The Tragedy of George RR Martin--Discipline, Joy, and Speculative Fiction

Because I write speculative fiction, creating epic novels or series be they fantasy, sci fi, or paranormal is an advantage. Spec fic readers love to immerse themselves in a vast world capable of supporting huge plot arcs with hordes of characters to fall in love with and, in my worlds at least, grieve over after they suffer heinous deaths. That's the kind of interaction any writer craves for their readers. When I get hate mail for killing off favorite characters, I do a little happy dance around my desk. 

When readers get pissed enough to yell at me for killing off a character, that means I did my job right and I did it well. 

Why?

Because the readers were so emotionally invested in the story that they responded to that character's death with genuine feeling. 

The great thing about epic fiction is that you can kill off a lot of characters in a long, complex plot arc. 

But there are pitfalls, too. 

Sometimes, an epic plot arc can get away from a writer. I'm a very prolific and fast writer. That's because of two reasons--first, that movie I'm watching in my head. I'm not sitting around for weeks constructing a painstaking, convoluted plot outline. I'm already writing. The form of the story is ingrained enough in my head that I know how to write from the beginning of the plot's road, up onto the first small hill, dipping into the valley, and then building the trip up the mountain of the plot. Every great story has those peaks and ebbs, a natural rhythm as they grow and the world expands. 

And the second reason is that I'm just damn fast. I used to do product testing for IBM when I was young, which puts my typing speed over 100 wpm (words per minute). Since I have only the one job (writer) I can easily spend 10-12 hours a day at my computer. I usually can clock in around 2,000 words an hour. So if the story is really rolling--like the one my agent is currently shopping--I can write the first draft of an epic fantasy novel in two weeks or less. 

Man, that first draft is crappy but it's on paper, by golly. 

There are a lot of writers who have the absolute opposite problem. Chief among them is George RR Martin, whose last novel in his wildly successful A Song of Ice and Fire--A Dance With Dragons--came out in 2011. With two novels left to complete the story line, Martin stalled so dramatically that now the television show based on his series has moved past his last published installment and has already completed a season beyond the books. He's reworked some of his older works, collaborated on a reference guide to Westeros, and zipped out a few novellas but the main series has languished now for seven years with no publication date in sight. 

What made that even worse was Martin continuing to announce publication dates, getting his fans excited, and then all those dates slipped by without a novel in sight. The latest self-imposed deadline by GRRM claims The Winds of Winter will be released in late 2018 or early 2019. If he actually makes this deadline, that will end up being a hiatus of eight years between book five and book six. So how is it possible that George RR Martin, who was trained in the deadline-heavy minefield of writing soap opera scripts, now finds himself unable to finish ASOIAF? What happened? 

I think he's gotten lost in the story himself. If you read Martin's ASOIAF, as the series moves forward the plot becomes extremely convoluted, with Martin occasionally going off on self-inflicted momentum murder by focusing on secondary characters and their plot arcs when those stories barely intersect with the main through line *coughSandSnakescough* and have little or no impact upon the ultimate denouement of the world. (That last bit is an assumption, because I can't imagine the Sand Snakes affecting much of anything except giving readers a PITA.) So now, having invested tens of thousands of words on that secondary plot, and hundreds of thousands on a slew of similar secondary plots, the writer sits and stares at his computer for days when he finally realizes what he's done to himself. 

He has so many plots going that he can't resolve the main storyline.

Time for...the Red Wedding, or other similar catastrophes. \

The only way to resolve a plethora of unneeded plots is to massacre them. Literally. But that, in turn, leads to other problems. With so many plots and characters it's only to easy to accidentally murder the wrong ones.

Enter Lady Stoneheart. Catelyn Stark's character could have done so much more than to be an implacable zombie seeking vengeance. In order to keep her in some fashion, Martin took away her greatest assets--her voice of reason, her common sense, her impact upon major players like Littlefinger and Jon and Sansa, and her ultimate moment of  revenge on Cersei Lannister, First of her Name.

But Martin is a perfectionist, and he loves the convoluted plotlines he used to whip out daily for soap operas. While I'm sure these two problems are, in some degree, to blame for his inability to finish the series, in the end it's more than likely something completely different and far more common. 

Writing isn't something you can just sit down and do, whiling away the hours like you are playing a video game or watching television. Writing requires discipline. Oh, I know. I'm the queen of procrastination. That's why for a long time I never finished a book. Once I completed my first novel, though, I created a set time every day to write new material. Back then I had to schedule around my job and other stuff, just like you do now more than likely. 

Now that I don't have a work schedule or kids in the house or a business to run, things are much different. I've created a discipline that works for me and enables me to maximize my productivity. I write new material in four hour blocks, and do at least one block a day. During my writing time, I turn off my phone, disconnect from the internet, and switch off the television. I will let my Alexa play music, but mostly classical and almost always instrumental--which is why I have playlists that are developed for specific moods. Then I open up the manuscript I'm working on to the last page and I start writing. 

I can hear some of my editing clients now. "But Celina, what if inspiration doesn't come?" 

Inspiration--the Muse--doesn't have a choice whether it's showing up or not for a disciplined writer. Writing is a job just like any other--except for the fact that it's a lot more enjoyable--and it comes when I want it to...not the other way around. Writers who sit around and wait for the Muse to pay a visit are generally writers who never finish a book. I keep the Muse showing up because of the next to the last thing I do in every writing block. I leave a comment for myself in the manuscript, making note of whatever my next thought or plot point following the last thing I wrote. 

The last thing I do is back up my manuscript. Trust me: you want to do that too. 

Once I finish a writing block, I'll play online or clean house or whatever. I'll work on my editing clients' work, or write an article. I do not read what I just wrote though. Revision and editing is something I approach after I've completed the first draft of the novel and not before. The only thing I work on regarding my work in progress outside of those writing blocks is research/story boarding. I basically scout locations, find costumes for character description (or hair styles or shoes or interior design or what's on the dinner table. When I find an image that evokes my world, I'll pop it on my Pinterest storyboards. 

But I don't write. Just like any other job, you need to rest when you take a break. Writing is no different. Then, usually a couple of hours later, I'll start another writing block and do it all over again. 

This discipline helps keep my writing time productive, allows me to maximize both my time and my word counts, and lets me finish first drafts fairly quickly. But it also helps to keep writing fun for me. When I sit at my computer to start working on my manuscript again, I'm excited to get back into the world and find out what happened next. And if I'm excited to learn that, I can be fairly certain or at the very least hopeful that my readers will be as well. 

I don't think GRRM feels that same excitement. The announced deadlines that are subsequently missed, the lack of progress on such a heavily developed world, and the still-stretching distance between books five and six all indicate to me that he's bogged down emotionally. Hell,, he's a multi-gazillionaire off books one through five. He doesn't have to drag himself to the computer every morning like I do and start my work timer to compel myself to get to work. His hunger for the series has left him, and walking in the world he created no longer brings him the joy it once did. So he gives himself deadlines. He means to beat every one of them, too. He knows how long it usually takes him to crank out 200,000 words, and gives himself a generous cushion to ensure he beats that predicted date. 

Then he sits at his computer, waiting to pick up the lost threads of the story, knowing in his head where he needs to go next but dreading the journey because it's just...not...fun. So he turns to the internet, seeking that inspiration. He answers fan mail because it makes him feel good. He checks out his website, then decides to write a blog post because blogging is writing too. He can write his way into the book. But the blog post diverts his attention to something else, and before he realizes it he's wasted two hours and not one word was written. So he gives it up for the day, meaning to make a fresh start the following morning.

Inevitably, it happens again. Because with all the chatter out there about Game of Thrones, absolutely none of it is about his books anymore. All the excitement, all the intense love of the fans is now reserved for the television show...and their writers have already forged the plotline that will resonate in fans' minds. GRRM's no longer necessary to build his own world, to set the characters he created onto the path he'd always intended for them to follow. ASOIAF is now secondary to the HBO version of Westeros, because GRRM didn't have the discipline he needed to finish the books before the series caught up with him. 

And now, it's passed him. 

When I sit down to write, it's a labor of love. I enjoy every moment I spend exploring my imagination. But I had to learn the discipline I needed to be at maximum productivity. In 2016, I wrote a little over a million words. In 2017, I will almost certainly write over 1.25 million words. Crappy words. First draft words. Words that I will beat and shape and melt until I forge a new story, a new book out of them. Make no mistake--I loved every single crappy word I wrote, and remember the singular joy each of them gave me. But not a single word would have been written if I hadn't created a disciplined routine for myself and stuck to it. I know myself too well. And that, in turn, had enabled me to make damn sure that if/when one of my series takes off like ASOIAF, I won't lose my joy in the middle and leave the last couple of books unwritten. Although my agent very intelligently told me not to worry about sequels until the first book is sold, GRRM stands as a cautionary tale and the lesson I learned from watching him the last seven years is that for any writer, even the great ones, the joy can absolutely evaporate from your own world. The money, the fame, the fans can become a distraction taking you away from what you really love. 

