat:
If you offer him pheasant he would rather have grouse.
If you put him in a house he would much prefer a flat,
If you put him in a flat then he'd rather have a house.
If you set him on a mouse then he only wants a rat,
If you set him on a rat then he'd rather chase a mouse.
Yes the Rum Tum Tugger is a Curious Cat--
And there isn't any call for me to shout it:
For he will do
As he do do
And there's no doing anything about it!
The Rum Tum Tugger is a terrible bore:
When you let him in, then he wants to be out;
He's always on the wrong side of every door,
And as soon as he's at home, then he'd like to get about.
He likes to lie in the bureau drawer,
But he makes such a fuss if he can't get out.
Yes the Rum Tum Tugger is a Curious Cat--
And there isn't any use for you to doubt it:
For he will do
As he do do
And there's no doing anything about it!
The Rum Tum Tugger is a curious beast:
His disobliging ways are a matter of habit.
If you offer him fish then he always wants a feast;
When there isn't any fish then he won't eat rabbit.
If you offer him cream then he sniffs and sneers,
For he only likes what he finds for himself;
So you'll catch him in it right up to the ears,
If you put it away on the larder shelf.
The Rum Tum Tugger is artful and knowing,
The Rum Tum Tugger doesn't care for a cuddle;
But he'll leap on your lap in the middle of your sewing,
For there's nothing he enjoys like a horrible muddle.
Yes the Rum Tum Tugger is a Curious Cat--
And there isn't any need for me to spout it:
For he will do
As he do do
And there's no doing anything about it!

In The Caves…

2010-06-12T06:56:00.000-07:00

The book I’m working on, Chimera, is set in Kuala Lumpur and the surrounding jungles. My protagonist just left the Batu Caves, a series of Hindu shrines set into a labyrinth of natural caves.

The internet has been a wonderful research tool, and I’ve discovered You Tube is a great place to actually see sites. Below is a video of The Caves. I can feel its mystic presence just watching and would love to visit.

Although I don’t know how spiritual I’d feel after climbing 272 stairs. :-)

Agent Update

2010-06-11T13:50:00.000-07:00

I've been trying to get an agent for about three months or so. I've had a lot of nos, some that didn't reply back, a few nice rejections, and one agent who read my entire manuscript before, sigh, rejecting it. Then I got a couple more rejections with feedback. This is good.

What was a bit worrisome in my case was that two agents said the same thing: loved your voice, didn't like the story premise. Well, they don't actually say "don't like," they say "I can't get as excited about the premise as I need to be."

So anyway, I was thinking so I can write. Big deal. My story sucks. Then today I got another rejection from an agent I really really wanted. He had feedback. Can you guess? Wait for it...

Loved the premise, "less excited about your voice." HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

That was a maniacal laugh. Seriously, that made me feel better. Once again, "good" or sellable is in the eye of the beholder.

Book Review

2010-06-04T06:23:00.000-07:00

I decided to read Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert for a couple of reasons. One, I needed a break from the murder mystery anthology I’m reading. Murder stories always have a …murder. The victim usually has people who mourn him or her, and that’s sad. Two, every now and then I pick something that’s way outside my normal fantasy sci-fi fare. Three, the idea of a woman traveling alone through parts of Asia I felt might help me with my own book about a woman traveling in Asia.

I enjoyed this book. I did learn some things about the countries Gilbert traveled to, although not as much as I would have liked. This was more of an internal journey.

And what a journey it was. The author is, without a doubt, a fabulous writer. Her rich descriptions plunked me down in Bali, in Rome, in India. Even something as mundane as eating pasta made my mouth water. That’s talent. My only complaint about her lush language is that she uses metaphors to distraction, at least, they often distracted me.

This book reminded me of why I don’t usually read biographic stories; they are too personal. The tale she told was fascinating, don’t get me wrong. I read it in one sitting. It was that compelling. But I was left with a slightly ick feeling of knowing, perhaps, a bit more than I wanted to know about Ms. Gilbert.

This is me and my taste. The book was a best seller, after all. But I guess I’m just a fiction girl at heart and always will be.

