Abuse of Capital Letters helps me make my point

For the last month or so, NPR's All Things Considered and Morning Edition have been featuring reading recommendations brought to the listener by librarians, critics, writing professors and sundry other literary experts. They glow about the works of talented authors, many of them new, breathing with fawning adoration in terms learned in high school English lit classes. These are authors who are producing Great Works, Literature with a Capital L, and the spotlight shining upon them, frankly, depresses me. I am a jealous creature, and I would be lying if I said that I wouldn't like to have some fawning adoration for myself. Everybody wants to be adored. It's a warm blanket in the middle of a cold and lonely life.

I will never be one of the writers featured in one of these segments. I do not write great Literature with a Capital L. My works do not lift the human spirit, and I do not reveal Great Truths about the Human Condition. I was deeply saddened by this during the month of November, but I've learned an important lesson between then and now.

This lesson was learned from The Light at the End of the World and to a lesser extent from Knight of Sorrows. What I write is not profound. It is not complicated, with beautiful words and elevated ideas. Perhaps that means that I have inferior talent, or an inferior mind. Perhaps it means that what I produce has less value than all of the Great Works highlighted in these reading recommendations. But does it? What is wrong with pure entertainment? Maybe what I write isn't moving, but it's fun. It's fun to write, and I'm told that it's fun to read. Isn't that valuable in itself?

Maybe I'm trying to convince myself, here. One thing of which I do not need to be convinced is that there's room for all of us: the Great Writers, the scribblers, and the hacks. We can't all write the Great American Novel, but I'll bet that not everybody wants to read the Great American Novel, either. Nobody ever accused Steven King or Anne Rice or, God forbid, Stephenie Meyers or J.K. Rowling of producing high art, but you can't tell me that they're not successful. They have thousands of loyal readers and they're laughing all the way to the bank.

There are different ways to measure success in writing. One is critical acclaim, and another is financial gain. I'm not likely to experience either one. Another way to measure writing, though, and the way that I can achieve and have achieved, is enjoyment. I like writing what I'm writing. I enjoy myself, and the Crickets who have communicated with me have told me that they enjoy reading it, too. That's worth as much as a glowing review and a fat paycheck.

It may even be worth more.

Google eBooks is still processing my submissions. I am getting impatient and may have to start shaking my spear.

Also, Not Named is now named: The Light at the End of the World. I am trying hard to avoid outright cheesiness while still accepting the basic pulpiness of the story.

Also, in good and awesome and excellent news, I believe my second migraine in six days has finally released my brain from its loveless claws. Let's hear it for pharmaceuticals!

Good news! My company, Irish Horse Productions, has entered into partnership with Google eBooks for distribution of Nightchild, Sacrifice, Collected Stories and Collected Poems. Any future works will also be part of this agreement.

Why is it that every time I start writing a new project, it turns out that there's a TV show/movie/book with virtually the same theme coming out at the same time? I constantly look like I'm plagiarizing!

Yes, Crickets, I have recently learned that my new project, Not Named, features certain elements that also feature prominently in some new TV series (I'm not even sure what network it's on) called Lost Girl. To say that I am annoyed by yet again managing to play Cosmic Coincidence is an understatement.

I choose to believe that this means I have my finger on the pulse of public interest, rather than that my muse is two-timing me with people who have better connections. It makes me feel marginally better.

Granted, some of these same elements have been part of Western European and Christian mythology (yes, I used that word) for the better part of a thousand years, so maybe I'm getting irritated by nothing, but still... it's irksome.

To once again quote Commodus from Gladiator, it vexes me. I'm very vexed.

Crickets, one of my best and closest friends (and one of your number) has created a truly awesome "trailer" for the movie of Nightchild that might someday be made. It's inspiring to me. It really makes me hope that I haven't been wasting all of my time after all.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c-r85Y6hQs8



(This is not news to most of you whose pictures appear on the left - I believe you've already been burdened with my geekitude on other social network sites.)

Well, that's all for now... I'm off to continue dancing the Apocalypso with my new imaginary friends in Not Named...