So, young writers, a bit of advice since I believe strongly in paying it forward. Create your own discipline. Not daily word counts, but a daily commitment of time without the distractions of everyday life where you can sit down, shut the door on the rest of the world, and walk beside your characters into whatever world you've created for them. Without the discipline, it's inevitable that you, too, will lose your joy in writing. And at the end of the day, that is the ultimate tragedy of George RR Martin. Not that he can't meet a deadline or finish his next book, but that he's lost his joy in Westeros, which has brought so much joy to millions of people around the world. 

Post-Op Thoughts: Creativity Vanquishes Pain

I have three-quarters of a million dollars invested into my spine, but that's not the most expensive aspect of the injury that started me on this road to disaster.

Chronic pain in general and chronic back pain in particular are so all-encompassing. Every aspect of your life is impacted--mostly by taking things away. When I was in the car wreck that blew up my spine fourteen years ago, I had an extremely active lifestyle. Swimming, scuba, hiking, off-trail hiking, rock climbing, bicycling...all activities I loved. All gone now. I would walk 1-2 miles a day. The furthest I've been able to walk for the past four years is a block.

Half a block for the past year or more.

I do all my shopping online so it can be delivered. I haven't been in a brick and mortar store shopping in two years at least--mostly because even though I can't walk in WalMart, I don't think it's right for me to take the little carts away from people who "really" need them. And then I get pissed when I see people who don't really need them zipping through the aisles like it's a NASCAR race.

I can't pick up anything heavier than a gallon of milk. Been that way since 2012. And, of course, I ignore that rule when there are grandbabies or cats involved.

Or my laptop.

As a writer and editor, I spend the majority of my time on the computer. But I cannot sit up for longer than half an hour at a time, so I have learned how to awkwardly write with the laptop perched too high on my abdomen.

Basic life activities are gone--driving a car, for example. If I slipped behind the wheel of my PT Cruiser now, I'd automatically be guilty of an OMVI because of the medications I'm on. Housework is out save for a few easy chores and the ones I've figured out how to do by sliding around the house on my butt. As you can imagine, my baseboards are immaculate. The crown molding, not so much. I can fold laundry, as long as the basket is brought to me. For the rest, I've learned some life hacks but my house makes me fussy because it's not the way I like it to be or feel.

Now I am six days out of another major back surgery, and once again lying on my mother-in-law's couch while I fret and worry and wonder for the umpteenth time: "Will this one actually work? Will I get that life back I enjoyed so much? Or will this be just another patch-up job that raises my hopes and then destroys them, leaving me to fight out of the depression that came after the last four-five-six surgeries?"

There's no way to answer that. With the type of bizarre condition in my spine, the success or failure of this procedure won't be known for months--six months before it's official according to my spinal surgeon. But I'll know sooner.

I know--you're sitting there, reading this and thinking that I'm whining. And you're right; I am whining. Hard not to, if I'm being honest. But my whining doesn't lead to me lying in bed, feebly asking my mother-in-law for cups of coffee or just one more cupcake. (She knows me too well. That's why the cupcakes are here.) When I'm told to walk a half hour every day, I walk an hour. When I'm assigned exercises to do in bed every four hours, I do them every three hours. I push myself, always, to supersede my doctor's expectations.

For example, in order to get released from the orthopedic hospital I was in, patients had to walk 150 feet. I went 125 feet two hours after I got into my room post-surgery. Just like an athlete striving to improve their strength or agility, I know that for every extra foot, every additional effort, the healing will be faster and more thorough. I never do too much, but I never settle for just enough either.

My lot in life has been bizarre, and is certainly not helped by the piece of broken hardware in my spine that if it shifts can either kill or paralyze me without warning. No one could have anticipated the butcher job that took place during my first back surgery in 2006--when a surgeon put the wrong sized artificial disc into my lumbar spine, had to pry it out, and in the process of hammering the correct size prosthesis into place with a sledge hammer broke it and started this fourteen year spiral of doom. No one believed me for six years when my pain worsened instead of improved. I was treated as if I was a drug addict, looking for a bigger fix. Not until I got an infection at that same level did anyone finally diagnose the real problem--and in the process reveal that the artificial disc had been shredding my spinal column and could not be removed. The prosthetic was inserted from the front, and was now insinuated between arteries on the front and my spinal cord on the back. The subsequent fusions weren't done to 'fix' my spine, but to keep that artificial disc from killing me.

And after the gazillionth back procedure in four years, it turned out that the fusion intended to secure that broken artificial disc was also broken.

It's hard for anyone to look ahead at their life and accept that regardless of what they do, regardless if they do exactly what the doctor tells them, all the parts of their life they particularly loved are a permanent thing of the past. But there's an aspect of healing I possess that many of my disabled peers do not. An outlet.

Creativity is both a blessing and a curse. It's a curse because your parents were right. "You can't earn a living writing stories. That's just a pipe dream."

And for most people, it is. A debut author's first book is released, and when it doesn't sell they give up. Mentally, they've made the transition from "anyone can write a book" to "I am a failure as a writer" and they don't try again.

But creativity is also a blessing. For one thing, you're running around with your characters in your mind, watching their story unfold and finding a way to share it with your readers. For another, people with the right personality traits (for me it's being damn stubborn) are taught not to give up. Ever. Sure, the odds of me being able to walk much more than a block for the rest of my life are pretty much non-existent, but I have made the choice not to let that define who I am. I live vicariously through my words, and create new worlds that both intrigue and challenge not only my characters but myself.

And all of this led me down a path that once was closed to me, and brought me to Charlie Burris and the Orange & White Report--writing articles and features about college football when I was told during college that there was no place for women journalists in sports--unless they covered ice skating or gymnastics. Plus every Saturday, I get to interact with the other O&W writers and argue or theorize or analyze football games while they're ongoing. That transforms me from a woman old enough to be their mother lying in a huge back brace in Ohio to a sports journalist, and fulfills a long-ago dream of mine in the process.

In the end, then, my overriding thought after my fourth major back surgery in ten years would have been applicable whether I regain the life I missed or continue in the life I've had.

1. My spine cannot restrict my mind.
2. My world is much, much more than the four walls that I am usually trapped within.
3. My life is not over; it's richer and rewarding beyond my expectations thanks to the people I interact with every day online.
4. Never give up on your dreams and ambitions.
5. It's 11:14 am and Florida still sucks.

So don't feel sorry for me; I don't feel sorry for myself. And as you look at your life and the things you wanted but didn't get, don't think those things are past you either. Life or circumstance don't dictate your destiny--you do.

Even with failed hardware in your spine.

Character Studies of Life Can Be Found Online

All of us have to deal with people who aren't quite...well...right in the way they deal with people. But social media makes that interpersonal issue much bigger than it used to be. For example, right now I have social relationships with hundreds of people that I have never met except online. You do too. But what do you really know about those people? Only what they have in their social media bios and what they tell you. 

As humans, we rely upon our ability to gauge another person's behavior by hearing to tone of their voice, judging their physical movements, the motion of their eyes, how they gesture, and the context in which they make comments. Online, we don't have that ability. Instead of varying areas of gray, we have either black (everything he says is a lie, or bullying, or bigoted) and white (I accept everything said to me at face value). There is no middle ground. And that, in turn, leads to extremes of human behavior online that are fascinating for a writer to observe. I mean think about it--would our society work if our day to day communication was conducted in the same way it is on the internet? 

How many times have you busted someone in a lie online? Or bullying? How about using a false account? According to Twitter, there are over 20 million of those. Think about yourself--would you interact with people face-to-face the same way you do through your keyboard? I wouldn't. I was brought up with the manners of the Deep South. It'd be real hard for me to look at an elder and say, "You, sir, are a misogynistic bigot playing the white male victim card because you are intimidated by women who are smarter than you which is pretty much the entire race of womankind, you moron."

Hard, yes. Impossible, no. I'd have to be REALLY mad though, and there are a couple of old coots online who would be able to spark that anger in me with two seconds and a gust of wind.

We live in an age where we type faster than we think. For a writer who can churn out 2000 words an hour at peak speeds, making an ass out of myself in 140 characters or less isn't even hard. 