Back to murder and mayhem. Fictional, please. :-)

It’s A Job

2010-05-31T04:23:00.000-07:00

Writing, that is. It’s not a hobby. It can be a hobby. But it’s not mine. I already have plenty of hobbies; dancing, hiking, gardening, sewing, music, shopping, reading. Even painting, despite having illustrated my own stories and books, I would relegate to a hobby, as I have never been paid to do so. Early on I exhibited and sold paintings, which told me I needed to pick between being a professional writer or artist. I picked writing.

So. It’s a job. And where do you have to start at any job? At the bottom. For those of us who have already had a successful career this can be hard. We’re used to “street cred.” A good salary. We may have forgotten what at the bottom means because it’s been so long.

Here’s what it means as a new author. You start out writing short stories for very little money. Sometimes a “sale” simply means being published for the recognition. You graduate to novels. More bucks but basically the same principle. Gradually you build your readership base and sell more. At some point you obtain an agent and hopefully you can progress quicker.

The beginner’s cash flow (or lack of) I was prepared for. The street cred is another story, by which I mean one becomes used to a certain amount of recognition as far as work value goes. You don’t have to justify what you do. People know you are doing something. They know you get paid for that something. They might not understand the nuts and bolts, but they nod sagely when you state your profession. You have a real job. You are not lazy. You contribute to society.

And then you start at the bottom again. And the questions begin. What are you doing today, someone will inquire. Writing, say I. Long pause. How’s that going?, they finally ask. Ok, say I, considering I’m really just starting out. Another long pause. I’m glad your, er, happy. It must be nice to sit around all day long.

This used to bother me a lot. I’d seethe and then justify. I AM working, I’m NOT sitting around all day eating bon bons, and I AM progressing with my writing career, thank you very much. Huff huff. I have to admit it does still irritate me a bit, but mostly now I can let this pass by. Some people will never understand why I would switch careers just when my earning power was at its peak. Or why I would do something so “flighty.”

But that’s OK. Writing is something that called to me. The muse sunk her teeth deep and wouldn’t let go. Many of my friends do understand. A few have even called me courageous. I don’t know about that. But I do know that responding to your soul’s longing isn’t always cupcakes and flowers. In a way, I think it’s Ms. Muse’s way of saying hey…are you sure you want to do this?

I’m sure.

Now I believe I will eat a giant bon bon. Or perhaps in honor of my Malaysian book I’m working on, I’ll have an ABC…a mixture of agar, (A) bean curd (B), coconut milk (C), ice, seeds, noodles, syrup, and sugar.

I think I’ll take the bon bon.

Book Review

2010-05-22T05:51:00.000-07:00

I just finished Murder in Baker Street: New Tales of Sherlock Holmes. The selection is unusual for me. I write mysteries…my favorite character, Hagitha, is a detective. But I don’t read them much unless they have a fantasy component. However, I’m a sucker when it comes to Sherlock Holmes, probably because the famous detective reminds me of my dad in the logical way he communicates and solves puzzles.

A Sherlock Holmes story is relaxing to me. Maybe because I know how they all end. But even if I didn’t, the pace is deliberate. Dense and rarely scary, they are not what I would call exhilarating. The mystery is unraveled slowly. The character of Sherlock is hardly ever surprising. Neither is Watson.

All of this makes it harder to duplicate. You can’t disguise you are not Sir Conan Doyle by writing at a fast pace, using spicy language, or constructing overly emotional conversations. Holmes is Holmes. Watson is Watson.

So why would an editor ask a group of well-known mystery writers to compose stories using Sherlock Holmes? Perhaps for the challenge, perhaps for the built in audience. I guess I’m the second. I enjoyed the book, the stories were well crafted, but I was distracted by “mistakes” either in a generous interpretation of the characters, or simply word usage. They just were not about my Sherlock.

But then I read the story A Hanson for Mr. Holmes by Gillian Linscott. (A hanson is a horse drawn cab). Instead of Watson narrating as he always does, the author had a cabbie narrate.

This device worked perfectly. It wasn’t Watson’s voice, it wasn’t Watson’s interpretation of Homes, it was a cabbie’s, and a not so pure cabbie at that. The story was hilarious, and the best of the bunch, in my opinion.

