Story Intrusion

I'm popping in here at the old blog - it seems so much smaller now - to let you all know that I moved. http://jeffekennedy.com or click here.

My POV

In working through my Sapphire line edits, I've learned something new about myself.

I know - who'da thunk it?

And yes, the line edits have been dead easy. I'm sending them off today. I don't know why I was so worked up on Tuesday about it - thanks to all of you who said supportive things.

At any rate, one of the things my editor, Deb Nemeth, picked out was phrasing that kept the reader out of deep point-of-view (POV). The reader, instead of feeling like the reader she is looking through the character's eyes, feeling what they feel, can get yanked out by these filter words and phrases. So an example would be "she saw the cat prancing through the cactus" instead of "the cat pranced through the cactus." The second takes out that step of observation.

It's been pointed out to me before that I do this. As an essayist, this writing style is no problem. Actually, it lends itself, because the art of the personal essay largely relies on being able to take that step back and observe your own life. But for fiction-writing, especially genre fiction, which is all about sweeping the reader up in the whirl of a new world, you don't want to do this.

I'm learning.

Deb is an excellent editor and quite deft at pointing out where I create this objective distance. What I'm discovering is why it's been hard for me to lose this kind of lens.

It's because that's how I see my own life.

Ever since I can recall, I've kind of narrated my own experiences. My first memory, back when I was in diapers, watching my parents drive away with all the abandonment grief that goes with it (they, um, were going to a movie), was also accompanied by a sense that, hey, here I am in a body and isn't this interesting? There's always been that part of me that steps back and observes objectively. Yes, I sometimes refer to myself in the first person. Sometimes I give my remarks dialogue tags. All in fun, but I might IM to a friend "bitch!" and then "and I mean that in the nicest way possible, she added hastily."

Thus, for my characters to step back and observe, to have "she said to herself" absolutely reflects how I see the world.

It's good for me to understand this. On the Meyers-Briggs personality test, I come out as an INTJ (introvert-intuitive-thinker-judger). One way they describe INTJs is:

... many INTJs do not readily grasp the social rituals; for instance, they tend to have little patience and less understanding of such things as small talk and flirtation (which most types consider half the fun of a relationship). To complicate matters, INTJs are usually extremely private people, and can often be naturally impassive as well, which makes them easy to misread and misunderstand.

All very interesting to me - and helpful in understanding why I behave in relationships the way I do. But it never occurred to me to examine how that influences how I *write* also.

In the end, it's just another acquired skill in the craft of writing. It's easy to say "that's just how I write" or "that's my voice" or "that's how I see the world." But, depending on what you're trying to accomplish in a story, you may have to alter those things, to maximize the effect for the reader.

Which is, after all, the point of it all.

Extended Architects

This is the sunset from the same night as the Wolf Moon rising photos. Really good show that night. The cast hit every note perfectly.

One of my writing friends and fellow Word-Whore, Laura Bickle, attended a panel last night. She was invited to a university, along with a "literary" writer and an art-gallery owner, to discuss Making Money from Art. Laura was described in the publicity materials as a pulp-fiction writer.

Been a while since you heard that term, too?

She says she didn't mind, but the term is really a slam. It derives from the days when certain, more disposable stories, were printed on cheap, pulp paper. Not like the good stuff you'd want to put in a library. If you've ever been to a discussion like this in an academic setting, then you'll know how the conversation went. The literary writer had one book to his name, but he'd clung to his Vision. Laura has published four urban fantasy books with Penguin in the last nine months, in two different series.

The art-gallery owner was gracious to her and even suggested a collaborative with a fantasy art show and Laura's books. Of course, a woman like that knows something about selling art, or she wouldn't be in business.

At any rate, afterwards, Laura and I discussed Vision. She said she'd learned something, a glimpse in the mirror we both shared. As writers, we sometimes let our Vision get in the way of delivering what the reader wants.

I ended up dragging out my new extended architect analogy.

I know: you can't wait.

Things Writers Can Learn from Architects

1) An architect can have a Vision, but people have to be able to use the building. Don't let your writer's Vision be more important than engaging the reader. Without people to occupy it, a building has no purpose.

2) An architect can design anything they like, but they are bound by the laws of physics. There must be a foundation and bearing walls. They can't just throw in a window in any old spot. Stories have traditional structures for a reason - kind of the physics of the imagination.

3) Originality is great, but if an architect puts the master bedroom next to the front entrance, no one will want the house. People expect certain things in a home, based on how people like to live. They also expect certain things from a story. You can have lovely twists and surprises, but don't turn it so upside-down that they're miserable being there.

4) Architects start with a dream and turn it into a solid reality. So do writers. Our readers occupy our realities. Make those worlds places they want to be.

5) Architects make a living from their work. This means putting as much fervor and art into designing a warehouse as a skyscraper. Not all jobs are big jobs. If you want to make a living at it, get good at designing warehouses, too. No newbie architect gets handed a skyscraper right off the bat. Don't disdain the warehouse jobs.

6) Now, if an architect doesn't care about making a living - say, if she works as a lawyer for her day job and designs buildings two hours before work every morning - then she can design all the skyscrapers she pleases, however she wishes. Whether someone invests in building them is another thing altogether.

7) If an architect sets out to design a house, they don't add on skyscraper and warehouse elements. Writers should know what they want their story to be. It doesn't have to be everything.

Seeing as how this is my new favorite analogy, I could go on forever. I'm also guilty of all these sins. But it helps me to think of how architects work. Yes, all houses are essentially the same. They all have the same elements, the same general lay-out, but within that pattern is an infinite array of ways that houses have unique, gracious and vibrant charm.