But here's where it can get fun for a writer. Go through your Twitter feed on any given day. From data I can find, the average number of Twitter followers is 208. So take a look at those people. Check how they act online. Read their tweet wars. (No, we ALL have them. Don't lie.) What can you determine about people through their online personalities? 

Because most people project who they want you to THINK THEY ARE as a stronger, smarter, younger, better-looking version of WHO THEY REALLY ARE. 

Take a look at the folks you've caught in a lie. (We've all been caught and we've all done the catching) Ask yourself what that person's motivation was for lying in the first place. That can lead you down a strange path in and of itself, because for most folks, they're not lying to PEOPLE. They're lying to a computer, which dilutes the sense of responsibility a great deal. It's so easy to sit at your keyboard and type "29 year old redhead, green eyes, 5'10" 115 lbs" as compared to "69 year old, don't remember my original hair color so let's go with plaid, blue eyes, 5'8" 215 lbs". See? Lie without guilt. No one on the other side of that lie knows what you look like BEYOND WHAT YOU ALLOW THEM TO KNOW. So who does that lie hurt, right? 

Aside from yourself, of course. You know, when you get the tweet that tells you your online friend is in/near your hometown next week and would love to get together for lunch? 

You have two choices. Deflect, or confess. And since most people would rather die than look bad, most people would...?

Yep. Deflect. 

So when you're struggling to create a new character and make him/her credible, sometimes you don't have to go any further than your own Twitter feed. A little digging can give you new understanding of human behavior, and lead you to giving that new character depth. And it doesn't even  violate the "all characters are fictional" disclaimer at the front of every novel. Because when you get right down to it, the people we know online are ALL fictional characters to some degree or another.

But keep this in mind also. Twitter and Instagram and Facebook are filled with people who are so desperate for attention/affection/acceptance/romance/friends/justification/self-diagnoses/an audience that they are no longer real people. They're caricatures of reality, and even if you call them out you can't help them. They have no interest in doing anything other than what they are already doing, and they won't thank you for the friendly advice.

As I just learned again. Today.

See? Even an old dog like me can (re)learn new tricks. Find that balance between reality and farce, and make that social experiment work in your favor. 

Back Again, Back Again Lickety-Split (NOT)

So, I've been waiting for my laptop's return from warranty repair since June. 

That's never what a writer wants to say, especially if it's followed by  "I've lost all my work since March." 

Yep. Left to the vagaries of a frighteningly unresponsive repair department, I'm sure the hard drive that my husband the ex-hacker  network administrator couldn't extract files from is proving to be equally bullish with HP. So since I mailed my laptop off--in JUNE, let's not forget that--I've been getting my online addiction through my phone and my writing addiction--

Well, let's just say withdrawal is tough. 

Funny. Before my laptop blew up, I wasn't able to write a word. Having never been decimated by writer's block before, I must confess I am now a lot more empathetic towards writers who are suffering through weeks or months of blank pages. And now I can say been there, done that. Two months of longhand scribbling in your journals will do that to you. 

So finally, I got annoyed (as usual) and informed my husband that we were going to get a new computer. That was Saturday. Computer came today, and I rather quickly discovered that I am not smart enough to set the darn thing up.  After an hour or so of cussing (amplified because my phone decided to crap out at the same time), I gave up and waited until the husband got home. 

It took him thirty seconds. THIRTY FREAKING SECONDS. God, I hate that. I can work for hours on something electronic, bitching at him the whole while in text, and that man can walk in the door and just touch whatever I couldn't figure out and *poof!* Up it starts. Every. Single. Time. 

Except--

--for my cell. Ask yourself this random annoying technology trivia question: who is STUPID enough to make a cell phone that you cannot take the darn battery out of? 

Answer at the end of my post.

At any rate, after a long, frustrating journey, it's time to get back to some elf-killing, and with a full slate of potential topics on the docket it's looking to be a great fall.  First things first--daily writing blocks resume tomorrow, with my normal four hour AM session and at least one four hour PM session, with a break for the Paul Finebaum Show, of course. And yes, I have spent the last two purgatorial months building a brand new world--one I intend to inaugurate tomorrow morning. *evil grin* Trying to think of a name for the anti-hero main character. I'm leaning toward Godwin.

Maybe.

Then, naturally, college football is on the horizon. I've decided to actively blog football this year, mostly because that will dovetail with a couple of other professional irons I've got in the fire. Always have to be thinking ahead, you know. 

And I'll also be working to get all of my previous novels reissued and for sale again. 

What? A girl's got to eat. 

In the end, even though this computer needs a LOT of work to be up to the standards and speed of my dearly departed laptop, it allows me to do what I want to do. What I NEED to do. And that's to write, without worrying about spilling a drink on it or losing keys. I don't think I'll even hook this up to social media. The only online access I'll have on this is for research purposes. Everything else, I'll continue to do through the tablet and my phone. 

Until, at least, the laptop comes back. I might be 60 by then, but who knows? They might surprise me yet. 

Oh, and the answer to our random annoying technology trivia question? Samsung. That's right. Samsung. 

The Victory Isn't In The Song

Yes, I know. I haven't blogged in almost a month. My last post took a lot out of me. I try not to post about things quite that personally impactful--devastating, I should say. In fact, Sharon DeVita's death sucked me dry of words. All words. For a month, I have not written. I could not write.

Not.

One. 

Single. 

Word. 

I haven't even signed a check.

I think when writers get depressed, it's seriously feast or famine. Some writers pour everything into their work, and create these amazing magna opa that live for centuries. Others, like me, turn their faces to the wall and shut the laptops down. When I get into this state, it usually takes a fairly sizable breakdown to get me going again. Well, got that out of the way today, along with the early summer strep that always seems to find my house, and so here I am at four AM trying to figure out where my damn glasses are, where my last writing file went, and how to reignite my writer's mojo. 

Fortunately, I have a secret weapon.

Remember this? Spring, 2009? Britain's Got Talent?

Okay, let's be honest--and I certainly will be as well. When I first watched Susan Boyle walk out on stage, the cold-blooded professional actor side of me immediately began to tear her down before she even opened up her mouth. Yep. I catalogued her faults right down to her toes--frumpy, fussy, social misfit, bad hair, bad teeth, bad dress, stage fright, sensible shoes. I knew, because I used to thrive in the cutthroat world of auditioning, that this woman was about to emerge as one of the most spectacular failures in entertainment history. I knew that she could no more sing Les Mis than she could fly. I Dreamed a Dream is not an easy song. (Ask Anne Hathaway, whose own performance of the song was actually a brilliant way for an actress to reclaim the song from this particular video and association. Totally deserved the Oscar, in my opinion)And so, I settled back to watch Susan Boyle make an ass of herself. Ready to laugh. Just like that nasty-faced kid in the audience, I was waiting to...well...feel superior.

And then she opened her mouth. 

By the end of the first line, everyone watching (including me) didn't care that she was pudgy, or that she was forty-seven and never been kissed. By the end of the first verse, the audience was on its feet. By the end of the song, the most unlikely star imaginable had been born. 

By the end of the fourth time I'd watched it, in a row, all I could think of was "Thank God I wasn't that girl in that audience with the camera on my face before she sang." 

Now it's summer, 2015, and I'm the one who's in my forties, wearing sensible shoes, and confronting my dreams head on. Now I stand where she did six years ago. And in one of those authorial catharses that always end up on writers' blogs, I have to ask myself something vitally important. 

Am I willing, now, to stand up and chase my dreams? At my age? At my station in life? In sensible shoes? (I draw the line at frumpy or fussy, though. I have always been fashion forward. My shoes may be sensible, but they're hot.) 

Conventional wisdom dictates to our society that forty-seven-year old women don't go on a talent search and create superstardom for themselves. Only the twenty somethings can do that, or the fifteen-somethings if you're a home schooled old soul from a farm in NY. In writing, it's kind of the same thing. It' s hard to break in anymore without a real platform--a built-in audience/market for your work. The publishing world is so glutted by self-pubbed, indie pubbed, e-pubbed, and vanity pubbed books that even the traditionally pubbed books aren't exactly flying off the shelves--unless you're a Kardashian taking selfies of yourself. 

Amazing what can get people called "authors" these days. 

We all find ourselves in a moment where we're facing a mirror, trying to analyze ourselves and our chances. How many of us will take our courage and our dreams in hand and head to a nationally televised competition? How many of us are as out and out gutsy as Susan Boyle must have been? 

How many of us can supersede our own self-image, and dare to start over? 

