* I will never eat homemade banana bread right before bed again. The nightmares, dear God. While I do not blame the banana bread for them, I still was so upset I tasted mostly-digested banana bread at about 3AM. That sort of thing will leave a mark on one.
* To: My subconscious. Re: the nightmares. Look, I know you think they help when I’m writing a book like this. I really, really appreciate all your hard work. But please, f!cking stop. If I have a cardiac arrest from that hospital dream, we’ll both be out of luck.
* Kids are so cool. In the past few minutes the Little Prince has treated me to a trolley sound, several Bionic Man sound effects, two car crashes, and one shootout worthy of John Woo. And the Princess is singing the theme from Neverending Story in the kitchen as she gets her breakfast together.
* The soymilk experiment continueth well. The Muffin got a gallon of cowmilk for pancake and biscuit-making this weekend, and was relieved to find out that the soymilk is just a modification, not a hard and fast change. Several of you have warned me of the plant estrogens in soy. I’m being cautious–but I really can’t think it’s any worse for me or the kids than the bovine growth hormone, antibiotics, and assorted other stuff in cowmilk. Po-tay-to, po-tah-to.
* The last hundred pages of Redemption Alley are where all the huge architectural revisions need to be made. That’s both good and bad–good because it was a clean edit up until now, and bad because that’s going to take me more time than the previous two hundred pages. *sigh*
Incidentally, if anyone out there has dealt with the process for putting one’s books into Kindle form, can you please drop me a line about that process and your experience with it? I’m thinking of putting smoke and mirror in Kindle form.
Whew. Ever have such intense nightmares the waking world feels like the dream? Yeah. It’s like that, this morning. I feel physically rested but emotionally drained.
Thirty pages away from the end of this revision; I’m considering another pass after this. It’s not quite The Book That Would Not Die, but it’s close.
Many writers get upset over revisions, which is normal. But it’s important to remember that most editors have no personal animus against you the writer, or against your work. It feels awful personal, of course–the work is your baby, of course it feels personal. But it’s not. Most times the editor just wants to make the work the best it can be.
For the writer, revisions are a delicate balancing act. One has to balance between the vision of the work and a fresh pair of eyes seeing what might be flaws or holes. It is rare that the editor just wants to make you suffer. I’m not saying it doesn’t happen–I’m just saying that nine times out of ten, when you think that’s happening, it’s not the case.
A lot of fledgling writers either slavishly take every suggestion of their editor as gospel or resist every comma change. Neither is the correct approach. Somewhere flexibly in-between is best. One has to accept that one’s deathless prose isn’t, well, deathless. It’s hard to keep that in mind after however-many drafts and in the emotional heat of revision, but it’s well worth trying to remember.
The second piece of news is creeeeeepy. Mark Morford wrote this morning about the Dyatlov Pass Incident. Nine skiers tearing their way out of their tent in the middle of a subzero night and running pell-mell, almost naked, down a moutainside? Radiation? Hair turning gray?
No human footsteps other than the their own?
*shiver* Oooooooh. Weird. Weirder than anything I could come up with. The world is much weirder than human beings like to suppose. It is a constant source of aggravation to me that fiction needs the suspension of disbelief in order to be successful, even when Real Life is so zany and wacked-out nobody would believe it if you wrote it down. Another artistic dilemma.
Hmmm. On the other hand, that would make a good story…if one could keep from being paranoid and creeped-out while writing it. Given how often art informs life, I’d be wary of doing so.
My weekly post at The Midnight Hour is up. It’s about books on writing. Go read only if you like strong opinions, for I find I have held nothing back.
As we finish out this week, dear Reader, I’d just like to register it’s been craziness incarnate. Between health concerns, childcare schedules, and other Personal Stuff, it’s been the kind of week one should have just stayed in bed through. With the covers over one’s head and earplugs in, no less. Is it just my imagination or has there been just sheer insanity in the air all around? Is Mercury retrograde or something?
So…my mantra this weekend is going to alternate between “Peace and Serenity” and “In a hundred years, who’s going to care?”
I’ll report my success on Monday. In the meantime, I wish you all serenity this weekend.