Sure, I fantasize about building a landmark skyscraper, one that defines the skyline of a city. Nothing wrong with a little beach cottage though. Simple. Straightforward.

So, what did I miss - any other architect analogies you all would like to add?

Wolf Moon

I'd like to take you all on a little Santa Fe vacation today. Come sit on my porch. It's a bit chilly, but we have a heater. Here, you can sit next to it.


Sit with me and watch the full Wolf Moon rise.


I made sure to check the time and paid attention to where the moon rose the night before. Still, at first I wondered if I had it right. Then the sky began to lighten with that silver blue light that can be only moon.

Finally a sliver of moon peeked above the hillside.

This part seems to happen so much more quickly. Even though I know in my head that we are turning faster than it's moving, it still seems like the moon hurries.

Full of light, it brightens the hills.

And the clouds above.

Nearly free of the hills.

And here is where I didn't do so well. Hopefully you're not feeling moonrisus interruptus. See how the focus is already blurring? The moon was so very bright, it took over the lens. All subsequent photographs look like a big white circle in a field of black.

Too bad, because my eyes could see so much more - the subtle shadows of the face of the moon.

I'll get better at this, I swear.

Why I like writing? If, in the morning, the ending looks unfocused - I can always fix it.

Iggly Wigglies

My mind is blurry today. Sometimes I think the mucus from a cold gets in between the neural spaces and inhibits transmission. Yeah - I paid more attention in Neurophys than that. Still, that's how it feels.

I'm trying to embrace the mistiness of it. I do believe the teaching that conscious thought is only the tip of the iceberg of our thinking processes. I like to have precise, clear thoughts, but I'm letting go of the idea that it's so very important.

Still - mist is, by nature, a nebulous thing.

I love the look and feel of it, but when I try to capture it, it never seems quite right. Like the fog rolling off the Jimez mountains in the pic above. So spectacular in reality. Kind of meh in this photo.

I notice when my mind is less focused, that I tend to substitute words in odd ways. Usually it's a sound-based substitution. For example, I once typed "actually" instead of "accidentally." This is clearly not a spelling error or me not knowing the difference between the words. Somehow the cadence of the words are matched in my brain. My right brain, with all her lovely impulsive mistiness grabbed for a close-enough word and it took a moment for the left-brain monitor to catch up and correct the error. I did catch it, before I finished the sentence, but the bizarre substitution amused me. Sometimes I even type "know" instead of "no," which is just more work to make the mistake.

One of my writer friends does this, especially when she's struggling with a migraine. She wrote a blog post that mentioned "an arbiter of things to come." I gently suggested she meant "harbinger." She was chagrined, but I could see it's exactly the same kind of substitution I make - based on sound and cadence. She knows the meaning of both words perfectly well, but they're twinsies enough to switch with each other.

In my family, we call this an Iggly Wiggly. This is taken from the internally famous incident when my grandmother told me she'd been to the movies. I asked what she'd seen and she said "Iggly Wigglies." Without a pause, I asked how she liked Legal Eagles. (For the record, she thought it was silly, which is probably a fair assessment.) Some of this is knowing my grandmother. A large chunk, though, is affinity for words and language sounds. I understood perfectly well what my grandmother meant, what my blogging friend meant, even what I meant.

It reminds me of that game where they take the vowels out of all the words in a sentence, to see if you can still understand it. Which we all can. As much as we cling to precision in writing, with proper spelling and punctuation, the actual communication usually makes its way through.

Or the accidental communication. I forget which.

Murky Is as Murky Does

A while back, I took a class in play-directing.

Okay, this was almost twenty years ago. So a titch more than a while.

At any rate, I had several reasons for doing it. I was in grad school getting a PhD in neurophysiology and all the science was making me feel like a left-brain cripple. Some of my best times in college had been running with the theater crowd. I took enough acting classes and performed in enough shows that I could have added a theater minor to my biology major, had it occurred to me. In grad school, I found myself lonely among the science-heads. I auditioned for a play, but I'm really not a very good actress. Where they didn't know me, they didn't even toss me the bit parts I'd had before.

(Yeah - the role I played in Equus? I totally got it because the director called me when the actress he'd cast was so offended at the role's minor nature. Ask Jeffe - she'll do it! It was fun, too.)

So, I thought I could break into the scene and make some little friends in the bargain, by taking a class. Finally, I was noodling about creative writing and I recalled how the Assistant Director of Equus had been an MFA student in playwriting and his adviser suggested he learn how to direct, to better understand how a script comes alive on stage.

(He also might have been a handsome blond from New Orleans with whom I had a little love affair, but that's beside the point.)

It didn't work out so well. I remained an outsider in the theater clique. Plus, because I was an outsider, I had a great deal of trouble casting my scenes - all the best people got snapped up by their friends.

However, I did learn something very interesting that serves me still today.

Though I seem to need to relearn the lesson, over and over.

The course culminated in two nights of One-Act Plays open to the public. Five of us put together about half an hour long plays. Mine was this creepy one (I forget the name) about a cold marriage where the wife kills the husband's cat - either deliberately or through negligence. The husband then channels the cat (either becomes the cat or just flips out), stalks and attacks the wife.

It was a cool play.

And people liked it. They really liked it! (That's me channeling Sally Fields.) I loved people telling me how they enjoyed it, with their faces lit up. You don't get that in science. Then they'd say, "except I didn't get if she killed the cat on purpose or not." Or they'd say "I didn't really understand if he was crazy or if it was the cat's spirit." This wasn't in a contemplative, I'll have to mull over the implications way. They were genuinely confused.

I realized that, in every spot of this little 30 to 45 minutes, where I hadn't been crystal clear on what was going on, the audience hadn't known either.