Here's the most important thing, though, for all of us to take away from the Susan Boyle audition video. The salient moment happens at 4:48. Susan Boyle has finished singing, received her ovation, blown her kisses, and before the judges say a word, she turned and headed offstage. I wasn't as impressed by that then as I am now. She was there, ostensibly, to dream her own dream, right? To chase something no one had ever given her a chance to even try before. 

But she doesn't need validation from the cynics at the judges' table. She doesn't need those three yeses. Why? 

Because she'd gotten what she came for. Not the fame. Not the fortune. Not stardom or thirteen and a half million YouTube views. She came to sing. That's it. To prove that she could, to prove to no one but herself that her dreams were as important, as valid at 47 as they'd been at 27. I don't think Susan Boyle went to win Britain's Got Talent--as, in fact, she did not. Susan Boyle went to win Susan Boyle.

She went for no other reason than to prove that she could sing, and only to prove it to herself. So once she'd succeeded, once the audience had fallen in love with her and Simon Cowell had sighed like a fangirl, all she knew was that she'd done what she set out to do. She'd gotten what she wanted from herself, and no one else mattered.

God knows I wish I was more like that. 

As artists, we're always striving to please people-people we don't know. We have to entertain, to challenge, to tantalize, and do so in such a manner that makes total strangers want to know us or, in the case of writers, our worlds, our characters, our stories. As a result, we're so damn critical of what we do that we essentially handicap ourselves. I'm not talking about the large group of writers who are seeking a regular income, writing variants of trope stories or formulaic books designed to please readers who aren't looking for books that challenge them. I'm talking about the ones who have something different to say, who are trying new ideas and trying to create new audiences. I've been both, edited both, published both. I know, as most writers do not, how many authors cripple themselves with self-criticism and either kill off their books stillborn because they're not good enough ever, or that many just write re-visits of the same story with different character names/places/things but the same story elements because it worked and they don't want to mess up a winning formula. 

It's easy to sabotage yourself. What you have to learn, more than anything else, is how to pick yourself back up. How to force yourself to move forward, how to pack up and try something that terrifies you--not because you want to 'win' something, but because more than anything else you have to prove to yourself that you actually can do it. 

Let me put it to you this way. Susan Boyle's victory that day? It didn't happen on the stage. It happened that morning, when she woke up, put on her church dress, got on the bus and headed for the BGT audition taping. Nothing was guaranteed. Nothing was certain. Everything was terrifying. But she strapped on those sensible shoes, got in line, got her audition number, and managed to keep her courage up long enough to actually walk out on that stage. 

It wasn't the song that made her into a star. The victory isn't in the song. The victory was everything that led up to the first moment she felt the stage lights on her skin. The victory was before the song.

There's a lesson in that. For all of us. And then when you consider the actual words of the song, a little chill races down your spine.

I had a dream my life would be
So different from this hell I'm living
So different now from what it seemed
Now life has killed the dream, I dreamed 
      --(I Dreamed A Dream, Les Miserables-composer:Claude-Michel Schonberg, Libretto: Alain Boubil, English lyrics:Herbert Kretzmer)

Now life has killed the dream I dreamed. 

How very easy it is for any of us to allow that to happen. As I said. Chills, man. Honest to God chills. Think about it.

Sharon De Vita: Love, Laughter, and her Legacy

A few days ago, the writing community and romance fans lost one of the true greats. Sharon De Vita passed away after a brief illness. Her loss cuts deeply, at least for me. And while writing a remembrance blog post isn't really my thing, I feel compelled to share with you my love and respect for Sharon and my absolute sorrow at her death.

I first met Sharon through Musa. We hadn't even opened our doors yet, and she submitted her novel The Estrogen Posse to me. My first thought was, "No way. Someone's playing a joke on me. There's no way that Sharon De Vita is submitting to us!" I mean, this was THE Sharon De Vita--NYT Bestselling author of over 30 books, winner of the RT Lifetime Achievement Award, beloved of Harlequin and Silhouette readers--why would this writer be sending ME her new novel?

But it wasn't a joke. Sharon, returning from a hiatus after the tragic death of her son, was taking her career down a new path. The Estrogen Posse was a departure from the light-hearted romances she was so well-known for. The manuscript clocked in at a hefty 150,000+ words, with elements of suspense and humor framing a recently divorced woman's quest for herself amidst murder, family turmoil, and a new romance. The first scene was a one-sided conversation between the protagonist, Ellie, and God.

And Ellie won the argument.

There was no way I was going to let that novel be published by anyone else. I'd made such a connection with the story--and its author--that I'd determined we would publish the book within the first hundred pages. We contracted the book within a few days. I edited the novel myself, and The Estrogen Posse was one of the three books we published on Musa's opening day. 

Can't think of another e-publisher who started off with such a writer/book combination, or one with a Janet Evanovich blurb on the cover. But what had started as a business relationship between Sharon and myself, morphed into an editor/author connection that was one of the most rewarding professional experiences I've ever had. By the time Musa opened for business, Sharon had become our one-woman encouragement team and biggest fan. She brought us other authors, who'd been screwed over by their traditional publishers releasing electronic versions of their books and paying them a few cents per sale. She bragged about our way of doing business, our transparency, and our support system.

Sharon was so important to us at Musa. Every time we saw her emails in our inboxes, we automatically felt good.  

What a rare gift that is! Think about it: online communication is somewhat sterile, especially in a business situation. Think of what kind of person you have to be to supersede that cold formality. Sharon was such a writer, such a wonderful person, that even in an email zipped out in two minutes flat she could evoke such warmth and sincerity and such caring that it could make four people she'd never met feel happy with just a few well-chosen words. That's why Sharon's books were so well-loved: she had such a gift with evocative language that her readers cared about her characters with the same kind of intensity that they cared about their best friends. The Kirkus reviewer for The Estrogen Posse saw the same thing: 

While working with these dark topics, the author skillfully weaves in a dose of levity without any heavy-handedness. As a result, readers jump between gasps of shock during the murder investigation and stints of uncontrolled laughter as Ellie’s ridiculous “posse” mobilizes into action. An emotional, fun-filled romp.

You see, Sharon cared about those characters and shared them with us in her books, just like she cared about us as individuals--and she shared those feelings so candidly and with such sincerity that it was impossible to doubt that she meant anything other than exactly what she said. Don't get me wrong: Sharon and I went toe-to-toe several times during the editing process. She could be just flat out ornery if she chose to. And then, once the  orneriness had passed, it was like the sun breaking through the clouds and banishing the storms from the horizon.

It's hard for me to accept that I'll never have that feeling again, that I'll never get another email or phone call from her to brighten a dark day, or that I'll never fall in love with another amazing story that came from her figurative pen. 

Sharon gave Musa another wonderful gift: her daughter, Jeanne, came to work with us at Musa and became such an integral part of the company that it was hard to imagine how we'd ever gotten along without her. Jeanne is another one like her mother--she has the same spunk, the same warmth, the same earnest interest in what's going on around her. When health issues started to come between Musa and me, Jeanne stepped in and I trusted her to do so. 

But now we find ourselves here, heartsick and sad, when the days have dimmed unaccountably and even the sounds of an Ohio spring seem to be muted. Our world of writers and readers has lost a beautiful person, one whose talent made so many people happy and whose personality and loving nature was evident in every message or interaction. But beyond that community of authors, Sharon's loss resonates on a deeper, more personal level. We have lost a member of our family, a selfless lodestone to set our course by. We have lost an advocate, who fought zealously for other writers throughout her career. We have lost an innovator, who was willing to take a chance and make the best of it. 

And I have lost a dear, dear friend. Sharon encouraged me as both an editor and a writer. She cared about what was happening in my life, and she made my life brighter once our paths intersected. Her passing was sudden and wholly unexpected, coming as it did without warning.

Sharon leaves behind her husband, Frank, her two daughters, Jeanne and Annie, and two lovely little granddaughters. She also leaves behind legions of devoted fans, bereft authors, and shattered friends. But Sharon has also left us her books--all those wonderful books, the stories that remain as her legacy--that will always remain, immortalized, like she is now. My grief is for my own sake, because I've lost someone important and dear to me, and for her family, whose pain is just so intense right now. And yet, this particular death has brought to mind something that Leonardo da Vinci once said: "As a well-spent day brings happy sleep, so life well used brings happy death."

Life well used. An apt turn of phrase, and one that so embodies Sharon De Vita and the legacy of love and laughter she has bequeathed to us all. Her life was well used.

God speed you, my friend. You will be--and already are--sorely, painfully, sorrowfully missed. 