Good afternoon, Crickets! I hope you're all doing well in your respective silent spaces, and that the approach of the holidays on little clawed monster feet isn't giving you conniptions. I've been working on Not Named and trying to avoid being sickly, which if you know me is a fairly constant battle. In the process, I have done a great deal of research, chucked the concept of NaNoWriMo, and learned to stop worrying and love the bomb.

The bomb in question is, of course, my Illustrious So-Called Career, which really does deserve those capital letters. I'm going to give it my all, which means that these updates from me might be coming few and far between. Now, now, Crickets, don't chirp... it will be all right. With luck, I'll come out on the other side of the Long Silence (I'm fairly obsessed with capital letters today - curious) with a brand new Something for you to read, if you're so inclined. I'm pleased with the little baby steppies Not Named is taking, so my hopes are high.

Incidentally, a co-worker at my day job informed me that my writing was the equivalent to other people collecting bottles. I was offended, then I was amused, and now I think I shall just refer to the process of writing as "bottle collecting". That approach annoys my friend Big Cat, but sometimes these things can't be helped.

One last comment before I go soft into that good writing corner: Tristan has taken on all of the characteristics of a bad boyfriend. He drives me insane when I'm trying to spend time with him, takes me completely for granted and mistreats me until I throw him out. As soon as my attention is drawn to a nice, cooperative new friend like Not Named, he comes crawling back, armed with pretty words and a promise to make it work out this time, really. Shall I take him back, Crickets?

Nah. Boyfriend has to work for it this time. ;)

Okay, Crickets, here's the thing. This is November, time of National Novel Writing Month. Naturally, I entered into the month with the highest of hopes of having this event spur me to finish Knight of Sorrows. No dice. If anything, it put me more into a tailspin. The subsequent navel-gazing, however, has been beneficial, and I think I've realized part of the problem with the projects that have been failing of late.

I need to stop talking about the writing and just write it.

Seems pretty simple, doesn't it? It's quite the opposite, sadly. I always want to talk about my ideas, and tell people about this cool new scene in my head, and moan when my characters don't do what I want them to do. I can't do that. I need to keep it to myself, I think, so that the only outlet for all of my scattered enthusiasm is the page.

To that end, I will say only that I have begun a new project. It's not one any of you know anything about. I'll let you know when it's done... or if it is.

I'll send you dispatches from the front as I'm able, but don't expect details. Loose lips sink ships, dear ones, as you know.

So... shutting up. Carry on.

Revelations

Revelation the first (and I needed to have this explained): Rejection of my writing is not the same as rejection of me as a person.


I've always felt that my writing = me, and vice versa, and that if people didn't want to read my writing, they were saying through action that they didn't give a good God damn about me as a person. After a long conversation with my friend Big Cat yesterday, I've come to accept that perhaps this is not the case. It's still hard to believe that when people have no interest in supporting my writing career, that doesn't mean that they have no interest in me as a human being. It'll take some time until I accept this to be true... if it ever happens.

Revelation the second: Knight of Sorrows is henceforth to be known as "Book Not Appearing on the Bookshelf," or B-Nab.

This is the most damnable project, and the one I've had the most damnable time with. I cannot seem to coax it into being. It's something I want to write, very much, but for some reason it's harder to do than pulling teeth by way of the left kidney. I have never had this much trouble with anything I've ever tried to write. In the words of Commodus in Gladiator, it vexes me. I'm very vexed.

As a result, B-Nab has been sent to the orphanage for a few more weeks/months/years. We'll see if it shows up again.

Revelation the third: Just because B-Nab is more or less dead to me, that doesn't mean that NaNoWriMo can't happen.

I haven't officially joined up, but it's sort of a personal goal to see if I can get something book-length written in one month. Big Cat indicated that I should focus on something other than B-Nab and vampires, because she doesn't think people want to read about vampires that aren't all teen-angst and sparkly, and because B-Nab is giving me fits. (I just had the mental image of Tristan in full armor rapping in a nightclub. Hee!) I think she's probably right. To that end, I am taking one of the stories in my short story collection, "Tell Me No Lies," and expanding it. We'll see where it goes and whether this can be my NaNoWriMo accomplishment.