I thought I could leave some bits murky, but I lost them in every place I did.

Yeah, you know where this is going. I've completed the storyboard for The Body Gift. You can see it in all its Post-It glory above. I'm eliminating an entire POV, because its murky and I have a choice of de-murking (yes, that's a word) or nuking it. I'm not sure I can de-murk, so off it goes.

The pink and dark blue notes? Those are places where I'm not crystal clear on why the characters are doing and saying what they do and say. See, my particular curse as a writer is I follow the characters and write the story as it happens to them. This means that I have to find out things about their world that they don't tell me straight out. It doesn't feel to me like I get to make it up.

The writers who plot out ahead of time call us Pantsers, because they see us as flying by the seat of our pants. I prefer the term Mister. That's how it feels to me - like I sink into the mist and things come to me out of it.

It's just not always easy to get the exact right thing to come out when I want it.

But, it's clear I have to. Where I was murky on this story, the readers were confused.

Lesson learned.

And remind me next time.

Rebuttoning

This is me, making La Peche Chocolate Velvet for Christmas. I rarely do much exotic baking anymore, so it was fun for me to indulge in that kind of creativity.

Yesterday I finished my revise and resubmit on Sapphire. I'm pretty pleased with the result - now it's just cross my fingers time. I did a final spell check before I sent it off. I'm lucky enough to be a pretty good speller, so spell check mainly catches my odd words. Amusingly, Word doesn't recognize a number of words I use. Among them:

Mons
Upthrust
Oversensitized
Skeezy
Tsk, tsked and tsking

The winner, however, is:

Rebuttoning, which Word suggested should be "rebut toning."

Try using that in a sentence. "I would like to rebut toning arguments, but I know I need to work out more." Erm.

And really, "skeezy" isn't a word? (Incidentally, Blogger agrees it's not.)

I like words. Always have. When I was in 7th grade, I started a list of good words. I had stuff on there like exquisite, writhe and oscillate. Words are my medium and I figure I get to work my medium as I see fit. Which means I might make up words now and again.

To me, this is very much like messing around with a recipe while cooking. When you first start baking, or even the first time you make a recipe, it's best to stick very close to instructions. You have to learn the basics of how a dish comes together. It's part chemistry, part biology, part magic. But, after you have that stuff down, then you can mess with it. I often reduce sugar and salt. But then, I kind of know how much sugar I really need to make the crystalline structure work correctly, or to feed the yeast. Salt creates a crucial balance to the sweet and brings forth other flavors, but it doesn't take much.

A good cook also knows how to substitute ingredients. Not that a writer runs out of words like I might run out of, oh, almond extract. (All the grocery stores in Tucson sold out of almond extract - what was up with that??) But, after you've used the word "touch" 72 times, you start looking to replace some of those with alternatives. You get creative with it.

Sure, sometimes the substitute doesn't work. The bread doesn't rise, the souffle falls flat. Sometimes it's brilliant.

The best part about writing is, until it hits the press, you can always tweak it.

Left Turns

This morning, as I ran on the treadmill, I saw a woman step out of the Spin class in the shop next door. She'd bundled into her parka, had her hat and gloves tucked under her arm and held her smartphone in the other. Reading some message on the phone, she smiled, pleasure suffusing her face.

I like that about seeing people texting and tweeting and messaging on their various handheld devices. It's kind of replaced the old pastime of watching people greet each other at the airport, the hugs, squeals and laughter. People's faces respond to the messages, making the same expressions they'd use in a face-to-face conversation. They grin. Sometimes they laugh out loud.

It's not always the frowning and blankness detractors like to cite.

Marcella taught an online class recently on using acting devices in writing. She asked me to read over a description of a "left turn" that she wanted to use as an example. Here's her lesson:

You’ve gone out for the evening, you and your spouse. It’s the first nice dinner you’ve had since the birth of your child. Dinner was relaxing. You actually got to have a glass of wine. You engaged in adult conversation. It was lovely. When you get home, the babysitter greets you at the door with a smile saying everything went fine. The baby is asleep. Looked in not ten minutes ago. You pay the sitter and she hops in her car for the short drive home. You sigh, content, as you and your spouse make your way upstairs to look in on the baby before getting ready for bed. Except, the nursery is still. Silent. Your heart stutters. You reach down to touch the infant. Cold. No breath. No life.

How do you react?

This was an acting scene set up. It isn’t real. Not here. Not today. Shake off any residual emotion, then come back with your response. When I asked, “how do you react?” What was your first, gut response? To scream? That impulse is the most common response to this exercise. It’s expected, which means it’s also a little trite as far as emotional reactions go. This is the point at which a director yells, “Take a left!” meaning, don’t go for the easy reaction. Do something fresh.

We’re not? here to talk about how to find the unexpected actions and emotions in scenes, but actions and emotions that ring true on a gut level for you and for your reader. In the scene set-up above, the actress playing the part turned to the man behind her, all the breath rushing audibly from her lungs, and began pounding her fists against his chest as he stood staring at the crib.

I’m Marcella Burnard. I write science fiction romance for Berkley Sensation. I also spent three years in the acting conservatory at Cornish College of the Arts, which resulted in a BFA in acting. It was there that one of our teachers gave us this scene as a way to introduce text analysis so that we could break down a scene, moment by moment, identify what the people in the scene want (their objectives) and then decide how each person goes about getting what they want (their tactics).

This idea stuck with me, that it can be fruitful for characters to behave in an unexpected way, to take a left turn instead of a right. (A recurring conversation during Christmas was that UPS and Fed Ex drivers are instructed to use only right turns, never left - urban myth or no?) I loved this example of a left turn - a simple thing that instantly enriches the characters and deepens the story.