(And when I get there, wherever there is, we'll continue that argument about commas that I will, as usual, win. Or perhaps I'll let you win it, and just rejoice in the moment that we'll share.)

Getting The Writer's Mind Back on Track

Coming off of what I sarcastically have dubbed my "brush with death"--yes, I'm doing just fine save for the fact I got all of the pain resulting from any invasive procedure but none of the benefits considering my nerves were never ablated--I'm back in the writing studio today watching a new litter of kittens from our rescue mission and staring at a blank page. 

Writers share that experience daily. At some point, all of us sit at our computers and stare at a blank page.  It may be a new story, or a new chapter, or even just a break in the storyline rolling through our minds. And while some authors may not experience a hitch at the sight of a blank page, I'm willing to bet that most of us do. 

And why not?  We all have lives...bills...family and friends...near death experiences due to anesthesia--why is it so strange that occasionally the sight of a blank page can throw us off-track?

(Darn page is still blank) 

With all of the distractions in everyday life and the ease of burning an hour or two on the Internet, it's a wonder that writers get anything done at all. And we do--once we get past that blank page staring us in the face. 

Over the years, I've developed a system of refocusing my writing energy that seems to work for me. I'm a pantser, not a planner; my stories play out in my head and I just type what my imagination dictates.  I always know where I'm going--the conclusion of the story. I just never know how I get there,or even how many chapters/pages/books it'll take me to do so. So when that blank page stymie happens to me, this is how I combat it. 

1--Stare at the wall. I can write anywhere, including poolside in the summer, under a tree in the fall, and in the kitchen during the holidays. I've even written while tending bar. But if I'm suffering from a momentary case of writer's block, I always go to my study and sit at my desk. My desk is in a corner of the room, facing the wall. The only things I see are what I have deliberately placed there--timelines, research, scene ideas, pictures that remind me of the plot/characters or inspire my world. There's no TV in my writing study, no books aside from research materials, and the only music available would be on my non-verbal classical music play lists--which I put together specifically to invoke a certain mood. The idea is to shut out the external distractions and immerse myself in  the world I'm creating. Nine times out of ten, this works for me. 

If you don't have a designated writing space, I recommend that you create one. You don't have to use it every single time, but if you have a no-interference spot where you can retreat, where there are no distractions and no opportunities to distract yourself, that blank page won't stay blank for long. 

2--Cleanse your writing palate. Sometimes, a major story needs a few days' rest to percolate, or that blank page is reflecting the blank spot in your story--one you can't easily surmount. If that's the case, instead of pressuring yourself to WRITE ON THAT DARN STORY NOW, take a trip somewhere else. Write something completely unrelated--a short story, a poem, a letter to an old friend, a blog post *coughcoughAHEMcoughcough*. Even a grocery or to-do list can shake things up enough in your mind to get you working again.  In the end, it doesn't matter what you write as long as you write something every day. 

I use my blog as a jump start to my writing blocks--kind of like a warm up exercise. Once the fingers are moving easily on the keyboard and the words are rolling out onto the new post page, I usually find that I'm priming myself to return to whatever writing task I'm working at the time. 

3. Research doesn't count as a distraction. That old writing maxim--"Write what you know"--? It doesn't mean that all your fiction must be based upon your personal life knowledge. What it means for spec fic writers is "Know what you're writing about." For example, I was watching an online documentary from the UK about a haunted inn, and the host of that show referred to Lady Jane Grey as Henry VIII's wife. 

What? 

Since Lady Jane Grey was ten when Henry VII died and his great-niece, and since she was literally in the nursery while he was still alive, how could ANYONE present themselves as an expert on ANYTHING if they make a factual error that egregious? 

Same thing goes for your writing. Sure, it's great to have two moons for your home world, but you'd better have a good idea of how that would affect said home world. Tides. Calendars. Seasons. Orbits. Giving your hero a six foot long broadsword sounds good and all, but if your hero isn't physically superb, he/she is going to have issues waving that sword around for hours--especially in full plate armor. And while it's fantastic that your heroine is a woman of power, you can't save her from the guillotine in 14th century Scotland--since the guillotine wasn't invented until the late eighteenth century in France by a doctor named Joseph-Ignace Guillotin.

So if the words just aren't coming, turn your mind to some other part of creating the best story you can. Research. Flesh out your world-building. Fact check what you've already written. Because believe me--at some point during this work (which is essential anyway) an idea will probably spark something in your mind, and words will go onto the page--whether those words are corrections of previously written scenes or a brand new scene doesn't matter. You're still accomplishing something positive for your WIP. 

4. Sometimes you need a break... Not everyone has the luxury I do, of having the ability to write at any time of day or night. Most of you have day jobs, kids to ferry around, hectic and agitated homes to deal with. And while your writing time might be sacred--mine was when I was working, ferrying kids, and dealing with a hectic and agitated house--sometimes you're just not able to turn your brain off and get down to putting words down on that awful blank page. 

Don't be so hard on yourself. 

The easiest way to suffer a serious case of writer's block, one that lasts for weeks or even months, is to beat yourself up over it. Sometimes, you just have to take a step back and recuperate.  So if you have to step back, what do you do? 

That's easy. EDIT.

Start on page one. Pull out your grammar book or website, and get rid of all those grammatical errors. Trust me--they're there. I would say that easily, 98 out of 100 submissions I received in the past six years was grammatically unacceptable. Some submissions were unreadable. I'd say that fully half of the submissions I received were deleted before I had read the first chapter for poor grammar/spelling. And as editors go, I was pretty lenient. (Reading abnormally fast is a big help.) Doesn't matter how great the storyline is, if your submission is riddled with grammar, syntax, usage, and spelling errors, your story will hit the recycle bin. Editors get so many submissions these days--they're overwhelmed with them. An editor may have 100+ manuscripts on their desk when they open yours. And that they're/there/their error on page one is probably enough for most editors to toss your book. You need to go through your story with a fine-toothed comb if you want an agent or an editor to bother with reading it. 

DO NOT RELY UPON SPELLCHECK OR GRAMMAR CHECK SOFTWARE. For one things, they're incapable of spotting homonym errors like they're/there/their or won/one or accept/except. Know when to use farther and further, or effect and affect. Believe me when I tell you that it doesn't matter how proficient you were in high school or college English. I've been a professional editor for a decade, and I will still find errors in my manuscripts to correct. You will too. 

Well, I think I've written away my blank-page-itis. I'm ready to start my second writing block of the day at 5 pm--so I have fifteen minutes to check on newborn kittens, get my bottled water, and pull up the research I've done on this particular chapter in my WIP. My writing blocks are four hours, twice a day--sometimes more if I'm on a roll. Today feels like a rolling day to me. And if you're not having the same luck, take a deep breath and figure out what might work best for you. Just remember--no page stays blank forever. 

You'll get there. I promise. 

Just When You Think You've Seen It All...

...some doofus comes along and convinces you otherwise.

After a couple of VERY hectic weeks dealing with Musa's launch and subsequent releases, all the AMP horrors, working on my own manuscripts and getting ready for World Fantasy Convention in San Diego next week, my sense of humor has pretty much evaporated.  Add in the fact that I turned forty-five a couple of days ago (quel horreur!), that Aurora the Regency line turned one, Aurora the toddler turns two tomorrow and my husband's birthday is Friday and it's no wonder that the only thing I laughed at today was a very unworthy thought that flitted around my mind about someone who wasn't there to defend themselves.  (Never fear--I jotted down the notes so I can incorporate that thought into a Jack the Ripper story coming soon near you!) 

At any rate, when I'm in a non-humorous mood I usually end up reading submissions.  Somehow, I've convinced my subconscious that I am less likely to contract a mediocre book when I'm foul-tempered.  Fortunately, that philosophy has been working out fairly well so far.  

As I was going through requested fulls, I came across a story that struck a chord with me. I was actually pretty excited by it.  So I put the story on the to be contracted list and moved on to the next.

But the story wouldn't get out of my head.  Normally, this is a GREAT thing.  When a story keeps pestering me while I read other submissions usually means I've landed on something really great.  But that's not really why I was obsessing on this story.

No--I had the feeling I'd read that story before. 

I use Firefox Thunderbird to coordinate all my various email accounts.  So I ran a search on the book title and came up with nothing unusual.  That should have been the end of the matter, but it wasn't.  I pored over the correspondence the author and I'd had and couldn't find anything to explain that niggling little feeling at the back of my mind that had been pestering me all night.  I pulled the story back up and read it again.  Yep. I had read that story somewhere before.  I double-checked the query letter to make sure that wasn't a rights reverted book.  No indication of that.  I was about to give up when something made me run a search on the author's email address.