And thus endeth this reading from Revelations.

Just because I don't have nearly enough stress in my life, I'm considering assigning Tristan to be my National Novel Writing Month project for 2010. Think I can get all of Knight of Sorrows written by December 1? No, I don't either. But we'll see how far I get.

I guess this is me sort of kind of throwing down the gauntlet and challenging myself. I wonder if the imaginary people in my head will cooperate.

Full disclosure: I've often tried to do the NaNoWriMo thing, but I've never succeeded. In theory, if you write a chapter a day, you can finish a novel in one month (no promises for quality). I've just never been able to do it.

We'll see. Maybe this is the year.

Ugh.

I just got the final versions of the ebooks for Nightchild, Sacrifice, Collected Poems and Collected Stories. I made the mistake of reading some of the poetry and scanning the stories.

Ugh. I hate them.

This is why I try not to re-read my work, and if I do, to never do it when I have matches nearby.

Things in my day-to-day life have been challenging of late, and naturally, that means that I have begun to give my writing a vote of no confidence.

Something tells me that this is a good time to step away from the computer and just go play in traffic for a while.

I have never had a project kick my ass the way that Knight of Sorrows is doing. I'm sweating blood over this fucking thing (pardon my French), and I'm not entirely certain that it's going to be worth it.

Crickets, why do I do this to myself? I stopped writing Catherine's Wheel in chapter 3 because I was weary of Tobyn's routine and didn't really like where it was going. I started over on Knight of Sorrows and stalled a bit in chapter 11. I then started Requiem and its various components. How many things can I be writing at once? It would be so much easier if I had no mentally-draining day job to occupy my mind and wear me down during the week.

I finally got back to Tristan and company last night and cleaned up the things in chapter 11 that were giving me issues. Hopefully now I can continue. I'm still not ready to go back to Tobyn and friends, so CW will be sitting for a while. And Requiem? God only knows where that came from, or where it will be going.

--

I sometimes feel possessed by my stories. Images start playing in my mind's eye, and I start losing track of where I am. I hear the things the characters hear, see what they see, smell the things they smell. Maybe it's a very particular brand of schizophrenia. I don't know. I only know that I can't get back to "real real" until I devote at least a little of what I'm seeing to the page. Yesterday, I was overcome by one of those scenes and a nameless person whose emotions reached out and squeezed my insides until they nearly bled. I had to write it down, snow showers and all. I was so "into it" that I was honestly surprised that there was no snow on the ground when I emerged from whatever writerly fugue state I go into.

Am I crazy? Maybe. But maybe I don't want a cure. My best writing is done this way, when it takes control and I'm just along for the ride.

For the record, the scene I wrote has no home, and I don't know if it ever will have one. I don't even know who the characters are, or why they're in the sad situation they're in, or anything. Maybe it'll come back and I'll be able to answer my questions. Maybe it will stay the way it is, like so many other partial pieces that litter my computer memory.

It's a mystery.

Anybody reading this blog must be convinced that I need serious psychiatric help!

Talking to my imaginary friends

Pardon me, Crickets, while I see to a few points of order with a few representatives of my cast of thousands.

Arthur and Tristan, thank you for coming to the point and helping get me back on track. Chapter 12 can now happen. Furthermore, Arthur, my darling boy, this little introduction to your unique personage and relationships has planted the seed for just what I didn't need - another God damned book. So, no thanks. But thanks. Er... yeah. That. And as a side note: Lance, since when are you such a douche bag? Really, now. You're surprising me. Maybe you and Tristan just didn't hit it off well? Or maybe it was like Arthur said, and you're just protective and don't understand this political stuff. I don't know, but you'd better shape up, buddy. I'd hate to dislike you. You're supposed to be a flawed hero. Heroes aren't normally jerks (Tobyn notwithstanding).

And here endeth the letter to the people in my head.