I don’t mind classic stories messed with as long as the interpretation is good. “Good,” I realize, is in the eye of the beholder. For me, it means true enough to the original to feel the roots, but different enough for me not to frown at a counterfeit. Tricky.

Green Writing

2010-05-15T10:11:00.000-07:00

Green is a popular word these days. I even saw a commercial last night for “green” mouthwash. Heh? In all seriousness, I think going green is good. For those of us who grew up in the hippie era, it’s great to see the masses finally embrace the concept, with corporate America panting hot and heavy on those collective rubber heels.

Along with the greening of America has come the notion of helping more. Paying it forward is a common expression heard nowadays. This too is a hopeful sign for society. I’d hate to think we were devoting more attention to plastic than to people.

Unfortunately, along with this heightened social consciousness has come a bit of what I would call “holier than thou” lecturing. My green is better than your green. Heaps of green “shoulding.” Carrying around a plastic water bottle while hiking is almost as bad as wearing fur at a PETA convention.

Do I recycle? Do I try and keep my “footprint” small? Yes. Yes. Could I do more? Yeah, me and everyone else. I’m trying, OK? But what I dislike even more than an environmental or activism goading is the dig against not helping people enough. I suppose I get this admonishment because I worked as a psychologist. People have called me selfish for chucking this “noble” profession and writing fiction. Don’t I care, they’ve asked. Really. They have.

I could argue that I’ve done my time. Being a shrink is draining. I could say that I still do help people. Gratis. More importantly, I could add that it’s very important for me to have some sort of positive message in my fiction, albeit non lecturing. I don’t want to be Ayn Rand. Love her books, get tired of the political posturing.

I could say all of that. (I guess I just did.) But besides wanting to get it off my chest, I don’t have to justify. Because even if my fiction didn’t have a message, even if I didn’t help people, even if I never recycled another freakin’ plastic bottle, I’m providing entertainment for people.

Entertainment is very important. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve read a dog eared book, watched an old TV show, or shoved in a favorite movie to feel better. I believe one reason we place movie stars on such high pedestals is because of our recognition of how much we value distraction in our daily lives.

So. If you’re a writer the next time someone calls your profession “frivolous” look them straight in them eye and ask them what was the last book they read, TV show they watched, movie, whatever. Somebody wrote, or wrote for, all of those options.

And hey, if you buy books electronically you can even read green.

Peace.

Time Management

2010-05-10T02:14:00.000-07:00

Being writer is essentially being self employed. If you’ve always been self employed you understand exactly what time management means. If you’ve worked for a big company like I did for most of my life, time management looks very different. I think it’s more disguised.

Still, when you work for a mega organization getting stuff done is very important; for those you do the work for, for your own self worth, and for share holder profits. There are also many other activities you must engage in; all sorts of tracking mechanisms for what you do, meetings to share and discuss what you do, and meetings to listen and learn about what others do. Some of these activities one might see as, um, thumb twiddling. But you do it because you have to in order to keep your job.

That was me for 30 years.

A good friend of mine (my working partner) retired about two years before I did and started his own consulting business. We still meet regularly. He warned that retiring was wonderful, but that there was a transition, mostly around how you spend your time. Oh, and let me interject that when I say “retire” I don’t mean retiring as in doing nothing, I mean retiring as starting a new career. Anyway. What do you mean “transition”, I asked my friend, working is working. No it isn’t, he replied. Time becomes different. You’ll see. I just want to you be ready.

I listened, but I knew I’d be different. I wouldn’t have these problems. I would move right into my new job as a Serious and Successful Fiction Writer. And I do think it’s been easier for me than most authors. I don’t have a huge retirement, but I do have some guaranteed money coming in, and, my husband still has a “real” job. I also have good traits that help. I can prioritize. I knew I’d have to cut waaaaaay back on my lifestyle and I did. I’m a goal setter and I work hard, whether that is inside corporate walls or in my own home.

What I’ve struggled with is time management. Not in my own self discipline, but in how to manage other’s work or other’s problems. I have a helping personality. This isn’t a bad thing. Understanding the human condition adds much to my writing, and it surely does for my life. In corporateville I would always make time for others, even if it meant giving up lunches and working late. Even if it didn’t add to my pile of work on which I was evaluated for. In a way, it didn’t matter as far as my paycheck went. I was a salaried employee.