And I hit pay dirt.

I had read that story before! In fact, I'd read it at Aspen Mountain Press a few months ago.  But--strangely enough, the story had had a different title. Different character names.  The author's name was slightly different.  Now I was even more curious.  The story was good; not outstanding, but a nice, easy edit and could be turned over quickly.  So why were all those alarm bells sounding in my head?  Just to set my mind at rest, I googled the original title and author name.

Everything became clear.

The book was already published--had just BEEN published, in fact, by another company.  I went to the sales page for the book and pulled up the excerpt.  Then I entered the first five or six words of the excerpt into the *Find* box of the manuscript and--lo and behold!--the excerpt on the sales page began in the second paragraph of page five in the manuscript in my hand.

The author was a self-plagiarist.  By changing the names and the title of the book, he was trying to sell rights to a manuscript that he no longer had to sell.  On top of that, the original manuscript had been contracted by AMP.  So two publishers already owned the publication rights the authors was trying to sell to me!

I wasn't the acquisitions editor who'd read the original manuscript; I'd found the manuscript in the AMP email accounts when I took over and skimmed through the story then.  

Now, let me be frank: the author is a good writer.  The story was well-told. But just changing character names or titles does NOT make a manuscript new intellectual property.  Save for the name changes, the two manuscripts were word for word identical. 

I'd heard of self-plagiarism. I'm guilty of snatching scenes from trunked novels fifteen years ago and making them work in some new story.  But I never would have thought of retitling The Reckoning of Asphodel or Bride of Death and submitting them to a different publisher while they were still under contract.  After all, I would get busted. No one kills an Elf like me. But also, I think a bit more logically.  Why take the risk? Why publish a competing version of a book already on the market?  Why not...write something new?

There just wasn't a way to give this writer the benefit of the doubt.  One doesn't mistakenly change the names and title and submit an already and recently published book to a new company--one where the chances of discovery were slimmer.  But in the end, how could the writer ever have guessed that the editorial director at this new house had actually read the manuscript before? 

These days with the caching capabilities of computers and internet search engines, you'd have to be really...well, stupid to think that no one would catch on.  It's not like this book was near the end of the contract either--the other publisher had released the story under its original name in June of this year.  And yet three months later, the same story was submitted to Musa?  

No, I don't think this was any kind of accident. As much as I'd like to find a way for this to be accidental, I just can't.  And now there's a writer--a darn good writer too--whose work I will never be able to trust as original.  

In the end, that's just another lesson I needed to learn. I informed the author's publisher of what had happened, forwarding the manuscripts I'd been sent and filed the correspondence away in what my husband not-so-jokingly calls my jackass folder.  And man, oh man am I grateful that I listened to that niggling little voice in my head. 

Shame that little voice was silent all through my twenties.  I'd be a lot richer today if I'd listened then.

Just When You Think You've Got It All Together...

We all have plans.  I have all sorts: plans for my family, plans for my life, and sort of at the top of the list at the moment are the career plans.  I'm at the point in my life that I'd always said I would get around this age: devoting myself to my writing. (Yeah, I'm editing too, but that goes hand in hand with it.  Every manuscript I edit makes my own writing better--I see my own flaws on someone else's page. At any rate) And right at the moment in my personal journey when I'm ready to break ahead and take that next step, something happens to screw it all up.

As life-altering changes go, this one isn't THAT bad. The artifical disc that was supposed to last forever and eliminate my back pain didn't do either. I have to have another back surgery--a fusion to stabilize the broken prosthesis.  A few days in the hospital, a few months in a back brace with very limited physical activity, probably a year or so of physical therapy--and a best case scenario prognosis for the relief of 60% of my pain.

Maximum. More likely? Less than half.

The surgery isn't optional; it has to be done. The broken prosthesis can't be removed. I'm stuck with it. And, as a result, will always have pain.  None of that really bothers me.  This is how stupid I am: I'm worried about not getting the WIP done on schedule--a self-imposed schedule at that. I'm not worried about dying on the operating table or the pain (although that isn't pleasant to consider) or anything else except how long it will take me to be able to stand sitting at my computer and getting back to my story.

Yeah, I realize that for the first week at least, more likely two, I'm not going to give a rat's ass about the story, and with a big incision in my back I'm not going to want to lie down with the laptop either.

But three months????

Three MONTHS!

Damn.

So. The best I can do is to write as fast as I can now and hope for the best.  I figure I'm within 100 pages of the end.  Maybe...just maybe...I can get this done.  And even if I can't, I'll spend a lot of time thinking about it, reconfiguring it, twisting and turning it.

And yes, I find the fact that the story is about Jack the Ripper quite ironic, thank you very much.

And Now For Something Completely Different...

...a not quite as serious post.  Ye olde blogge has been a little on the grim side as of late, so tonight while I loosen up my mind for a big writing binge that'll probably end up being an all-nighter, I thought I'd try to lighten things up a little bit with some random thoughts.

Random thought # 1--Just got done watching The Voice.  Christina--FIRE YOUR DRESSER. Child, you don't have any business prancing around in THAT outfit. EVER.  Those thighs were eating those pleather shorts. Seriously.

Oh, the singers?  For me no contest--the two bald ladies on Christina's team and the two guys on Blake's team. Best singer of the night--Beverly. Best performer of the night--Frenchie.  Best moment of the night--Ce Lo singing Queen. 

Random thought # 2--Two great things happened for me in the world of sports today. First, Tyrelle Pryor has ditched Ohio State for his senior season. (there is a God)  Then, Mike Hamilton, the alleged athletic director at my beloved University of Tennessee resigned. (there is a God who wears orange and white) Personally, I think this is a great thing for both schools.  Tennessee can now hire Phil Fulmer, who at least has integrity and knowledge of the area, and Ohio State can have the ultimate honor of me condescending to appear at one of their football games--which I swore I'd never do as long as Tyrelle *Mika Vick* Pryor played there.  That being said, now there are serious grumblings in Columbus on the nightly news about tens of thousands of dollars Pryor allegedly accepted, and people in Knoxville are tossing pictures of Lane Kiffin into bonfires built with Hamilton's office furniture.

Ah yes, a great day in the world of college football.  Now, if they'll only strip USC of their 2004 BCS Championship, my week will be perfect.

(Perfection attained in 3...2...1...)

Random Thought # 3--Right now, the cats are have a demolition derby in my living room.  The favorite and current points leader is Thor, the 5 month old kitten, who is outweighed by the next smallest competitor by at least four pounds.  The cats are all fine--it's the living room that's demolished.  Thor was chasing Sapphire, our sedentary, portly Siamese and they hit a pile of mail and papers on the desk.  Right now, our floor looks white instead of a warm, mellow aged oak color.

And because this is a perfect week, thanks to USC being stripped of their title, someone other than me is picking everything up.

And finally, Random Thought # 4--If I stick to my current writing schedule, What A Pretty Necklace will be completed in 6 days. Right now, Jack the Ripper and my ultimate villain are plotting the demise of my heroine--who, unfortunately for them, has developed a weapon they'll have no defense against.

Ah, steampunk!  I think I'm starting to like you.

Sunburned the Brains Right Out of My Skull

So the big news in the Summers household this week is the new pool.  We all discussed it and decided that not only would a pool be great for the baby (so I can teach him to swim) but also for me.  My back limits a lot of exercise, but if I just walk in chest-high water, I'm getting five times the benefit as if I was walking on the road.

And never breaking a sweat.  That's important to a lady.

*Yeah, I just said that. Now shut it with the laughing.*

At any rate, so the pool is in and we filled it up earlier the week, braving the ICE COLD water just because...well, hell-we have a POOL.  We've spent the time since then (now that the solar cover is warming the water up) lounging in and around the pool, taunting our unfortunate neighbors with the glorious blue jewel glistening in the back yard by splashing, squealing and playing with water toys as much as possible.  My daughter, her daughter and I all now have glorious sunburns--the kind that gives you color without hurting too badly.

Except on our legs. WTF is up with that?  Audrey and I can get all kinds of sun on our faces, arms, backs and shoulders, but both of us are still sporting pasty white legs, damnit.

So I rigged up a little writing area for me on the back deck, thinking that I could switch back and forth between the pool and working on the WIP.  It's nice, with a comfortable chair and a table for the laptop (and an outlet--very important)--far away enough from the pool that my computer won't bite it from a misplaced splash but close enough so I can monitor my non-swimming daughter and her twenty-month-old baby.