One could spend hours poking and giggling at Mssrs. Zooty and Flappers. Or just Mr. Man-Behind-Zooty-And-Flappers. The spelling errors alone are enough to send a writer into a twitching coma of merriment or irritation, depending on mood and temperament.
Now, I’m not saying the publishing industry is perfect. Far from. There are a lot of things that make it hard for the producers in the industry (i.e., writers) to get a living wage. And forget health insurance for producers! That’s just crazy!
But what doesn’t make it better are predators outside the pool, trying to make a quick buck off someone’s desire to be published.
Now carry me to the bonfire with pitchforks and screaming if you want, but I’m going to say right here and now that not everyone deserves to be published. It’s not an inherent right like breathable air or food security, or like liberty (though the current administration has done its bit to return us to tyranny. That’s off-topic.) Like any job/career, you need a certain amount of training and proficiency to make a living, and even that isn’t assured. It’s serious work. I don’t know why people expect it not to be, but I suppose there are those who want to take shortcuts in any industry. Sometimes a shortcut turns out to be valid. Most of the time, however, shortcuts are a scam.
It’s not easy to pour your heart and soul into a manuscript and have it rejected. It’s not easy to deal with multiple rejections and trying to “break into” publishing. It’s not easy to get an agent or a book deal. It’s not easy because publishers need to make their money back, and consumers don’t want to pay for crap. Nobody can tell when or what the next Harry Potter will be, (consumers are fickle) but publishers have to guess. That makes them nervous, because they have kids to feed and jobs to keep too.
Again, the industry is far, far from perfect, especially when seen from the writer’s point of view. But those offering “shortcuts” that disobey Yog’s Law are predators and nothing but.
There’s a difference between paying a proven editor for his/her time and effort, especially when that said editor makes no promise to publish the work. Paying someone to query-blast or e-publish you is a scam. And scammers usually get nasty when exposed. *sigh* Hence, Internet amusement. I’m left shaking my head when reading stuff like Zooty & Co. I mean, I derive a certain amusement from the errors and the flailing, but I also sigh at the thought that some nascent writers are going to get soaked, and soaked good, and maybe quit writing because of it.
Which is outside my control and power, but it still makes me sad. Even if one doesn’t get published, the exercise of writing is valuable in and of itself. I felt that way before I ever got paid a dime OR got a rejection slip. (And not just blogging, which I distinguish from the art of writing fiction and the exercise of writing a paper diary.)
Anyway, wacky Internet hijinks. I suppose, since I’ve done nothing but bitch and complain in my last few posts (health has not been good, but we’re working on that) I should offer some entertainment, at least.
Here’s the absolute funniest thing I’ve ever seen on SNL, Andy Kaufman and the “Mighty Mouse” bit. Every time I see this, it slays me.
And to add to the Andy K fun, his Elvis was always more Elvis THAN Elvis. And we all know how I feel about Elvis.
And to round it off, Gene Wilder doing “Pure Imagination”. Which was my favorite part of the old Willy Wonka movie, and a song I still sing to the little ones every now and again.
God bless YouTube. Last but not least, to leave you with a smile…
ROBIN OF SHERWOOD PLUS BONNIE TYLER EQUALS WIN!!!!!!
There now. Wasn’t that worth getting up out of bed for? I certainly thought so. And yesterday, when I was so determined to go slow?
Three thousand words of space opera fell out of my head. It seemed so easy and innocent. Jeez. Why does my Muse taunt me with fantasy and then spit out space opera? It just doesn’t make any sense.
Yes, still alive. The weekend was busier than weekends usually manage to be. Why is it that sometimes I feel like it takes half a week for me to recover from the week before?
To Kristina: I don’t know if Kat and Mitch (from the short story in My Big Fat Supernatural Honeymoon) will ever get a book of their own. They seem to be just short-story characters. Though I do sometimes wonder how things will work out for them.
I finished proofing a book today, and have set myself the ambitious goal of chicken soup for dinner, since nobody in the house seems to be feeling a hundred percent. Chicken soup with a mighty load of garlic should help. If not, well, at least it’s a recipe I can put together in my sleep.