It's easy to write about people frowning at their Blackberries, to describe the unsettlingly blank expressions of teens absorbed with the iPhones. Seeing that woman's smile this morning gave me ideas for ways to show all kinds of character from the one-sided silent conversations people have all around us.

Also? We followed a Fed Ex truck and it totally turned left. It's all around us.

Snowfall and Sapphire

Did I say I wanted snow?

Ahem.

Okay, so the highways are closed. David has two finals today and we have no idea how the school will handle that. Considering that our rather long driveway is knee-deep to hip-deep in snow, I doubt David would be going anywhere even if they open the highways.

Yeah, you can say it now: Be careful what you wish for.

I received happy news last night that Sapphire made a bit of a conquest. The editor I sent the story to really loves it. She had a few issues with it and invited me to revise and resubmit, though she understood if I didn't want to. These kinds of requests can go both ways. If you've been reading my blog for a while, you know I've revised before, to no avail. This is a different opportunity because she sent me a very detailed description of what she'd like to see revised. Better, they're all really good suggestions. I really love getting to work with a sharp, effective editor.

A really excellent editor brings out the very best in your writing. Conversely, a bad editor can crush the life out of your work. By the way this gal zeroed in on the important aspects of the story and deftly picked out the weak spots, I'm thinking she could be one of the best editors I've worked with.

Not to mention that this is a very desirable press.

So, of course I'll revise. It shouldn't be too difficult. And when I wrote to say so, she replied that she's delighted to hear it. All kinds of joy in Mudville.

The big question for me now is, do I set the new novel aside to do this, or work on both? I wrote a post for the FFP blog the other day, comparing writing a novel to raising a child. The new novel is just a toddler and requires a lot of daily attention. But now my teenager has her first big job opportunity. She needs new clothes, a haircut, pumps and hose! Kerry suggested that I give the toddler just enough attention to keep Child Protection Services off my back.

It's an interesting problem, how to balance multiple works. When I started out writing, I wrote essays, usually in one sitting. I could hold the essay from beginning to end in my head and set it down on the screen. When I transitioned to longer works, I had to find a different way to see the story, because I couldn't hold the whole thing in my head. At least, not in my conscious mind. I think I've gotten better at letting the entire story, including sequels, play out in my subconscious mind where I can look in on various scenes, to write them down. This requires a certain amount of immersion in the story for me.

To move two stories forward at once feels like another level of challenge. I know a couple of people who do this. Some alternate days or weeks on particular projects. Writers with contracts are often saying how they had to set aside a manuscript at the best part because edits arrived from their editor on another project with a one-week deadline.

I might try doing both at once, just to see if I can.

Heck - there's not much else to do in January, is there?

Creation, Destruction and Writing

A lot of writer's blogs give writing advice.

I'm not entirely comfortable with this.

Never mind the whole question of at what point in your career are you really qualified to offer advice on the art and craft of writing. I really couldn't say. But I notice that people often pass around the same "lessons" on how you should do things. Frequently this kind of teaching is repeating what someone has told them, rather than from experience.

We used to run into this kind of thing with Kung Fu.

I studied and helped teach some of the Taoist arts for about 15 years. The three major internal arts, Tai Chi, Pakua and Hsing-I, are often presented as arts for lifetime practice. Like most arts, it takes time to learn the forms, the movements and the rules. Then you practice. Over time, you make it your own. Like most Taoist approaches, results are measured by your internal barometer. There are no real external markers for success.

Of course, our society isn't much for long-term anything and we're all about external markers of success.

Thus the weekend seminars where people learn Tai Chi, and then go teach it. To me this is a lot like passing along writing lessons that aren't from actual experience.

So, I rarely give writing advice, except to talk about an experience.

I'm breaking that rule today.

I notice a lot of people complain about getting stuck in their manuscripts. Always at the same place. For some it's starting, for others finishing. A lot of people hate the middle.

This isn't just about writing a novel, it's about dealing with all of life.

So, I give you the cycle of the five elements here. If you're familiar with this sort of thing, you'll know the principles of the five elements form the foundation for much of the Oriental philosophies. Yeah, I'm lumping India in with the Orient.

Here's a nice simple chart. There are some abysmally complex ones out there, but we're keeping this simple. So a basic way to read this is, water grows wood, wood burns into fire, fire reduces to ashy earth, earth transforms into metals and metals reduce back into simple water. Don't get caught up in the logic - suffice to say their idea of "metal" is a bit different.



Instead, look at it this way.


No, I'm not just randomly substituting. Birth is like water, like the primordial sea that is the beginning. Wood is growth, like the forests, plants and vines covering the world. Maturity is the fire, the balance between growth and decline. It can be nurtured to last a long time or can be a flash and disappear. Earth is the decline, the sinking back of growth into the ground. Death is the endpoint that cycles back into birth.

That's one of the points. This isn't a straight line; it's a circle. Death makes birth possible.

You can match this to the seasons, too: Spring is birth, followed by summer, a moment or forever of midsummer, the decline of autumn and the death of winter - which gives way again to spring.

So, at last, my point:

We can apply this to writing our stories and novels. The analogy should be clear by now. You have your beginning that sets the stage, the growth of the story, the middle, which often contains the turning point, then the the decline, the wrapping up of the story and the ending.

Most of us are better at some points in the cycle than others. In our hearts, we already know which parts of life we struggle with. Some can start things; some can't end them. Some get stuck between growth and decline with no understanding of what to do with it.