I completely forgot about how hard it is to see a monitor in the glare of the sun. Or how quickly you can get really, really hot while trying to write outdoors.  Or how distracting things like the neighbors' boxers when they get let out of the house and want nothing more than to howl at whoever is splashing in the pool.  Or how little Aurora wants her Nana right there in the water with her and has no qualms about running over to where I'm sitting with the computer and lifting her arms to be picked up--while spraying chlorinated water all over my computer.

*sigh*

Yes. This vampire's first exposure to the afternoon sun in about twenty years must have fried every last bit of common sense right out of my echoing head.  There's a REASON I haven't been hanging out at poolside in recent years.  Okay, several.  First off, I'm a redhead. Yeah...I don't tan, I BURN and then MOULT like a freaking snake.  Second off, I'm creeping up to the midway point between forty and fifty. (It's perfectly okay to tell me how young of a grandmother I am, by the way.) The reason I don't look like a grandmother is because I haven't exposed my face to the sun willingly in decades.  Third off, I can't work outside. I don't like the heat. I don't like barking dogs. I don't like the sounds of traffic. I don't like the people across the street.  And while I LOVE the pool, I don't particulaly relish the thought of people driving by and wondering how that bizarre red-and-white whale got beached in Ohio.

So yeah, I'm staying in today to work. I'll hit the pool later when it won't affect me as much.  Like maybe midnight or something.

The sacrifices I make for my art.

Oh, by the way--I'll be a grandmother of THREE sometime in mid-December.

The Denouement and Narrative Pace

When you write serial stories like I do, the denouement can be the most difficult thing to accomplish.  The early books in the series have to resolve some facet of the plot while still perpetuating the overall main plot.  The final book has to tie up all the loose ends, including the subplots of the earlier books.  So getting to the resolution requires a lot of organization and planning.

Right now, I'm finishing up Theater of Cruelty.  As you know, I'm not an outliner.  I write by the seat of my pants save for one exception--I always know what the ultimate resolution of the plot is going to be before I ever write a word.  Other than that, I write organically.  Then, after the first draft is completed, I go through and outline the plot.  I usually set it out on long pieces of butcher paper, so I can have a linear chart above my desk that lets me see the plot points, the twists in it and ultimately, the resolution.

The reason I do this is to make sure I've addressed every single plot and subplot.  It's also good for watching the development of character arcs, tracking the changes in a character from beginning to end.  So honestly, I don't write to outline--I outline to writing. 

At any rate, Theater of Cruelty is the final book in a three-book series.  Therefore, I have to make sure that every plot point is resolved not only from that book, but the previous two as well as the theme for the whole series.  Right now, I have three strips of butcher paper over my desk.  They're probably pretty incomprehensible to anyone but me.  They don't look like outlines--they look like flow charts, with arrows going from one sheet to the other to indicate a thru-line. 

Definitely not the heights of elegant office decor.

I have about 25k left in which to wrap everything up.  The ultimate plot resolution--the BIG climax--will take up about 10k: setting up the situation, working through the resolution (and you just know it's a big old battle scene), and then dealing with the aftermath.  Ten thousand words sounds like a lot.  That's what? Forty pages roughly? But when you're wrapping up 1100 pages of plot, it's really not. 

And that's where a lot of writers run into trouble.  Here's the big payoff, the stage they've been setting throughout the whole darn story.  No one wants to rush the great moment. We want to savor it, to set the scene lovingly and in great detail and to describe every single blow and twist and turn of phrase.  And in doing so, we can forget the most important factor of any great denouement--pacing.

When I'm writing, I think of the story like a mountain.  The pace is always rising, always escalating.  And, just like most mountains, there are small plateaus--breaks in the action where the reader and the plot can catch their breaths.  Then, it's back to the precipitous increase of energy and pace.  But if a writer gets all caught up in the importance of the climax of the plot, setting all the details and getting ensnared by the urge for description, the denouement falls flat.  Instead of being the *steepest* part of the plot, the story plateaus and then the reader usually throws the book across the room.  I had a huge problem with that in an early novel of mine.  It took me months to figure out what the problem was.  I mean, I had all of the ingredients so why was the plot resolution...boring?

And then it hit me: the plot resolution was boring because I'd focused on the ingredients and not on the dish.  I'd plateaued my plot.  Instead of increasing the energy and pace, I'd slowed everything down because I was so caught up in getting everything set perfectly.

(Yes, I could name examples of books that do this--in my opinion--and no, I'm not going to.  I'm not going to use another author's work to prove my point.  Better to just use my own.)

If you find yourself in this situation, I've found the only thing that works for me.  I thought I'd share it with you, and this works for pantsers or outliners.  When you go through on your first draft to write the climax for the first time, skip right over the setting of the scene.  All of that is detail and can be added judiciously later.  I write the story to the natural point where the denouement would be set up, then skip straight to the meat of the resolution.  I start at the very beginning of the action and write straight through the resolution without stopping.  This is where my flow charts or your outline comes in handy, and the main reason I use something big to chart it out like butcher paper or posterboard. I can look up and instantly see what I have to resolve.  I get my protagonist and antagonist on the stage and get them going.  I don't give a fig about writing *well*--my first draft denouement is chock full of adverbs and dialogue tags and I'll admit it.  That's because I can go back later and rework all of that cleanly.  The tags and adverbs give me the mood of the scene, and since I'm writing quickly I don't have time for all the frills and furbelows I usually use.

I find, too, that when I write quickly through the resolution, the pace of the narrative increases.  This makes it easier for me to go back after the fact and determine exactly how much description I need.  I don't want to affect the pacing of the story, so my descriptions and internal dialogue tend to be streamlined--much as they would be in any real life situation where everything is on the line.  I mean, think about it: say your significiant other was rushed to the hospital from work.  You get a phone call at your work, telling you he's been taken by ambulance to the emergency room.  Now, what happens next?

You haul ass to the ER.  You don't notice the weather, or what some other person is weaing, or think about all the good times you and your lover have had in the past.  You grab your keys, get in your car, cuss at the old geezer driving 30 mph in the middle of the road, break the speed limit, park half in and half out of a parking space at the emergency room.  You run into the ER and head straight for the desk and the hospital staff sitting there, where you demand to know where he is and what's going on.  Right?  As you're running into the ER, are you thinking about how many people are there?  What the furniture looks like?  What's playing on TV?  No.  Your mind is focused on only one thing--getting to your spouse NOW.  In a crisis situation, your mind eliminates everything other than your goal and what you need to do to attain it.

That's what happens in a good denouement. You focus your narrative, your characters, on what they need to do to resolve their crisis.  Everything else is just fluff.  The first drafts of my plot resolutions are quite literally stripped down to action.  I find that the crudeness and starkness of that narrative suits the escalated pace of the narrative and enhances it.  And then--after a couple of days off to let the scene rest--I go back in.  I check my resolution to make sure every single loose end has been addressed.  Then, I can work in whatever extra details are needed to complete the scene without tampering with the energy.

As I said, this is what works for me when I'm writing a denouement.  Maybe this will work for you, too, but if not you'll be able to find your own path.  The main thing you have to remember is really important--don't let your pace plateau during the climax of your story.  Don't get so caught up in "sounding like a writer" that you indulge yourself with lavish descriptions, flashbacks, and sensory details.  Concentrate instead on creating a fast-paced, high energy escalation of the action so that when, at last, the plot is resolved everyone--especially the reader--has to sit back and take a deep breath.

After all, the last thing you want to have happen is a reader throwing your book against the wall in disgust.  I've done that three times in the past week, and it's hell on book spines.

An Advice Post? From Me? You Bet--How To Make Edits Work For You

You bet your sweet patootey.

Normally, I talk on this blog as a writer.  Today, I'm putting on the editor's hat, so take a deep breath and get ready.

Let's talk about edits, and how to make the process work for you.

The editing process is a collaboration between an editor and author to make a good book into a great book.  This fact is something that professional writers--and editors--inherently understand.  Without that collaboration, the quality of the story is diminished.  But unfortunately, I'm seeing a disturbing trend among writers that look upon editing--or even critiques/beta reads--as insults.

First off, if you can't take criticism you're in the wrong darn business.  How are you going to handle rejection, which is a major part of any writer's life, if you can't take criticism?  Exactly. You won't. As you approach the editing process, you need to stop and check yourself.  Regardless of who accepted your work for publication, I can guarantee you that the story is NOT perfect.  I have yet to see a story that doesn't require editing.  Some require a lot less than others, granted.  But every manuscript that has ever crossed my desk (including my own) needs that critical, unbiased eye.  So, repeat to yourself: there is no such thing as a perfect story.

Again.  There is no such thing as a perfect story.