The Muse has been satisfied with both Pitch Black and Chronicles of Riddick these past few days. I have to say, Hutch was correct in advocating for Pitch Black as the better movie, and it stood up better on re-viewing than I could have hoped for. I think people like Riddick because he’s an antihero, but his Everyman Doing Everything mixing with Sooper-Alpha-Violent Male mix doesn’t allow for a lot of character growth or ambiguity. The junkie merc in PB and the Necromonger couple (Karl Urban and whatsherface, her name escapes me) in COR are MUCH more interesting characters, and I think they are what primarily drive the story instead of Riddick himself.
Though I will advocate once more for Vin Diesel’s shoulders. On my List Of Things To Do Before I Die are two items in particular: one, to touch Vin Diesel’s shoulders, and two, to touch Bruce Campbell’s chin. I realize these are creepy, totemic desires, but they’re still on the List. I would never engage in either desire without first finding a way to politely broach the subject to the actors in question, in a non-stalkery, respectful sort of way.
Which will, let’s be honest, never happen. But I figure a List Of Things To Do Before I Die must have at least one or two unattainable items on it, just to keep the gods guessing. Heh.
And now, to writing. I’ve got a couple scenes that need to get out of my head. And the Space Opera, which I suspect the Muse really wants to write, is bugging me too. Specifically, a couple of plot points, which I have to shake in my little cup before I slam it down and see where the dice land.
Writing. It’s like dicing with destiny, only you never really get to see the numbers and once the cup is slammed, there’s not much a girl can do except shake again.
Argh. Not making sense even to self. Welcome to my brain on Monday, dear Readers. I hope your M-day is going better than mine. *wink*
Can I has morphine pleez? Or some form of analgesic?*
The week’s been a gruesome one–friends suffering setbacks and Bad Things, cold cold weather making the joints ache, health concerns, and a silly Internet stalker/troll to compound the whole thing. I HAD planned on getting a lot of stuff done, but it looks like the most fantastic accomplishment I can claim this week is keeping my temper.
Well, I did finish the draft of Redemption Alley; if “finish” is translated out to “got so damn sick of that book, handed it over to the editor and am glad to be free of it.” One gets to a certain point with a book–living with it, sleeping with it, eating with it, having it take up the inside of one’s head–and one gets so, so sick of the damn thing.
The Riddick dreams have calmed down, and I’m reading fantasy epic (Joe Abercrombie’s most excellent The Blade Itself, recommended by my editor and thoroughly enjoyable) and thinking of watching Ladyhawke again. Steelflower fans will be glad to know I’m probably going to be switching back and forth between Tristan and Kaia. (I never thought I would write that sentence.)
Although, as Red Argyle pointed out yesterday, Chronicles of Riddick was a fantasy epic. Along with Hutch (I think it was Hutch? correct me if I’m wrong) calling it the third-best Conan movie, maybe I’ve been wrong about the Riddick dreams not fueling my fantasy writing muscle.
Hee. Like I need an excuse to watch Vin Diesel’s shoulders again. Oh, oops–you didn’t know a little birdie brought me both Pitch Black and Chronicles of Riddick on DVD?
Someone who loves me and wants me to get my books done, apparently. *wink* Or someone who wanted to foist bad, bad movies on me.
Weekend ahoy. I’m holding onto my liferaft and looking forward to the beach. I’ll be glad when this week’s over.
How about you, dear Reader?
* Not that I advocate morphine use except under the supervision of a qualified professional. KTHX.
I got my mind on eternity, Some kind of ecstasy got a hold on me…
Item two: Tom Cruise is not just crazy. He is some kind of super-level crazy we don’t even have words for yet. Hey, Tom? I got to the part where you started saying that either people have to get on your playing field or get out of the stadium, then I flashed onto V for Vendetta and wondered if a masked man was going to start calling you “Chancellor Sutler”. I won’t say what other historical eras I flashed onto, because it’s so gauche to start listing fascist regimes when in reality, this is just Hollywood. So Cruise is the nutty-ass Howard Hughes of our generation, big whoop. Christ. At least Hughes was INTERESTING. I just get this idea that after five minutes of conversation with Cruise I’d make a polite excuse and flee, bored out of my skull by the one-note symphony that is his love for himself. Scientology’s just a mirror. He could have ended up with just about any cult and done the same thing.