One writer-friend of mine has a hard time with decline, for example. She hates to let things go. Once they're already declined, she can let them go into death, but she has a tendency to try to keep things from declining. That's where she gets stuck.

Me? I don't like killing things off. I like things to last forever. So I practice. I try to embrace the end of things in my life. Kill it off and let it go.

I'm not necessarily good at it.

Ah, but the birth that follows is a glorious thing.

Ben/Ben//Matt/Matt

Another in the "Isabel gets to sleep wherever she wants to" series. She spent several hours napping in the folds of the convertible hood.

No, I'm a softie - I didn't make her move. If she thinks it's a good spot, then fine.

It also gives her a good vantage point for mouse-hunting, which is always on the approved activities list.

I was thinking the other day how I've long had this tendency to mix things up. For example, there was my whole Ben Affleck/Ben Stiller, Matt Damon/Matt Dillon mix-up.

Yeah, my friends made fun of me no end for that one - you don't need to chime in.

But see, let me explain. First, my brain apparently indexes by first name. No, I don't know why. In my skull space, Damon and Dillon are really similar words, too. It's a cadence thing. This was back when Good Will Hunting and Something About Mary came out. Both got lots of buzz and I read articles about the Ben Affleck/Matt Damon screenwriting team and how clever they were. Ben Stiller was just really starting to impinge on our consciousness as a comedian and Matt Dillon got nice write-ups for his performance in Something About Mary.

So, at some point I decided that Ben Affleck and Ben Stiller were the same person. I don't know, maybe "Affleck" was too hard to remember. So I had him as the same guy in both movies. They kind of look alike don't you think? If you put the difference down to make-up? No?

Well, *I* thought so. I was confused, okay?

But where I got really messed up was that Matt Damon and Matt Dillon arguably look absolutely NOTHING alike. I kept looking for Matt Damon in Something About Mary and not seeing him. People said, oh, he's the private eye and I would study him thinking, whoa! that's some seriously good make-up.

Yeah, okay, point and laugh.

I finally got it sorted out and it's even more laughable now, given how all of their acting careers and public scandals (or lack thereof) have since diverged.

It came to mind when I did it again the other day, mixing up authors Jennifer Weiner and Jennifer Crusie. (See? It's the first name indexing again.) That's not quite so terrible, since they write books in similar veins.

It occurred to me though, that this silly flaw of mine, this tendency to mix things up, is parallel to how I draw disparate ideas together and tie them up in essays and stories. Readers often comment they like that about my work, how I bring things together they hadn't thought of before.

Shakespeare used that theme a lot - how the hero's strength (yes, it was always the hero and female characters were mainly foils, alas) also contained his fatal flaw. And the fatal flaw is what would bring the hero down in a tragedy. It's interesting that, in a life, our flaws can contain the seeds of what makes us special.

Maybe that's part of what being true to yourself is all about.

I Need a Heroine

We've fallen into our pattern of afternoon monsoons here in the high desert of New Mexico.

Our mornings are bright and clear for the most part. Mid- to late-afternoon brings the storm clouds. Black bottomed, they lumber up the valley from the Sandias and drop rain in great washes of benediction.

The dog cowers in terror at the storms, sleeping as nearly under my chair as he can manage, while the cats snooze in the cool damp air.

Sunset blazes into glory, illuminating the scattered storms, turning the clouds into pink and cold fantasies. Sometimes the rain comes in again, rising and falling through the night.

Apropos of nothing, I know. But it sets the pattern of our days.

I haven't liked the last couple of books I've picked up. I thought maybe it was me and my mucus-addled, over-tired brain, so I kept trying. One, though, I've given up on. I just couldn't like the heroine. She's a succubus and a victim. She staggers from one sexual encounter to another, as she has for centuries. The sexual acts are unrelentingly graphic and, worse, repetitive. I know this might sound funny coming from me, but I get bored of it. Worse, I feel soiled. I know that she must get her act together at some point, become strong and triumph over all. In my heart I don't believe it. She's not real to me and I'm halfway through. I couldn't bear it any more. I finally put it down.

The book I picked up is by a totally different premise, by a Famous Author, who I hadn't read before. This heroine is sweet, nobly wanting to save everyone. She is also a victim, passed over at work, unlucky in love for unclear reasons. I'm wanting to like her and I'm having a hard time. I don't quite understand why the author is so highly regarded. The insidious thought creeps in, even as I'm talking to editors and agents about my own beloved novel, will I become one of these authors who resents the bestsellers?

I've never been that sort of person.

But the market is funny now. There's gluts of certain kinds of books, publishers hopeful of tagging along with a trend. Everyone is searching for the new permutation of the kick-ass heroine. Maybe the drug-addicted, the abused and overlooked are the natural starting points. Maybe it's just me.

I find what I'm missing is really good characterization. I mentioned the other day that Susan Elizabeth Phillips advised that you should write characters the reader can't bear to be parted from. Her heroines are not always admirable to begin with. In Ain't She Sweet, the heroine was a stuck-up, nasty girl in high school who treated people badly. She returns to her hometown, where everyone hates her, broken and defeated by life. By the end of the book, you just love her and how she overcomes it all.

Susan is right - when I think of the books I love most, I think of the characters. They're like real people to me. I miss them and sometimes go back to re-read, just to spend a little time with them again.

That's the magic.

One-Eye Blind

I didn't notice, until I went to take this photo of the pretty flowers, that St. Francis is now blind in one eye.

Apparently some sort of insect has built a cocoon or egg sack in the cavity and sealed it over. I can't decide if St. Francis' love of all animals extends to insects. You don't really see him depicted with, say, a preying mantis on an outstretched arm. Still, life is life and I'm inclined to let whatever it is develop as it will.