Once you've convinced yourself of that, you're ready to begin the editing process with the right attitude.

Second, your editor doesn't make corrections just for the hell of it.  Believe it or not, most editors would love to get a manuscript that only needed a couple of typos fixed.  I've edited hundreds of manuscripts in my career, and I have NEVER found a manuscript yet that only needed a couple of little spelling corrections.  NEVER.  When I go through a manuscript, I am looking for anything that doesn't quite work--continuity issues, anachronisms, underdeveloped story arcs, character problems, grammar, punctuation and spelling.  I'm looking for pet constructions, overused words, weak sentence structures.  And why am I looking for all these things? To make the story BETTER.  Sure, I could just go through and fix typos and a few dangling participles, but then I wouldn't be doing my job.  What's the good in releasing a story that's spelled perfectly, but with a character that's talking on a flip cell phone in 1989?

You're right. No good at all.  Between the reviewers who would flay the author alive and the readers who would hurl the book across the room and never buy another of that writer's books, a lazy editing job has far-reaching ramifications that are bad.  Really bad.

Third off, when you're reviewing your editor's first set of edits, take a deep breath before you lose your temper.  Look--countless times when doing edits, I've yelled something uncomplimentary at my computer screen, like, "You idiot!  I already explained that in the last damn chapter!" That's normal.  But usually, when I think about the comment further, I realize that the editor is pointing out a flaw in my story.  Maybe I didn't make the reference clear enough.  Maybe I was too vague.  Maybe (and this is usually the case) I forgot that the reader doesn't know everything in my head.  Regardless of what the problem is, the editor has pointed that out for a reason--and that reason is usually to make me think. 

As an addendum to that, the worst thing you can do for your story or your career is to lose your grip over your edits.  Getting into a sniping battle with your editor is without a doubt right at the top of the list entitled "Bad Career Moves."  Most of the time, the writer is contracted to perform reasonable edits on their stories--and very rarely are the edits not reasonable.  When the editor leaves a comment on your manuscript, don't be stupid enough to leave a snippy comment back.  You're not obligated to take every editing suggestion in regards to content--but you are obligated to be respectful and professional when you disagree. By approaching your edits in a confrontational manner, all you're doing is shooting yourself in the foot. 

Literally.

Doing edits is a stressful time for any authors.  It's hard not to take some comments personally.  You can help by making absolutely certain that your manuscript is as clean as possible when you submit it to your editor--formatted correctly, checked over thouroughly for spelling and grammar--

(Oh! And spellcheck/grammar check on your word program?  Worse than useless.  Go through your manuscript with a grammar book (I like Strunk's) and doublecheck any spelling you're unsure of.  As of late I've seen way too many manuscripts with basic homonym errors--their/there/they're or to/too/two.  Any of those issues should be eliminated before your editor ever sees your manuscript!)

--and analyzed for continuity issues (ie--making sure you resolve all your plot and subplot storylines).  This is just basic professional courtesy and will save you and your editor a lot of time.  And then when you get your manuscript back, remember that every bit of work your editor put into your manuscript, every comment and correction, every suggestion or red-lined strikeout, was done with YOUR welfare in mind.  To make YOUR book better.  To help YOU learn how to improve your writing.  Instead of being resentful, be grateful that your editor cared enough to make such an effort on your behalf.

And then, in the next manuscript, implement what you learned from your last edits into your new story.

Your editor is your best damn friend in the period between the acceptance of your manuscript and the release of your book.  If you keep that in mind, the editing process will not only be positive and productive, but will help you to become a better writer.

Taking Stock

I think now is a good time to sit back for a moment and take stock of my career in publishing.  It's only been three years since my first book was published. Since then, all four books of The Asphodel Cycle have been released, my short story collection Metamorphosis, the first book of The Vampire Covenants with Rob Graham, and now the first three books of Mythos. I have ten other books completed and another seven at various stages of completion.  Two of them are paranormal romance, one is horror and the rest are either urban or epic fantasy.

I have not been writing as much as of late--I've been concentrating on my role as an editor.  Since I began editing two years ago, I have worked on over forty books with over twenty writers.  I've advanced to senior editor at Aspen Mountain Press.  I came up with the concept for the Aurora imprint at AMP and am the head editor there. With the sneak peek of Aurora next week and the official launch of the company in October, I am focusing my energy and attention upon it.

Although I haven't been writing much, I am still meeting my daily word count requirements.  As of today, I have written almost half a million words in 2010.  My goal is one million words--and although 600,000 of them might be crap, at least they'll be on paper.

Currently, I have five other fantasy worlds completely built, down to societies, cultures, histories, mythologies, geography and races.  Those five worlds are peopled with characters who are completely fleshed out down to favoritehas the teeth colors and personality quirks.  Those characters' stories out sketched out: I always know the ending for my stories, but how I get there is made up on the writing path.

I am at a crossroads in my career and I know it.  Once Aurora is launched and I'm working on a nice, rhythmic calm schedule, with more editors to take up some of the work, I hope to be able to refocus upon my writing.  I could probably do it now if one of my story ideas took off with me. 

So that's what I'm hoping will happen.  I am taking a full week off from writing.  Yes, you heard me: a full week. Seven whole days beginning tomorrow. I am not going to open a single darn word file that begins with my initials.  Instead, I'm going to spend my free time reading.  I'm going to read every word I've got in the stories that I'm working on.  I'm going to allow my brain to consider each story, where it's going, what the stakes are for the characters, the pertinency of the conflict.  I'm going to try to determine which story has the teeth to sink into my psyche and shake me out of the morass of indecision that is stifling my direction.

Yes, I'm going to take stock. I'm going to go back to the time when writing was both entertainment and joy instead of work. I'm going to let a story take me for a while, instead of the other way around.  Sometimes every writer needs to do that, no matter what they have cooking on the stove. Feeling stymied?

Then stop. Take a break. Recharge those batteries and let your creative processes relax for a time.

And seven days from now, I'll come back and let you know if it worked.

Stalled

Yep, that's me.  Stalled.  Oh, I'm still writing--when I can.  At the moment, though, I'm so busy with all my other hats I'm having trouble finding the time to write.  Then, when I do find the time, I struggle for a few minutes with what I should be working on.

Problem number one of writing multiple projects at the same time.

There are so many things I need to get finsished.  I got Harlequin done, thank goodness, so I don't have to worry about that.  It's in the hands of a beta right now.  Terella is getting revamped again--yeah, I know.  How many overhauls can one project take?  The answer to that is simple--whatever it needs. I've been researching Oriental culture and society, wanting to give Terella a more non-European flavor.  It'll be interesting to see if I can pull it off.  I'm close to the end of the Covenants final book, but I'm not really sure what I should do to end it.  Usually, I know the ending of a book before I begin it, but this time I thought I'd let it happen organically. I'm working on the fourth Mythos book, but it's struggling.  As for the other projects, they're in hiatus--The Vengeance of Anne Boleyn, La Belle Dame Sans Merci, The Bell Demon--yep, all waiting for me to get some direction.

But until AMP's anniversary celebration is done and Aurora is launched, I'm going to have to put writing on the shelf for a little while and catch time when I can.  How annoying!  While my other jobs are satisfying to me professionally, it's writing I want to be doing. 

We shall see. I think I'm going to shut off the internet and the phone, move into the TV-less study and see if I can rededicate myself to my craft this evening.

It should work.

Work and Work and Work

The story of my life.

Work and work and more work and work still and continuing work and new work and the same old same old work.  Good grief--I've got so much piled on my plate I'm a single person smorgasbord.

But I love it, you know? I love being so busy I don't know what to do yet.  This week, my husband's family is getting together for the first time in years.  I'm meeting his oldest brother and his family for the first time and Shannon and I have been together for a decade.So naturally, I'm scrambling around trying to get the house ready for guests--some of whom are children--while, at the same time, getting work done for AMP and Aurora and me.

Oh my.

*Yes--A Wizard of Oz moment*

I've got books to be scanned, manuscripts to finalize, submissions to read, writing deadlines and editing deadlines of my own, covers to be approved, art to be assigned, publicity to get cranking and this week I have to scrub, vaccuum, clean and conceal--the latter being necessary on the off chance someone gets nosy enough to poke around in my linen closet.  And I am in my element--loving every second of it even while I whine about how much crap I have to do.

Some of that made it onto the new Aurora Regency blog if you want to go read about that.  Yes--another project that got off the ground this week: http://www.auroraregency.blogspot.com/ is the place to go for information about the imprint, submissions and upcoming releases.  Go check it out.

I have to clean this spot on my couch.