Item three: WHY, I ask you, WHY, am I having Chronicles of Riddick dreams? I AM WRITING FRENCH RENAISSANCE FANTASY EPIC AND URBAN FANTASY WHUPASS. I do not need big-shouldered homicidal space-candy. If you see my Muse, can you please give her the memo?
On the other hand, I do agree with the Selkie that Vin Diesel’s shoulder’s are one of the modern wonders of the world. Shoulders are her particular weakness, and I cannot disagree. One of the finer moments of the recent remake of I Am Legend was Will Smith’s shoulders.
GUH. Hormone moment. Excuse me.
All right. Random Wednesday over. It’s back to work. I’m going to finish that draft today or go nuts trying.
Good Monday, everyone. It’s chill and quiet here, with thin fog breathing between houses and streetlamps in the distance. That’s one thing about fog–how you know it is surrounding you too, but it seems you’re in a clear bubble walled by vapor. Another thing is how quiet even thin fog makes everything, a species of quiet different than the subaudible static of snowfall. I like fog.
For those of you needing an ebook version of To Hell And Back, this is the only one I’ve found. Several people have emailed me asking about an ebook edition of the fifth Valentine book, but I have no control over it and there doesn’t appear to even be a Kindle one yet. If you, dear Reader, find more ebook versions (not pirated versions, which are a whole different ball of wax) please let me know so I can link to them too, and my Readers who like ebooks can have a choice.
The Smart Bitches are catching a lot of flak for breaking this story, but since our mainstream media seems to have deserted us for a sea of Rupert Murdoch’s money, bloggers and citizen journalists are stepping into the gap. If the SBs were men there probably wouldn’t be the huge blather about how they’re Being Mean, and if they were working for AP or something nobody would think twice about them doing research and breaking a story. But since they’re bloggers, female, and unapologetic about what they think, a lot of people are throwing them unnecessary flak. Don’t get me started on THAT dynamic, dear Reader. We’d be here all week.
If Edwards has some explanation for the passages lifted wholesale from research books, I’d love to hear it. I myself didn’t realize that the historical Republic of Gilead in the Valentine books was a nod to The Handmaid’s Tale–a book that changed my consciousness in high school–until I paged through an copy of the finished fifth book. In the heat of creation the name “Gilead” came out for a theocratic regime Dante Valentine mentions in passing when she talks about history–so I know how sometimes research can crawl and creep into your book. If you’re like me and have a steady pace of reading about a book a day, sometimes less depending on childcare and errands, there’s a lot of stuff knocking around in your head. It’s fuel and furniture for the creative drive.
But whole passages so distinct in tone and texture from the author’s own prose that it alerts a reader, who with five minutes of Googling finds evidence of egregious wholesale lifting? I might have been willing to listen to an explanation and a mea culpa, if Edwards honestly didn’t know that you’re supposed to attribute sources. I’ve done my best to be honest about where my source material came from, and when one writes fiction one reads nonfiction source work and uses it to inform one’s worldbuilding, but doesn’t dump whole frigging chunks of it into the book. Still…I’d be willing to listen to an explanation.
But lifting from a Pulitzer-Prize-winning novel, another artist’s work of fiction? Bad author. No cookie. Not another cent from me, if I ever bought your books in the first place.
Which brings up something else the Smart Bitches pointed out: if you’re thinking of boycotting Signet or Penguin because one of their authors boo-boo’d bigtime, it’s more harmful than helpful. They explain why here. Boycott Edwards all you want, but boycotting the publisher does nothing but hurt innocent authors who have no connection with the scandal. And that is part of why publishing is a pretty effed-up business to try to make a living in as an artist, but that’s a whole ‘nother blog post. I just wanted to mention the SB’s post about boycotting and how it actually works in publishing as evidence that they’re not out there just to make a sensationalist buck. (Which is pretty hard to do in the blogosphere anyway, Drudge notwithstanding.)