That tends to be my philosophy on most everything. And not just because I'm lazy.

I think that's why Taoism fits me well: just let it flow, swim with the tide, ride that wave into the shore.

It's how I write, too. I usually have just a general idea of what happens, but not exactly. For example, right now my characters are visiting this sacred altar. I knew it wouldn't be easy to get to, being secret and sacred and all, but I wasn't sure what the tricks and traps would be. I found out as my characters went along. Now that they're there, I'm not sure exactly who or what occupies the altar. It hasn't jumped out yet, either, which gets kind of frustrating.

I'm really not sure what I think about this kind of thing. Robin McKinley, who I just love, and who writes this nearly incoherent, stream-of-consciousness blog that I can only sometimes bear to read, writes here about why there's no sequel to Sunshine, a book well-loved and which clearly ended begging for a sequel. She does the thing some authors do, saying that the stories come to her and she can't make it happen. Other authors talk about their characters talking to them. The pre-plotters brainstorm it all out ahead of time and then, depending on their technique, either write it exactly that way or let the story wind around that structure.

I don't know if I believe in the "stories are given to me thing," though it fits within my Taoist inclinations. I don't know that I think it all up myself, either.

I do know that the answers don't come to me unless I'm writing what's happening to the characters. Or letting the scene play in my head - that sometimes works. I think sometimes that it's a combination of both, like most things. I point the imagining part of my brain in a particular direction and let it run. The neurons pull the energy from wherever they do and spin the story. Part of me can see it and part is blind.

Quite remarkable really.

The Sure Thing

I had an opportunity to apply for a new job.

I've decided not to do it.

It's a good opportunity, local, pays well. I'm more than qualified and it would be an interesting opportunity to build a program from the ground up.

The opportunity also fell into my lap right at the time that things are uncertain in my day job. The career-type job I've been doing for 14 years now. Our big bread & butter project has been nearly killed and no one seems to know what the future will hold. As there always is in the consulting business, there's lots of uncertainty.

Applying for this local job would probably be the smart thing for me to do.

It's a city job and so come with all of the security a government job implies. Good benefits. No selling to clients. None of the "maybe we won't fund this project this year."

That's always the lure of the good job opportunity: security and certainty.

On the other hand, taking that job would derail my writing for a long time to come. I'd lose my well-established writing schedule. A new job, especially one requiring me to supervise a staff to build a new program, would absorb huge amounts of my attention and energy.

A long time back - late 90s - I made a choice to leave my PhD program and get a job that would allow me to hone my writing skills. I cut bait, ran with my MS, and took a job as an editor/writer. I wrote on the side and my essays began to see light of day in magazines.

Then someone offered me a better job. Nearly twice the pay, private company. Terrific opportunity. Of course I took it. I'm still with that company and I do a good job for them. Better than I had originally planned on, in fact. But I have my rhythm now. In the last few years, I've been building my novel-writing skills. If Obsidian doesn't sell soon, I think Sterling will when I finish it.

Writing is once again receiving attention in my life.

If I applied for this new job? I would be moving away from what I decided long ago was most important to me.

So, I'm making a deliberate choice. I'm not changing anything. If the day job does collapse, I'm better off picking up work here and there to pay the bills, so I can continue to write. This time I'm not opting for the sexy and secure choice.

I'm going for uncertainty. And all the possibility that uncertainty offers.

The Sun in My Universe

This was last Friday night's bloody sunset.

The sun is moving farther and farther north now, sinking over different mountain ranges. Funny to think that in only two months it will begin its journey back again, just as summer really hits its stride.

I know, of course, this is just my point of view - POV, in writer lingo. The sun doesn't travel north and south. I am the one moving, tilting back and forth on my planetary post, watching the sun from different angles. The sun is the fixed point of our little dance. We all know that huge battles have been fought over this very idea.

It's funny to think of it this way, but the battle between the Catholic and Copernican line of thinking was all about POV. Who, exactly, is the center of our story?

As an essayist, I started out writing in first person POV. The essays described my experiences in the world, thus they were all about me. I wrote to explain my perception. Very simple. When I wrote my first novel, Obsidian, I naturally wrote it, as was my habit, in first person POV.

A number of judges reading it commented that I was brave to try first person, since it's so difficult, but I did it well. Others tell me they categorically refuse to read anything in first person.

Sterling, the new novel, came out in third person, as did my little erotic novella for Loose Id. (Speaking of which, the official title will be "Love Lies Bleeding," which I like a whole bunch. The heroine's name is Amarantha and there are plays on her name throughout.) It's fun to play with third person. I suddenly feel not only omniscient, but omnipotent.

However.

Turns out not so much. KAK, who is my official CP (critique partner) now, has been beating me up for my POV slips. (Never mind that she knows WAY too much about Meatloaf's musical history, if you check out her blog. She's otherwise a reasonably sane person.) I don't get to be omniscient at all, which kind of burns my ass because it makes me want to flounce back to first person. Then she tells me that I can't introduce another character's POV in Chapter 10. I thought it was kind of a brilliant stroke, but no.

"You're trying to make him the third star of the show," she says. "And he can't be."

There's a fine line between genius and disaster, I suppose. The other thing I'm thinking? I need to learn the rules before I break them. Like a painter must first learn to show perfect perspective before finding subtle ways to distort it to make a point, I need to know where my third person POVs are before I do wacky things with them.

Alas. Takes all the fun out of it.

I can see her point, too. There can only be one sun at a time. I'm already alternating chapters between two people - each the star of their own story. If I want to bring in more, then the center of the story moves somewhere else.

At least no one gets executed if I change my mind.