Yes, Crickets, work on Knight of Sorrows continues apace. Now it's going to be one awkward conversation in Tintagel (or Aravon), then onward to the legend. Appropriately enough, I think the legend will be properly rejoined in Chapter 13, a suitably ill-starred number to associate with the moment when an ill-starred young man encounters his fate.

Fasten your seatbelts, Crickets. It's all high-speed from here.

Good news, Crickets! The final (for now) version of the website is up and live! It includes new content like "Ask Tobyn", a press kit with [shudder] a photograph of yours truly, and some teasers for the poetry and short story volumes. Go and look!

Real people can be hugely annoying.

Imaginary people can sometimes be so much worse.

Tristan, meet Arthur. Arthur, meet Tristan. Would one of you overly-polite chaps kindly get to the freaking point?? Oh, hi, Lancelot. Hi, Merlin. You fellows can just... keep doing whatever it is you're doing over there in that corner while these two yammer about politics.

Gentlemen, really. I'm shaking my spear. Can you not see me shaking my spear?

I was listening to NPR on the way to work this morning, as I do every morning. Today they had a story about the difficulties publishers are facing with marketing their books, and they shared some techniques for getting "buzz" started. Naturally, the two things these tips revolved around are the two things I just don't have and cannot generate: word of mouth and a print run with galleys to be shipped to book sellers, reviewers, and book clubs.

I was feeling pretty copacetic about the whole Irish Horse fiasco, even with the sorry state of the bank account, but now? Now I'm feeling like this has all been a huge waste of time and energy.

Every time I speak to someone who might be interested in reading the book, they're all enthusiastic about it until I mention that it's only in electronic form. I could probably sell some copies if I had them in actual physical print. The drawback? Money. This is me, without the thousands it would take to fund a print run. Furthermore, this is me, without the potential to obtain the thousands of dollars it would take - my day job doesn't pay that well (especially while I'm paying off two surgeries and a week in ICU), and the thought of obtaining a loan in this economy is ludicrous.

I'm feeling pretty discourged this morning.

The website has undergone some re-engineering, Crickets, and there's more content. I'm thrilled with how it looks! Now there are just a few things that need done (a link to the Curled Up With a Good Book review of Nightchild, a link to the poetry volume, etc.,) and it'll be all set. My webmiss has been AWESOME. I can't ask for a prettier or better site.

I've been derailed from Knight of Sorrows again, this time by an idea for a short story anthology. I can probably work on both at the same time. I also have real life things that are intruding, so the Dream Factory and Imaginarium is by necessity temporary closed. Isn't it always the way? When I was in college, I did my best writing during finals week. What can I say? I have a freakish brain. ;)

Good news!

All four books are now available on Amazon.com for Kindle download! Nightchild: Book 1 of the Clans Saga, Sacrifice: Book 2 of the Clans Saga, Collected Stories and Collected Poems are all up and ready to roll!

Linkie:

http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=irish+horse+productions


Please, Crickets, if you know anyone who might be of a charitable mindset and might enjoy reading my scribbles and bibbles, please spread the word.

We narrowly averted disaster last night, Crickets. I was steaming along in Knight of Shadows and went to save Chapter 11 so I could take a potty break. Unfortunately, I saved it as Chapter 10 and wiped all 9 pages I'd already written! My squawk of horror alarmed the cats, let me tell you. Thank God for back-up drives. After a few moments of panic and another moment of combing through my external F: drive, I found those 9 pages and brought them back. Whew! I did not want to go through Chapter 10 again. It was hard, and made me grind to a halt, and anyway, there were a few turns of phrase in there that I was pretty proud of. I'm so grateful for technology today!

Chapter 11 features an encounter with a certain High King and his loyal if adulterous knightly BFF. Yes, Tristan has met up with Arthur and Lancelot. I still haven't gotten to the meat and potatoes of the Tristan and Iseult myth, but hey, Tristan was a Knight of the Round Table, so he had to have met old Artie at some point, right? Now is as good a time as any, before he gets all distracted by Irish princesses and such.

Also, there is now a dragon in Ireland. Almost all of the chess pieces are in place.

