New Year

Last night, I could have sworn it had been longer than a week since I posted here. I guess it's just been a really long week. Which is funny because I haven't been in  holiday panic or anything. It's just been work and plugging away at life. Woohoo!

I'm not going to be posting next week, just so you know. It's between holidays and I'm taking the time to recoup and rev up my creativity for the new year. Next year I'm going to finish polishing Savior and get at least a rough of another full manuscript. That's my goal. In addition to, you know, surviving work and life in general. Woohoo!

Who's ready for 2012?

Permanent Muse

Last night was the last meeting of my critique group for the year. How weird is that to think about? It feels like just a few weeks ago when I was heading home from Alaska for the last time. This year went by in a blur, am I right?

Anyway, I came home from critique group last night, made a cup of tea, settled myself in the best writing chair in the house (it's got big, wide arms for propping books or plates of snacks on) and was immediately attacked by a cat. As in, the big fuzzball jumped on my keyboard, shoved his chest in my face and demanded love. Then I got distracted by the beauty of the moon. Finally, I opened up my work in progress and pounded out a few paragraphs. But that, by far, was not the highlight of my night.

The best part of the night? That feeling that I knew exactly what I was doing. I mean, I didn't really know where my plot was going, and this is obviously a rough draft, but that feeling of knowing that I'm on the right track as a writer. My prose is solid for the most part, if occasionally a bit purple. My dialogue is great, my characters generally believable. And this is what I'm meant to be doing, maybe not for a living, but definitely for a hobby.

Writing is so important to me. And I'm extremely grateful to be out of my "ugh, I should give up" funk. I sincerely hope that anyone else who has been fighting creative blockage recently finds the new year brings you all sorts of inspiration and renewed passion. May 2012 be the year we all find our permanent muse.

Overdone Uniqueness

You know those ideas you think are fantastic so you start work right away and get halfway through a manuscript before realizing that it's already been done a zillion times? An idea like "A young girl doesn't realize she's a lost princess/demigoddess/leader/powerful sorceress/chosen one until so-and-so comes along, recognizes her and takes her on a grand adventure, and they fall in love along the way."

Yeah, I got one of those last night right before bed. Still trying to work out how to make it unique and interesting versus just another "lost princess" tale. For those of you who have rewritten popular plots (fairy tales and the like), how did you manage to make yours different from everyone else's? Was it a spontaneous difference or did you have to work at it?

Don't Give Up

You know those days when you wonder why you're writing? You wonder what's the point, if your story's never going to be polished enough to be published, if your characters aren't coming across on the page as they live in your head. You're moments away from trashing your manuscript or work in progress and quitting altogether.

I have three words for you: don't do it.

Even if no one reads your work, even if writing is hard right now, or you don't think your story's going anywhere, don't give up. Writing is a process of the soul. It can be cathartic, and you can write yourself in and out of moods if you pay attention. Your story needs to be told, even if it's just in your notebook or on your computer. It doesn't need to be perfect, it just needs to be yours.

One of my favorite authors, Gail Carson Levine, tells us to never get rid of any of our writing. Save everything so you can go back and see how much you've improved, or pull an old idea and rework it. I'm a big believer in this. Everything you write is a part of you; it's like pouring your imagination onto the page. If you get rid of it, it's like throwing your very ideas away. No idea is bad enough to deserve that.

When I was in this position a few months ago--ready to trash everything I'd ever written and pretend I was content doing something less creative--a friend sent me maybe the most inspiring thing I've ever seen. It's a website that lists the failures and successes of all of these people we all know: Abraham Lincoln, Thomas Edison, Frank Sinatra, Dr. Seuss. None of them gave up; why would you?

Happy Thanksgiving!

I'm going to keep this post short and sweet:

For all of you in the States, happy Thanksgiving! I hope you have a great holiday filled with family, friends and good food. And don't forget to be thankful for all the blessings in your life.

What am I thankful for? A lot. My friends and family, the ability to read and write what I want, my overstuffed bookshelves, my job, my imagination, the world, the universe--the list is practically endless.

So go out this week and see everything you take for granted in a new light; what would your world be like without it? And remember to show some gratitude!

Point of View Problems

You know that time when you wonder if you've really chosen the right point of view for your masterpiece? Yeah, I hit that. Last night, my critique group pointed out that I have a decided lack of internalization from my protagonist, which makes it hard to feel really connected with him or the world. I suppose that's one of the risks you run when you decide to write in third person; all I know is that I'm deathly afraid of info dumping or getting far too into a character's head and getting rambly.

So I write in third person and struggle through the omniscient/limited fight. I'm working on finding a way to add more character thoughts without seeming too forced, but I'm also wondering if I shouldn't have written this book in first person. I really, really hate writing in first person (probably because I don't read it much) but it would likely help to immediately get in the character's head. And I've always been curious to try writing an alternating point of view story.

Has anyone else struggled with point of view like this? Which PoV do you like writing in the most and why?


P.S. If anyone has any job openings they know about, would you please let me know?

NaNo Check-In

Liiiiiiiiiiifeeee! Mwahahahaha!

Ahem. Sorry about that. I'm just so excited to have an excuse to do something besides writing or work. I mean, I'm writing here, but it's not on my NaNovel or even a piece of fiction, and that's refreshing. Week two of NaNoWriMo, 20,000 words in, and I'm dying.