Now I see very clearly what I get paid for. It may sound mean to say this, but I’m much more careful about how I spend my time, and who I spend it with. I still help people. I know how much it meant when others helped me, and it gives me deep satisfaction. But…too many hours spent on the phone or too many one-sided meetings takes me away from completing my books. I have, in the last two years since leaving my corporate position, become more selective. I had to, if I want to be a writer.

Those of you who have always been self employed are probably rolling your eyes at this point and saying well duh. For me, this has been a huge learning point. I told this to my friend and he grinned. You finally got it, he said knowingly. Yeah yeah yeah. He was right. Again.

Which caused me to consider my own behavior concerning mentors; am I respectful of their time? And more importantly, do I bring anything to the party, e.g., am I at least trying not to make it not all about me?

I guess if he still wants to hang out I’m doing OK. Whew. I’m glad I made his cut. Maybe next time I’ll really listen. :-)

Home Is Where The Fluff Is

2010-05-07T05:12:00.001-07:00

A reader recently wrote and asked if Indiana was boring. Like many who are not from this state, he envisioned a giant race track (the Indy 500) surrounded by flat cornfields. I can’t really say anything. I have stereotypical views of many places.

I could argue that our capitol, Indianapolis, is a big city. I could discuss the various cultural amenities. The state parks. Southern Indiana with its rolling hills and drop dead gorgeous vistas. The people who for the most part are polite and friendly. And yes, lots of farms.

But I’m not going to do that. Instead I’m going to write about my little piece of Hoosierland.

I live at the edge of a large lake. As I work from home mostly, I see the water reflect the sun, sky, and moon throughout the day and night, react to different weather conditions, and change with the seasons.

I could describe the lake’s varying moods forever. But today it's all about the cottonwoods. The cottonwood tree is common in Indiana, but I’ve never witnessed its life cycle because I’ve never lived near the water before moving here. Cottonwoods love their feet wet.

The cottonwood is a magnificent tree; big, heart shapes leaves that rustle high overhead even during a slight breeze. The plant isn’t perfect, though. It drops its leaves so quickly in the fall that the “color” it turns is a nasty brown. Worse, in April it sheds sticky seedpods that adhere to the bottom of your shoes and then to everything in the house. They also are the exact same shape of cockroaches. Eek.

But after the seed stage comes something very special. I call it summer snow. The cottonwood (hence the name), releases tiny balls of fluff into the air right about now. They float lazily down to earth like snowflakes, except much slower. I could watch them for hours. And have. You simply cannot be stressed when you track a single fluff dancing in the wind, pure white against the background of newly greened trees, finally making its way to the ground.

There are those who don’t like summer snow. I do understand. If you leave your car windows open the stuff can drift inside. Allergy sufferers hate it. And don’t even think about running a fountain; the “snow” will clog the gears. The stuff doesn’t do much for birdbaths either.

But I love it. I think the cottonwood represents why Indiana is so special. It’s true that Indiana doesn’t have grand landscapes such as mountains or oceans. But it has a quiet beauty that says, sit down. Watch the cottonwood seeds. What’s your hurry? So no…I’m not bored living here.

It’s interesting that a few days ago I spent an entire post discussing external inspiration. And this one is the polar opposite. But that’s cool. If exploring new places gets my blood going, my home is where ideas gestate.

This morning my lake is gunmetal grey and still as a sheet of glass. The birds are singing. My garden is lush and fragrant. The cottonwoods are holding onto their snow but soon the wind will blow…

Going Back

2010-05-06T04:02:00.000-07:00

I’ve never been much into the past… my past, that is. I honor it, but mostly I leave it behind. Googling old acquaintances, checking lost loves on facebook, or simply looking up a childhood friend isn’t for me.

I’ve tried it. I’ve reconnected with past loves. And um, there was a reason we broke up. Old friends, while sweet encounters initially, usually resulted in the same; we may have been friends once, but the glue just isn’t there anymore. I’ve also reunited with things. I rented The Man From Uncle thinking it would bring me back to that childhood longing to be a spy. It didn’t. Sadly, I thought it was rather dumb. Books are usually different, but I’ve had some unfortunate literary reunions too.