Ah, enough blathering. You’re probably bored with the whole thing, and I don’t blame you. I’m keeping up with it because I’m in publishing, I write paranormal romance, and this scandal touches on issues that concern me deeply on a daily basis. But in case you’re not so deeply concerned, I present Corvus Corax, the phattest Germen dudelsackers around. These peeps are like Andre Rieu on acid or something, and I am bookmarking their YouTube stuff as Musecrack for when I write Jill Kismet’s circus book.
But I won’t plagiarize their entire act, I promise. Heh.*
There now. Wasn’t that worth getting up out of bed for?
* Yeah, I know. Mean cracks about the scandal reflect badly on me. But Jeez Louise, I am just looking at this stuff and shaking my head, going how stupid can you BE?
It SAYS Amazon and Barnes & Noble are shipping To Hell And Back. Erm, if anyone gets them, can you drop me an email and let me know? I’d like to know if Readers can buy it early.
It is cold here this morning. I got spam in my inbox from “Willa Murray” and of course, translated it straight to “Wilhelmina Murray” and had a laughing fit that would make a hyena proud. But then, I loved the literary in-jokes in The Historian, reading up to page 80 while standing in Borders, catching myself laughing out loud, and deciding to pay for the damn thing in hardback. I wasn’t sorry about it, either.
Plus I’ve had vampires on the brain lately. And zombies. But the zombie book is going to have to wait. It’s vampires right now. Heh.
So off I go for another day of fun and games, dear Reader. I’ve forty thousand words of Jill to read so I can get “back in the groove” with Book 3 and then plunge forward, braiding together all plot strands, and finish the damn thing. Interspersed with that I am going to be reading this, a Quincey Morris Investigation.
I am noting a theme here, dear Reader. Better get out the garlic and the stakes…
It’s a Random Friday, because I’ve got revisions due by the end of this weekend, come Hell or high water. So, a list:
* Thank you to everyone who came to the Beaverton signing last night. I’m sorry my voice gave out on me; the reading was not all it could be. But I appreciate your patience–and your support!
* My weekly post at the Midnight Hour is up. It’s about avoidance behavior. Yeah, we’ve all done it.
* To Mr. Grenier: Dude, totally, what WAS that half-naked saxophone player in The Lost Boys about? Maybe it was his Big Break and he thought it was going to really make him in the biz, the way Crazy For You in Vision Quest gave Madonna the movie bug. I’m glad someone else looked at that scene in The Lost Boys and had the same “huh?” thought I did.
* A certain Mr. Flowers has completed NaNoWriMo. Good job! I’ll read it as soon as I can–and I am honored that you want me to.
* I am certainly a winter writer. The rains have moved in, and I’ve been productive like nobody’s business, despite coughing my lungs out and having the Fever Delirium From Hell this last week. Perhaps a rethinking of my writing schedule is in order.
* I am baking challah bread again today. Nom nom nom.
* To the Universe at Large: I get it. I’ve been working myself into the ground. I’ve stopped. Please don’t send any more flu bugs my way. I’ve learned my lesson. Honest.
Now to two questions for the Mighty F-List.
1. There is a certain gardening catalog printed on newsprint (or it used to be anyway) where you could get all sorts of awesome, crazy stuff, like tomato plants that grew Beefsteaks the size of baby’s heads and hedges that would bloom in winter, and all for really cheap. I CANNOT for the life of me remember the name of this catalog and hope someone knows what it is from that (admittedly vague) description. Anyone?
Bueller?
2. Does anyone have a method for getting a stuck CD out of a Sony CD/tape deck/radio stereo? I can’t figure out how to take the damn thing apart and probably should not, but I NEED that CD out and I would like to be able to play other CDs in there as well. The thing was working fine until a few weeks ago, when it suddenly decided the Niyaz CD was the only thing it wanted to play and wouldn’t give it up. It’s a 3-CD changer…I can post specs if anyone might have a clue on how I can fix this, preferably without taking the damn thing apart. Anyone have any tips/tricks?
And now, ducks, I have revisions to finish. Catch ya on the flip side…and have a good weekend, folks. It’s promising to be a weird one, but since when was normal de rigueur for a writer?