The one thing that I'm not understanding (and trust me, even though I'm writing, I'm certainly not the one piloting this boat) is why Merlin seems intent on playing the part of Greek Chorus. Maybe he'll reveal his (always ulterior) motives in time.

Meanwhile, back to our Camelot-ish confab in Kaer Gradawc...

Good news, Crickets! Nightchild and Collected Poems are now both available as e-books on Lulu.com! Many, many thanks to my Guru of All Things Tech for making it happen so beautifully.

Another country heard from

I was driving to work this morning and passed a tennis shoe sitting in the middle of the lane on the highway. Immediately, a voice I've never heard before spoke in my brain. (Writing is like controlled schizophrenia - just go with it for a minute, Crickets.) She said, "The mother of the victim was cradling his shoe when I arrived on the scene." The speaker is a beat cop. She's a 30-something married mother of one. That's all I know, and I'm not pursuing it right now.

I rarely if ever write in the first person, and I'm certainly not going to start writing about Officer Whatzis right now. She bears no resemblance to a certain knight from Lyonesse, and he's got to have my attention right now. This may be filed under "projects that will never happen," along with several hundred other little mental jots and jiggles.

I know why my brain is doing this to me. I'm stalled with Knight of Sorrows because I'm relunctant to do the damage to my main characters that the plot requires. My brain, ever helpful, is supplying me with an out, like flashing tin foil in front of a bothersome magpie. "Ooh! Shiny!"

I will not be distracted by this little scrap of tin foil. I will, however, carry it back to my nest.

After long contemplation, Crickets, I believe that I know why I'm stalling so badly on getting Tristan in line with his legendary duties.

I like him.

If any of you know the legend, you know that it all ends rather badly for our boy. I like Tristan too much to see him suffering, and he's currently oblivious and perfectly happy to drift aimlessly through the countryside while I avoid sending him back to the beach to meet the Irish invasion.

I need to bite the bullet and just get this (sad, sad, sad) show on the road.

Wish me luck...

Oy.

Crickets, if any of you write, have you ever had a character who just refuses to do as he or she is told? It will surprise none of you to know that my head is chock full of them.

Naturally, the biggest offender is Tobyn from the Clans books. Even the other characters in the book just gape at him from time to time. He's walking chaos, so I shouldn't be shocked that he gives me fits.

Then there are characters like Marvin from "Headhunter", one of my short stories, who moved into my head like a disease. He made his nasty little self all comfortable until I finally exorcised him with the final paragraph of the story. I couldn't get him to mitigate his horrible behavior, and I couldn't make him stop being such a creeper. By the time I finished the story, I desperately wanted to apply some Lysol to my braincase.

Other characters have similar issues: they do their own thing, or they intrude into my "waking hours" (non-writing time) to whisper plot points into my ears, or they take left turns at Albuquerque when I wasn't even aware we were on Earth. They're bothersome little creatures.

I expected better from a so-called "perfect knight," fine upstanding prince of the realm and all-around good egg like Tristan. I keep trying to get him to stay put and keep his date with destiny, but like a willful puppy, he just keeps gamboling off every which way. I can make it work, I can, but I really wonder how long this book of mine is going to end up being by the time he finally goes through his legend-assigned paces. It's already 10 chapters long, roughly 98 pages or so...and I have yet to get him to his first mark.

Now, dear Crickets, I know that I'm technically in charge here, being the keyboard-bearing, thumb-wearing primate with the words, but I think someone forgot to tell my cast of thousands that this writing thing goes a lot easier if they just behave. I hope Tristan gets the memo.

I have a nasty feeling that he won't.

Blogger has been seriously misbehaving for the last five minutes... or else I've suddenly developed a very bad case of advanced idiocy. At any rate, now that I've finally been permitted to log in, I thought I'd drop a line or two and let all the crickets know what's been going on.

I'm still working on Knight of Sorrows, and I'm in the middle of chapter ten. The story is steaming along, but it has yet to bear much resemblance to the actual legend of Tristan and Iseult. All in good time.