Today I went back to the very first book I wrote, Symphony of Scent. I sold it to New Concepts Publishing. It’s part of a trilogy. I grew up reading fantasy, most of which came in threes, so I did the same. At the time, new and naive, I figured I would also sell the other two to NCP.

I wrote more books and sold those to Wild Child and Freya's Bower. I understood, after working with these fine publishers, that New Concepts wasn’t a place where I wanted any more of my books to live. Long story short, NCP is not a bad publisher; they do send my royalties. What they don’t do is communicate, at least, not with me.

I’d been thinking lately about poor book two and book three of my trilogy, The Fire Within, and Moths and Moonlight. I considered putting them all together and finding a home for them. So read SofS again and realized a couple of things. I don’t think I’m any better of a story teller, but technically I’ve improved. I winced when I read some of those paragraphs…too wordy, too “tell”, too many adjectives, etc.

But then I realized something. Some of what I cringed over wasn’t so much “bad” writing as it was old fashioned. When I started writing I modeled my style after…those fantasy trilogies I’d grown up with. Readers today want lots of action and pared down description. And so I’ve adjusted. Am I a better writer? I think so. But what I’ve improved most on, I believe, is writing to the market.

So what to do with my trilogy? Yesterday I started in on it with a vengeance. After a day of slicing and dicing, I read it over. I didn’t like it. Modern constructions just didn’t seem to work. I decided to leave it as is; three sweet, old fashioned, fantasy romances. That is what they are meant to be.

I doubt if they will ever be together in a published format. But that’s OK. Anna, Torcha, and Saya will be a part of me forever. They launched my love of writing. And I’m grateful to them.

Just like I am to all my former loves. If nothing else, a couple have made pretty good vampires. :-)

Writer’s Inspiration

2010-05-03T04:09:00.000-07:00

Writing is, by its very nature, is a solitary pursuit; a writer spends many hours thinking and then putting pen to paper, or these days fingers to keyboard, alone. However, good writing must touch the collective human soul in order to speak to people. And that can only come from experiencing the world.

“Experiencing” can come in many forms.

I have a friend who is a world traveler. She believes true experiencing can only happen while being in different places. I have another friend who just gave up her TV. She believes watching the tube takes you away from true human contact. I have another friend who thinks fiction is worthless as far as touching the human soul goes. I could go on, but you get the idea.

As a writer, I have indeed included bits of actual conversations, visions from visiting new places, and had non fiction inspire me. However….I’ve also been jolted by television programs, fiction, and reading about foreign places. This can be awe inspiring or mundane; I was totally blown away by reading Stephen Hawking’s latest comments on aliens, but I also have gathered inspiration from TV programs such as Say Yes To The Dress. After all, I am no more familiar with different planets than I am with choosing a 5000 dollar wedding dress.

Would going to New York and fingering those gowns give my writing more realism? Is talking to people more authentic than reading fictional conversations? Does reading a book engage your mind more than TV? I don’t believe one activity is better than another, as far as writing goes. Or anything else, for that matter. Every activity you do employs a different part of the brain. All are equally valid for a writer’s inspiration, hobbies, or just whiling away the day. You just have to decide what is valid to you.

Writers are imaginative. We don’t have to visit somewhere to create a story about it, even though traveling types might wince. And we gather inspiration from many sources, even something as berated as the television.

Now if you’ll excuse me, What Not To Wear is on. Those hosts could be a basis of a number of characters, I’m thinking. Especially Stacey. She’s so much like the Red Queen in Alice in Wonderland. Off with her bad outfits!! Shut up. :-)

1000

2010-04-29T10:28:00.000-07:00

One thousand is a nice round number. Not as much as it used to be monetarily perhaps, but still, nothing to sneer at.

Today my blog passed 1000 hits. One of my publishers had urged me to write a blog and I did, never thinking anyone would read it. I realize some people are repeats, but I like that. I would hate to think someone stopped by once and never returned.

So yea! Thanks to you all for dropping by, to all who have written, and to all who have purchased my books. I know some writers write simply for the joy of the craft. I am not one of those. I do love to write, but I write for my readers.