Second Wind

On these windy days, Isabel sits on the lee side of that big yucca and tries to tough it out.

Sometimes she lasts through most of the morning or even a lot of the day, prowling around under the bird feeder. Other times it's only for a few minutes. Still it's nothing like our old Wyoming wind. The high desert winds of Spring here gust in tumultuous waves, but they lack the icy knife's edge of the Wyoming winds.

We were warned that Spring here would be windy and so it is. I think of it like lake turnover - all of those layer of air warming up, rising and sinking. It's worth a little tumult to get the warmth.

I suppose that's the way of things - you can't get change without stirring things up.

Please don't nod and add "you can't get an omelet without breaking some eggs." I always thought that analogy was stupid. Who cares if the eggs get broken? You're eating an omelet! No, the analogy cries out for enduring something really unpleasant to get what you want.

(Incidentally, Blogger told me I spelled "omelet" wrong. I spelled it "omelette" - apparently I'm feeling very French this morning - but it doesn't offer correct spellings. So I typed it into Sterling as the beginning of the next chapter so Word would tell me. Now Chapter 12 starts with "Rowan made an omelet." This amuses me no end. I'd love to find a way to keep it. And you wonder where writers get their ideas...)

Sometimes the unpleasant things we endure aren't dramatic or glamorous. In fact, more often it's the humdrum, the grind that has to be overcome. David has less than three weeks left of school in this semester and he's grumbling about not wanting to go to class. I'm about 25% of the way into Sterling, nearing the Act I climax, which is a nice goal to be reaching, but there's a lot of novel left to write.

(Especially if my heroine is going to spend a chunk of the next chapter preparing breakfast. I really think she has more important things to deal with...)

Ah, now Isabel has had enough. She leaps up onto the table outside my window and meows as if the hounds of hell are chasing her. I let her in, for a bite of breakfast, maybe a little nap. After a break she'll try it again.

Just like the rest of us.

Yin, Yang and Yahoo

It's amazing to me to see the flowers pushing up through the gravel of our desert rock garden. All through the hot days of last summer, the warm fall and sere winter, there was no sign that there could be tulips.

Suddenly, there they are!

Lots of writing pushes going on right now for some reason. Maybe everyone is realizing we're already through the first quarter of 2010 and wondering what they have to show for it. Now the sun is warming, the flowers blooming and all that work you figured you'd get done in the dark days of winter? Not so much?

Alas.

So the RWA PRO group is having a 50K challenge this month. And there's this Thor's Challenge of 25K in 25 days. Another gal announced she's 200 days into writing at least 100 words per day. Everyone wants to beef up those wordcounts.

Speaking of which, I discovered this week that my scene break set of symbols "* * *" actually count as three whole words in MS Word. When the clock is ticking and the words aren't flowing and you're struggling to hit your 1K for the day, it's really tempting to stick in a few extra scene breaks. Everyone loves a scene break, right? Maybe I should develop a fancier scene break indicator, like

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Isn't that pretty? And it would be SEVEN words!

Of course, that's not really the point. Which is the thing to bear in mind. Wordcount goals and challenges can be great to motivate a writer to keep her butt in the chair and put the words on the screen, but what truly matters is what words they are. Even if you do fast draft and edit later, eventually quality trumps quantity. The NaNoWriMo folks are all about pushing you to finish a novel, which can be a valuable exercise. (Of course, they count 50K as a complete novel, which it isn't -- you need at least 80K, really -- but I've complained about that before, so I'll shut up about it now.) So, one thing the NaNoWriMo folks say is that, if you're stuck, you can have your characters sing something like American Pie. I haven't heard how many words that ends up adding to the story, but it's a considerably long song.

What, that's cheating?

Depends on what you're trying to do. If you want to prove to yourself that you can put down 50,000 words to form a storyish type thing, then sure. Is it a novel when you're done? Well, I can tell you right now that you're going to have to cut out the song lyrics, since the royalties to directly quote songs are off the charts, so to speak.

Yeah, in the editing phase.

My point being, why put something in to pad the wordcount if you *know* you're going to take it out in the final product? That's just indulging yourself as a writer and not really working for it.

This has been a slow writing week for me, wordcount-wise, largely because I've been going back and reworking. KAK has been giving me great feedback on the Sterling New Novel.

(Did I mention that one of the agents who read the full of Obsidian and was *this* close on it loves the concept of the New Novel? She called it a "sterling idea." So I think the new code phrase for it is Sterling. Even though that has nothing to do with the story. It makes me happy to look at it.)

So I'm working it up, hitting plot snags because this world is complex and - oops, I violated my on physical laws already in Chapter 8 - so I had to fix that thread. I'm shifting a few scenes around and adding in important information. I've made a lot of progress this week, just in a way that can't be measured by rising wordcount.

It's easy to value yang over yin. You know the concept I mean: the Taoist symbol of balance. Yang is active, male, thrusting out and growing; Yin is resting, female, drawing in and nurturing.

Accumulating wordcount is yang, then. Editing, the trimming back, in yin.

Those dark days of winter when you didn't do much but eat and sleep? That's a restorative time. The resting and rebuilding allows for the explosion of Spring yang.

The tulip bulbs hid under the rock for nine months or more, then burst through in a blaze of red.

Both phases are equally valuable.

Flourishing

It's amazing the results you can get, when you give something what it needs.

The trick is, figuring out what that is.

This little Madagascar Palm is our Exhibit A for flourishing in our new environment. The picture on the left is one I took this morning and the one on the right was from last summer. Yes, I did repot it into a much bigger planter (which was free with Bunny Bucks from Jackalope - woo hoo! love this town!), but the palm demanded repotting within a few weeks of our moving here, it was growing so large, so fast.