My webmistress has been working like a fiend, putting together a new look for the website. It's beautiful, and it encompasses the feel of my work as a whole, not just the vampires. I don't want to be a "one-note Johnny", as they say, and my writing isn't all about fangs and blood. The new look of the site reflects that, I think.

Well, Crickets, that's all for now.

Fly-by update

Knight of Sorrows is up to seven chapters and is plugging along quite nicely. I'm enjoying this foray into Arthurian myth and magic, as well as the furlough from Tobyn and his misbehaving ways.

When the writing is going so well, I haven't much else to say... pardon me as I get back to that thing I do that made this blog possible/necessary in the first place...

Whew! Nightchild is finally done being revised for the eBook edition. I'm so relieved to be done with it! I was starting to really hate it toward the end.

I'm taking a break from Tobyn and company for a while. Powering through two novels in less than a year has made me a little tired of him, to be honest, and if the author is bored, then you know the reader will be, too. It's time to do something else for a while, like a mental palate cleanser.

I'm going to return to my retelling of the Tristan & Iseult legend, which I'm calling Knight of Sorrows. I'm excited about it, and I can't wait to get to work. I've already done an author's forward and a prologue, and now I can get to the meat of this very meaty story. It'll be a lot of fun, and I think I've finally freed my mind from my concerns about historical accuracy and research and whatnot. This is a fantasy, not a thesis, so I'm going to let my imagination have some room to play.

I call my company "Irish Horse Productions" for a reason. This horsie doesn't like being reined in.

Long time no see

Hi! I'm still alive, and neither space aliens nor men in white coats have collected me. I've been having more fun than the human heart can withstand lately, and it's been keeping me incommunicado. Mea culpa.

I've almost finished reworking Nightchild for the revised e-book edition, and that's good, because I'm getting really tired of the damned thing. It'll be a race to see what comes first: the completion of the typing or the match light set to the manuscript. I'm going to bet on the typing, because I have people who will slap me for playing with matches.

Once Nightchild is safely behind me once again, I can get back to Catherine's Wheel and see if I can rescue that from the shadows. I might even write something in a completely different universe, though, because right now I'm tired of Tobyn and company. Familiarity breeds contempt with imaginary people, too.

Irish Horse Productions needs a new bank account, since the old one was closed once the maintenance fees outstripped the balance. Writing is such a lucrative career. I'll be doing that while I'm on my lunch break from my day job today.

The first book, in its original bound version with the original cover art, will be available for sale at the Origins convention in Columbus, Ohio later this month. My good friends at Thenodrin Presents, who publish role-playing games and are fine people in general, will be handling the schlep-and-retail while I recover from last week's surgery. (Like I said, I've been having too much fun.)

Well, that's all the news that's unfit to print, gentle readers, and I'll be back with more once I've gotten past this little revising hurdle...

I received an e-mail stating that the Google ad has been seen "+/- 10,000" this week, which could mean almost anything, technically. However, I choose to believe that some eyes have fallen upon the ad at some point in the last seven days, and I hope that some of those same eyes have looked their way toward the website. Of course, the link to the books is not currently working, so that's a bit of an issue, but, hey - it's a work in progress, right?

I am desperately not wanting to work at my "day job" today, and itching to write. It doesn't sound like I'll be able to get back to it any time soon, unfortunately - such is the interruption of my fantasy life by the vagaries of "real-real".

All in good time, I tell myself. This writing career, if such it is, has been an exercise in character building. Patience is a virtue. If things continue as they are, I will cultivate that virtue in time...in lots and lots of time.

Wow, that last post was really depressing, wasn't it? Gotta love mood swings... It's all better now. Better living through pharmaceuticals. ;)

Sacrifice is now available as an ebook through Lulu.com and on Amazon.com, which is exciting. We have a little ad that pops up on internet searches (primarily through bing.com) about vampire books. It's all going slowly in the right direction.

If only I had massive amounts of free money sitting about, just waiting to be used for marketing... then I could afford a Facebook ad and a limited print run. Since I have yet to hit the lottery, though, that will all have to wait until later.