The artwork is by one of my favorites, Amy Brown. This is her Believe diva. Thanks for believing in me.

Write What You Know….Maybe

2010-04-26T04:30:00.000-07:00

“Write what you know” is one of the more common writer’s maxims. I think there’s some truth to that; penning tales about where you live, what you do, or things you’ve experienced gives a realism that is very evident in your words. And, it’s easier. I don’t have to check much when I write about the Midwest, psychology, or learning how to dance. Been there, done that.

But what about writing outside your experience? Well…science fiction and fantasy writers have done that for decades. The caveat, of course, is that these places aren’t real…at least, as yet they are not proven. And so created aliens can drink chortap and feast on whila bread to their green heart’s content.

Actual places are a different story.

The current book I’m writing takes place in Malaysia (hence the guide book I’m reading). It’s been an interesting journey. A while back I decided to write a novel about two women in one body. I’ve always been interested in the Hindu goddess Kali, who also has a duel aspect. And then I read an article about child slavery in Malaysia which horrified me. (I’m not targeting Malaysia. Slavery happens in many places, I just happened to read this article.)

And so all of those things combined and cooked. I resisted for awhile; I knew this would be a big project because there was so much I didn’t know. Needless to say I don’t have the experience of sharing my body with another soul, but I could create that…I don’t know anyone who would call me on mistakes. :-) However, although I know a bit about the Hindu religion, I’m no expert. I knew absolutely nothing about Malaysia. I’m embarrassed to say I didn’t even know exactly where it was, let alone anything about the food, the culture, the politics except some current sound bites about Tamil Tigers.

And here I am writing a book set mostly in Kuala Lumper and the surrounding jungles. Hard work? Yes. Every time I want to say something like “so and so met in a nearby coffee shop” I have to stop and do research. Do they have coffee shops? If so, what are they like? How do people greet one another? What do locals wear? And all of that for one small paragraph.

I like researching new places because I learn so much. Also, I think when something touches you the way that article did about children sold into slavery, I believe you have to go with it.

Maybe that writer’s rule should be write about what speaks to you, whether that is the tried and true or something more exotic. I love including the Midwest in my stories; it is my home and part of me. But the shivery excitement that comes from immersing myself into a foreign place is also wonderful.

The cool part about writing is you can do both. Writing can be as comfortable as an old shoe, or fling you out into the galaxy. What other profession does that?

Sigh. I love it.

I'm So Silly

2010-04-20T07:48:00.000-07:00

And rather embarrassed. A reader wrote and said that while the directions to converting my Ebooks to Kindle were good, it was much easier to go to Fictionwise and purchase them Kindle-ready. SIGH. I forgot my books were there too.

It is much easier...and cheaper.

http://www.fictionwise.com/

To answer another question, my young adult books are my favorite. Also, if you purchase Symphony of Scent, if it feels like at the end there are more stories to be told you are correct...I have two more in that series that I decided not to sell to that publisher. Someday they will all be together again. :-)

Ebooks and The Kindle

2010-04-18T13:36:00.000-07:00

When I sold my books I had several people say “let me know when you’ve sold a “real” book because I don’t read things electronically.” While that was a bit hurtful… Ebooks are very much “real” books and some might say the wave of the future… I understood. It is hard to read books on the computer and costly to print.

And then came the Kindle. Trouble is, my publishers didn’t sell via Amazon, so my novels could not be read on the Kindle.

Until now.

Amazon, in its infinite wisdom, now has the technology to enable you to do just that. So…if you’ve wanted to read one of my novels and the only thing holding you back was Kindle inadaptability, you can feel free to read one. Or two. Or all. :-) My publishers are all listed on my website. You buy the book there and then send to your Kindle.

Below are the directions. My husband, the computer geek, tried the Amazon ones and edited them to how they actually worked, including that there is a small fee (a couple of bucks) to send to the Kindle which they don’t tell you about even though the address contains the word "free."

I’m also going to put these directions on my website under the “FAQs”.

Wow. I’m actually becoming Gadget Girl.

How to Convert Ebooks to Kindle:

1.Open a new e-mail message in your e-mail client.

2.Check to make sure the "From" address you are using is on your Kindle approved e-mail address list (see Manage My Kindle on Amazon’s site).