I should also mention that the picture on the right is pretty much how that palm looked for something like 15 years. I kid you not. In the early years of our relationship, when we had practically no money, David and I would take road trips for spring break. We'd head to the desert Southwest to get as warm as possible as quickly as possible. Often we'd end up somewhere in Nevada where the casinos provided very cheap lodging. (Harrah's in Laughlin for $19 per night - ah, sweet nostalgia.)

We would also buy cactus.

It sounds funny now. I don't know why we liked to buy cactus. Except that they were unusual plants that we didn't see in Laramie. And they were inexpensive and fun. We bought quite a few over the years and most died. The Madagascar Palm hung on, but now I suspect it was kind of in stasis. The palm version of cryogenic freezing, in hopes of being awakened in a better future.

Several people made interesting comments on my last post, about changing the physicality of writing when you get stuck.

Keena said she does as Marin suggested, and actually does move to paper and writing out longhand. Marin mentioned a writer who always writes longhand because it slows him down, causing him to be more careful. This is a diametrically opposite approach to the "fast draft" or "shitty first draft" method that many writers like to use today.

I suppose the point is that sometimes you have to mix it up. Try new things and see how they work.

You never know what might make you really flourish.

Dreamthink

I like this, when the sun is rising opposite the Sandias and first hits the peaks, highlighting them with gold on snow.

Lately I've been doing a new thing in the mornings. Not on purpose. In the last few years, since we started getting up early to exercise, and since we haven't been exhausted and sleep-deprived, I sometimes awake before the alarm.

This is unusual for me. I mentioned before that I'm not a morning person and really had to train myself to wake up early to write. When I was younger, I'd sleep through the alarm clock. I'd sleep through phone calls. I had to be dragged from sleep and it took forever for my brain to engage.

So, for me to awake before the alarm - sometimes as much as 45 minutes before - is a new experience for me. I lie there in bed savoring the warmth, the comfort, David's sleeping form next to me, and dreamthink.

This is how I'm thinking of it. My mind wanders through the story I'm working on and I kind of dream about it, kind of fantasize. It's probably Stage 1 or 2 sleep. I'm betting if we hooked me up to an EEG then, it would show spindle waves. Which is appropos of nothing.

What is neat for me, is this has become plotting time, in a lovely, effortless way.

When I wrote Obsidian, I started kind of from this state. It was a rainy Saturday morning in April. David had gotten up early to attend a seminar I blissfully did not have go to. I slept a long time after he left, as this was back in the exhausted & sleep-deprived days. When I finally awoke, maybe around 10:30, I laid there and thought about the long, vivid dream I had. Then I went upstairs and wrote it down. I wrote for hours while the rain fell on the skylights.

Some think creativity comes from the subconscious, welling up from deep within. And the subconscious can only really be heard when the conscious mind, with all her lists and timetables, is quieted.

Dreamthink.

In Flight Again!

I think I've mentioned before that, when I'm not sure what I'm going to write about here, I look on my camera to see what might be on there.

It's frequently a complete surprise what images I find there, which really shouldn't be the case, since most of the time it's only been a day or two since I snapped the pictures.

Short attention span much?

Except that's not really true. While my attention can be diverted, usually my problem is getting too wrapped up in stuff so that I lose track of time and forget stuff. Like, say, the tea water boiling on the stove. I wish I could say that's only happened once or twice, but I bet I've done it, oh, two dozen times at least. Now I actually set a reminder on my computer to go check it. Pitiful, I know.

In this way, the photos on the camera are like little notes to myself, to remind me of what I was thinking of or found interesting at that moment. Otherwise, I'm not one of those writers who writes notes to herself.

I saw a bit of advice the other day saying that writers should make notes with every idea or you'll forget it and lose it forever. I just don't think it's true.

Admittedly, last night, David and I were talking about something and I thought, oh, I should blog about that in the morning and now I don't remember what it was. But I'm not bothered about it because I truly believe that the thought will surface eventually, at the right time. If not, well, in the immortal words of Steve Martin, "It must not have been very important then!"

If you're radioactive, you'll remember eventually.

One thing that I do when I'm editing is I'll think, oh, I really meant to add in this phrase or this idea or feeling. I'll type it in and, two lines later? I'll find that exact phrase. One day I'll learn to read ahead and check to see if the past me already did what the present me thinks is so brilliant. One day I'll also learn to trust myself.

Rarely do I find that I left something out of a story, mostly I'm refocusing the reader's eye.

It's funny to me, to look at these photos I took the other day. On Saturday we went to the mall to find the glassblower's booth I spotted at Christmastime. Remember how I said malls didn't have them anymore? Well ours does!

And they totally fixed my glass fairy, whose broken wings I bemoaned in that same post. The guy only charged me a dollar to do it. (I gave him $5 -- not all miracles are costly.)

So, I snapped commemorative photos of the repaired fairy, for the triumphant return to flight blog post, since several people said the Broken Wings post made them sad. Witness my contract with the reader here: I'm providing you with a happy ending to the sad, sad tale of the broken fairy.

You can see, however, that I had issues with focus.

The camera kept "looking" out the window instead of at our main character, fairy reincarnated.






Some lovely nature shots there -- not to mention the fabulous rain chain! -- but the heroine is an unfortunate blur.















I finally figured out that I was too close to her and backed off. But then the secondary characters took over. Not that they each don't have their own story. Just not this story.

At any rate, I've extended this analogy until it's creaking, and you can see her at the top, in all her clarity and flightfulness.

That's my take-away today: trust yourself, things can always be fixed, and sometimes all it needs is a little refocusing.