I'm back to retyping Nightchild, which I'm not totally hating. That's a good sign. I'm getting itchy to get back to Catherine's Wheel, but all in due time.

As I anticipated, the release of the second book was greeted with mostly silence, along with one deferral of interest until I can sink the (copious amounts of money I don't have) into a print run.

Crickets.

Being asked why nobody wants my work is almost as bad as the fact that nobody wants it, not even those who were allegedly looking forward to its release and who supposedly support me.

I'm learning that I really am writing just for myself, because it's painfully clear that nobody else really gives a fuck.

Exposition and a second look

I've been re-typing the first book, Nightchild, because the original text files are so ancient that they're totally incompatible with all of the computer hardware and software that I have now. It's giving me a chance to correct a couple of things that I wish I'd worded differently the first time, and to correct a little error of detail that ends up being important in Catherine's Wheel (and in Sacrifice, actually).

I'm finding as I go back over the old words that I don't really hate them. I'm also finding a curious sense of sympathy for some of the side characters who came and went in that book, primarily Nikolas, Ara's husband. He got a bad deal, and he started out being someone who really had the best of intentions and the purest motives. He just wanted to marry the woman he loved, and he wanted to have a normal life. It makes me a little sad to look at it from that point of view while I'm going through the book. (Of course, this only applies to Nikolas before he got cozy with Antonio, but anyway...I digress...)

Should I have said, "Spoiler alert"? I think if anyone is reading this blog, they've already read the book.

I've also been thinking about exposition. One of the few cardinal "rules" of writing that I've always tried to keep in mind is "show it, don't tell it". It's better to unfold the plot through action rather than through dialogue or narrative. That being said, sometimes exposition is absolutely essential to driving the story onward. At the point I've reached in Catherine's Wheel, as I think I mentioned earlier, Tristan is playing the part of the Exposition Fairy, and it's vital. Tobyn needs to know what he's getting into, and sometimes a person really does need to be schooled by someone older and more informed. I'm glad that the talking didn't run very long, though, and that the learning that Tobyn is doing is going into a more active mode.

Exposition is a funny thing. It's necessary to a point, but it's so important not to get carried away with it. It can kill a work in progress, especially if that work is meant to be shorter in length. A novel can certainly bear more exposition than a short story. I think we've all seen examples, whether in print or on television or in films, where the exposition is heavy-handed and drags down the pace. It's a fine line. I hope I'm walking it well.

Success!

After a lot of re-thinking and mental squirming, I have finally gotten Catherine's Wheel back on track. I'm back up in the middle of chapter three, and about to really kick this puppy into high gear.

I'm going to take a break for some food and to take care of some business, then it's back to Berlin...

Dumb mistake

Q: What do you call two piers?
A: A pair o' docks

Yes, friends and neighbors, I have found a glaring inconsistency between Nightchild and Sacrifice. Naturally, this occurs after both works are published and allegedly finalized.

Madrid and Barcelona are the same place, right?

Right?

::crickets::

Yeah. I thought not.

This is what happens when you let ten years go by between books and don't bother to have the original at your elbow when you're writing the sequel.

I can fix it in the eBook version of Nightchild, but still... annoying!

Augh.

Catherine's Wheel is shaping up to be one of those bothersome projects, which is appropriate enough. I may have been borrowing trouble when I named this book after a medieval torture device. I got up to the end of chapter three after multiple missteps and false starts, and it stalled. I mean it stalled like a 30-year-old truck in subzero weather. There was just no starting it again...so, I trashed it. I'm starting over.

Again.

Some more.

::headdesk::

Announcement!!

THE WEBSITE IS LIVE!!!!!

Sacrifice is available for sale on the website in electronic format, and there's a link to Nightchild on Amazon.com.

WE'RE IN BUSINESS, BABY!

Are all writers this crazy?

I've been spending a lot of time today thinking, and I mean really thinking, about Tobyn and his motivations, examining him from all angles and trying to understand him. I think that in order to write characters who are "real people", I need to spend a lot of time in my characters' heads, thinking their thoughts, considering their pasts and futures, likes and dislikes, until I know the character like a hand knows a glove.