3.Enter the desired Kindle e-mail address in the "To" field. Use the "name"@Kindle.com address for wireless delivery, or "name"@free.kindle.com for free delivery to the e-mail address associated with your Amazon.com account.

4.Attach your document or documents to the e-mail message. If you are sending multiple files, you can compress them into a .ZIP file.

5.Send the e-mail with attachments. A subject line is not needed.
a.Personal documents below 5 MB in officially supported file formats are typically delivered to the "name"@Kindle.com e-mail address within 5 minutes (per document). Personal documents above 5 MB may take longer.
b.Personal documents below 5 MB in officially supported file formats are typically ready for wireless auto-delivery to your Kindle within 5 minutes (per document), not including actual wireless download time, which will vary with file size. Personal documents above 5 MB may take longer.
c.Personal documents in other file formats (such as PDF files) may take longer.
d.Your e-mail provider may have additional limitations on file size.

Note: You must have your Kindle account set up for receiving emailed documents. This includes selecting a method of payment for received files.

Book Review

2010-04-17T13:12:00.000-07:00

The Omnivore’s Dilemma by Michael Pollan

I love fiction best, but I enjoy reading non fiction too. I’m not a big fan of biographies, unless it is someone very special to me. Most often my non fiction forays are of a scientific nature. Being a psychologist by schooling, I delve most often into the human based sciences, although I’m a sucker for anything Diane Ackerman has written. Anyway.

When I say I enjoy science books I do have a few qualifies. First and foremost, said book must be written in a way I can understand. I enjoy reading Stephen Hawkins, but sometimes he writes way over this reader’s head. My second stipulation is that the science writer can write; I want beautiful prose and gorgeous descriptive paragraphs just like I do in fiction. Third, the scientist must either be a scientist, or accurately research scientists and their work. Psychology uses the scientific method just like a chemist, and I know it when I see it. Fourth, although anyone who writes a book has an opinion, I neither want to be hit over the head, nor do I want to see just one side. Present all information, thank you very much, and let me decide.

And that’s exactly what Pollan does. He has an opinion. What his book says, if I had to boil it down to one sentence, is to be more mindful of what you eat. He doesn’t tell you what to eat, just that you might want to consider your nourishment a bit more. His research is sound. He presents his information on why you should care about what you put into your mouth in a compelling, simple, and thoughtful way. What he also does is describe the various places he visits with such clarity that I was alternately horrified and filled with wonder. He is that good of a writer.

I have another reason for choosing scientific books now and then; they inspire my fiction. Reading about the world in all of its complexities is, at the very least, thought provoking. A book written about how we eat, why we eat, what we eat, and how all of that is interwoven within the very fabric of our being has caused me to deeply ponder the cyclic nature of death and how we in the western world are so removed from it. Will that feed (pardon the pun) into my current novel about Kali, Hindu goddess of death and renewal?

You can bet on it.

No Time to Pout

2010-04-12T04:10:00.000-07:00

After waiting more than the allotted time, the agent reading one of my novels didn't want it. Sigh.

I understand the process: if they liked the query then it's a good story idea, if they liked the first three chapters then you can write, if they want to read the whole book it means they are considering if they can sell it.

"Good" and "selling" are two different things.

I get this is a business thing, and not a right cross punch to my writing or my book. I also know it's an honor to have been read by this woman; she represents famous people.

I know all of that. But I was still bummed. For about an hour. Ok, really upset for an hour and pouty all evening. Next morning I resumed my agent search. I had another group of queries all ready to go. I’ve learned from past experience that a Bad News Plan is empowering.

So I’m back on track. Done sniveling. I understand what happened. Yet I still went down the “I’m no good” route and even descended, if only for a few minutes, into the "I quit mode.”

Why would I do that? I think it’s because I hadn’t thought of agents as working stiffs like the rest of us.

In my former life I was a corporate psychologist. I worked with a partner most of the time, usually they were male. This worked out rather nicely, because some clients have a gender preference. But there was more to it than that. Sometimes a client and I just didn’t click. Didn’t mean there was anything wrong with the client…or me. We just didn’t fit. My partner and I regularly “exchanged” people.

I knew right away if I could help someone. But just in case I was wrong, I met them more than once. Most of the time my first impression proved correct. By the end of my career I could usually tell if I could work with someone in about five minutes.

Longer than it takes, no doubt, for an agent to decide if he or she believes my book is sellable.

So why, after reading chapters, would an agent ask to read the whole thing? Can’t they tell immediately? I think they do know right away when something hits them as sellable. However, agents, like anyone else, need to have a stocked work queue. And like me seeing a client more than once just to make sure, a good agent needs to test instincts once in awhile.

So Ms. Agent is sent something a bit outside of what she thinks she might sell. She asks to read the entire manuscript and makes a few phone calls. No one she knows wants it.

Bottom line is, it doesn’t matter if she likes it. She has to sell it. And if she doesn’t know anyone who would buy it, then why in the world would she take it?

The key phrase here is no one she knows would probably buy it. Agents, like writers, specialize. They have to in today’s competitive market. But…just because she doesn’t know anyone who would buy it, doesn’t mean another agent wouldn’t.

She wasn’t the right agent for me. But there’s one out there. And um, now would be a good time for you to make yourself known, OK?

:-)

Book Review

2010-04-05T04:11:00.000-07:00

Winter Moon was actually a triad of stories by C.E.Murphy, Mercedes Lackey, and Tanith Lee. As I started the first story by Lackey I couldn’t get interested. It seemed to drag. The second one by Lee also did and I was confused. I love Tanith Lee.

Then I realized what had happened. These stories had come on the heels of my Twilight immersion. Then I got it. They weren’t slow, just not at the heart stopping pace of Twilight.

So I settled in. In some ways all of these authors, especially Lee and Lackey, write in an old fashioned way. They preserve the feeling of high fantasy. You feel as if you’ve been dropped into a Dungeons and Dragons game. This is not a bad thing; the stories slowly draw themselves out like a fine skein of wool, inviting you to discover and enjoy the subtle colors and texture of the tale. The prose is rich and descriptive, the vocabulary beautiful. I didn’t feel as if I had to finish; I knew the stories would be waiting for me anytime I wanted to indulge.

And so I’ve come to realize that for me, both kinds of literature are “good” writing. The Twilight saga because I could think of nothing else while I was reading them. Tanith Lee and the others because of the exquisite language and storytelling. Something to consider. And to strive for.

Spring

2010-03-29T05:20:00.000-07:00

There is something very special about spring time in the Midwest; finally seeing blue skies again, early blooming flowers, and the hint of moist warmth in the air. Every year about point I pack away the space heaters, heavy covers, and winter clothes and joyfully exhume my sandals, thin sheets, and fake tan...only to be chilled to the bone when the temperature inevitably drops once again below zero. My husband then reminds me that Indiana's planting frost date is May 10th, because it could FREEZE anytime before that.

Yeah yeah yeah. But I'm fooled every year.

Maybe my gullibility is because we in the Midwest so appreciate warm weather. Winters here, if not brutal, are long, cold, and messy. I've had enough! I'm ready to run through the fields. Throw off my sluggishness and get my creative juices flowing.

That makes perfect sense. After all, whatever your belief system, springtime brings a sense of renewal and rebirth. Something that everyone can appreciate...even writers. :-)

Here are some vintage Easter postcards to help us along. Because today although the skies are indeed a deep azure, it's cold outside.

Easter gnomes. Who knew?

A fairy is another rare image in vintage Easter postcards. This one looks like the Pied Piper...where is she leading these chicks?

This one is just too funny. Hey Fred, check out the eggs on that one.

There are more than a few with a bunny or a chick hauling a giant egg. Many it's a dinosaur egg. Or a dragon's...

Check out this rather pin up looking Easter greeting. What's her story?

In that same vein, there are many vintage Easter flower postcards with women's heads. Not sure what to make of that. Maybe it's like that old disco song It's Raining Men.

Ahhh, Easter on the beach. Doesn't get any better than that.

Vintage St. Patrick's Day Postcards

2010-03-21T07:56:00.000-07:00

The day has come and gone. I had a few postcards I meant to post, but Twilight got in the way. :-) So here they are. I picked these because I felt they represented the pull between and mix of Christianity and the older fairy faiths.