Unfortunately, while I'm doing that, I sometimes forget to spend time in my own head and wind up knowing my characters better than I know myself...

I've always been a dreamer, drifting through life with my head in the clouds, oblivious to things that happen around me. I can even become convinced that my internal fictions are external truths, so deeply do I consider them and come to believe them. I sometimes wonder if this is a sort of writerly schizophrenia, and if I'm really just crazy and imagining everything and everyone around me.

I think too much. I think far, far too much.

Progress!

The ISBN numbers and SAN have arrived, meaning that this website and on-line venture is that much closer to becoming a reality. Soon, I hope, the first collection of short stories, the first collection of poetry, and Sacrifice will be available for download. This is so exciting! Now all I have to do is round up people who want to read it...

Marketing

It also occurred to me last night that this publishing venture is all well and good, but if I don't want to make the mistakes of the past, I'd better get myself in gear and do some publicity/advertising. The problem is that I have no idea how to do this. It's time to do some non-creative research, I think.

Sigh. I hate working on the business end of my writing. I wish I could just sit back and dream and write and let someone else do all of the work, but that's just laziness. This is my career, and if I want to make something of it, I need to do the work myself.

back chat

I worked on Catherine's Wheel last night, more or less finishing chapter 3. I chose to quit just before receiving a visit from the Exposition Fairy disguised as an 1800-year old RomanoCeltic vampire. There'll be time enough tomorrow (or the next day) to get to Teh Storee.

I've got the Wheel itself mapped out, and all of the dramatis personae are more or less in place. Now I just have to push the button and run the movie in my head.

I used to do this thing that is essentially a synopsis of the work, which I used to call "back chat". I found the back chat that I originally wrote for this book WAAAAY back when, and basically, it has no bearing on the story I'm actually writing... and believe me, that's a good thing. That edition of back chat has been relegated to the trash bin where it belongs.

I've got glimpses of the threads of this story and how they'll play out over several books to come. I just hope I have the time and the stamina to get all of it written.

ISBNs

My fear of failure and my fear of success are busy choking each other in the corner of my mind, so while the girls are occupied, I thought I'd pop in and make a quick announcement. Pending the receipt and registration of the ISBN numbers, Sacrifice will be ready for release on 3/1/10. That's exactly three weeks from today.

I'm elated, but absolutely terrified at the same time. I'm hoping for a reasonably good reception to the work, somewhere between OMGthenewTwilightyay! and chirping crickets.

the Wheel

I'm re-writing parts of chapter two of Catherine's Wheel and scrapping chapter three entirely. I almost wrote myself into a bad spot with a minor character, but I think I can safely avoid that pitfall now.

While I'm thinking about it, I really have to sit down with my map and completely delineate this wheel thingamajig. My little tiny pieces of Post-It on the aged map of Europe I have taped on the wall over my desk just aren't doing the job!

More website ruminations

I've finished the final editing pass on Sacrifice, and I've set the prices (finally, for the last time, really) for the PayPal pay-it-now buttons. I'm not going to wait much longer for the copyright office. My application is duly noted and dated in the official system, so I feel moderately protected. Once my webmistress can finish the corrections to the book and get the coding details worked out (I'm clueless), hopefully the website will go live. I'm excited and impatient, but then, patience has never been my long suit.

Last night I saw the photos that were taken of me for a long-ago press kit that never really happened. They were taken, oh, I don't know, ten years ago... it was the first time I'd seen them. I hate seeing pictures of myself, and although these were well done technically, I really dislike my image. This is why I shall henceforth be the Unknown Writer and resolve to do any public appearances with a bag over my damn head.

Jerk.

It's very hard to get enthused about writing when your "hero" is acting like a total tool.

Final editing

After a lot of delays, I'm back to the final editing pass on Sacrifice. I've gone through the first eleven chapters, so I'm just a little bit shy of halfway through. It's not as good as I'd hoped it would be, but it's all right. I'm rarely happy with what I write. All writers are their own harshest critics.