My motivation has gone and disappeared, even though the story itself has reached the brilliant plot overload that I generally reach in the middle of a really good first draft. It starts with "I have no plot!" and evolves into "Oh, writing gods, what have I done? There are far too many subplots to even know what the main plot is!" Eventually, after several rewrites, that gets boiled down into a single main plot and, maybe, a handful of subplots. I did it with Savior; I do it with every good piece I write. So I suppose it's a good thing that it's happening here.

But it's so frustrating! Dang you, characters! Why must you have lives of your own?! *Shakes angry fist*

Anyone else participating in NaNo and having the Week Two Blues? Or anyone else have major plot disorders in anything they write?

It snowed again today. Rather a lot. So I am cuddled in bed with two cats (definitely makes for a crowded bed), working diligently on my novel for NaNoWriMo. My goals for this year:

• To write every day, no matter what, to kick start my daily writing again.
• To write something that's good enough to actually go back and fix up later, instead of being so terribly dreadful I can't look at it again without cringing, like all of my other NaNo manuscripts. 
• To finish the story (and, if I'm lucky, hit something in the range of 75-100k words). 

To all those bopping through your first week with me: you can do it! Don't give up! NaNo is about getting something written. Anything. It's something I've been struggling with lately. 

To all those laughing at the crazies trying to write a whole novel in a month: thank you for being more sane than I. 

Carry on. 

Snow Day!

Bam! It's winter! It was such lovely fall weather all week last week, and then the snow hit last night and hasn't stopped yet. It's a heavy, wet snow that's weighing down all the poor trees with their leaves still attached. And I'm not entirely sure where my snowboots went, so running out to whack the snow off the branches as best I can in my hiking boots without socks has definitely proved to be an experience. But I'm too short to get the bulk of the snow off, which has be a little anxious. I'm sure it'll be fine, but I'm a worrywart.

The good news, I suppose, is that all the snow has somehow messed with the internet (or, you know, the internet's just being weird and slow), and the cable, so it's definitely a writing day. Huzzah for getting rid of distractions! My plans? Make another cup of cocoa (my mother makes the best homemade mix, and with a peppermint, it's absolutely delicious!), cuddle up with a cat and try to pound out a chapter or two.

Also, NaNoWriMo starts in five days and eleven hours, as of this writing. Eek!

Planning Between the Coughs

You know what the worst time to get anything done is? When you're sick. Sniffles and coughs and aches abound, but you're still expected to get into the office and do your work, or sit at the computer and write your daily word count. Needless to say, I've been terrible about that daily word count thing when I can't focus. Oh, well. It should be over soon.

Just in time to start planning for NaNoWriMo! This will be my seventh time participating, and hopefully my fourth win. For those of you who don't know, National Novel Writing Month (aka NaNoWriMo) is a challenge to write a 50,000 word novel in a month. That's about the size of The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. I'm hoping it'll help get my writing habit back on track this year, but I'd also like another rough to work on. I lost two of the three 'winning' manuscripts when my hard drive crashed a few years back, and I haven't had the desire to go back and fix up the last one yet. Eventually, maybe. For now, I'm planning something new and different, set in a world I'm already familiar with. It'll be an interesting time working on three different manuscripts at the same time, certainly, plus work and social time and, you know, being a human being.

I'm sure it will be worth it, though. Anyone else want to try with me?

The Writer's Bane

On a cold, rainy day such as today, what is a kitty to do except jump up and sleep on his mom's computer, despite the fact that she had only just gotten up to fetch a glass of water and had every intention of returning to get some writing done?

–ººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººº˜ººººººººººººººººººººººººººººº––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––ææææææææææææææææ––––æ˜æ˜˜ææ––––––––∆∆æææææææ∆–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––ºººººººººººººººººººººººººººº–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––˙æ-6dr

(The above is Blizzard the cat's masterpiece in the middle of my new manuscript. I hope you enjoy it. Poetic, isn't it?)

Random Rambles

Last night was the first meeting of my new in-person critique group. I'm so excited! Everyone involved (even those who couldn't make it to the meeting last night for various reasons) is fantastic and I'm really looking forward to getting into the groove of actually turning stuff in again. That's yet another plus of critique groups: accountability. I don't know about you, but I feel guilty and terrible if I don't have something to give to the group just because I was lazy that week. Busy, on vacation and sick are acceptable excuses for the most part, but can definitely be abused, which makes me feel guiltier. So I have to write at the very least twenty pages a month, hopefully more. That'll be so much better than what I've been doing recently! Woohoo! Who wants to join me in a happy dance?

And on the "oh, no, I have no time; what am I going to do?!" side of things: National Novel Writing Month is fast approaching. For the last few years, I've had at least an inkling of what I want to write. Last year, I even had characters and a vague plot and some pretty intense world building before I went in, and I won for the first time in three years. This year, I have nothing. Nada. Not even a specific character I really want to work with. There's still almost a full month left, but I'm starting to get nervous. Can I really work on three different books at the same time? Which one will have to suffer to get a NaNo out? And I can't just not do NaNo, when I've attempted every year since my sophomore year of high school (that's six years, for those who are curious; and I've won thrice). I guess it's time for some major brainstorming! Maybe I'll try a new genre this year or something. Anyone else trying NaNo this year? I could use someone to word war with.

Imaginary Friends

I saw this great shirt in a catalogue yesterday that made me laugh so hard. Because it's so true. The quote: "Writer's block: when your imaginary friends stop talking to you." I don't know about you planners out there, but I have had characters hijack my stories so often it's ceased to be a quirk. It's the way I write. I think the story's going on direction and then BAM! Someone informs me that they're pregnant or gay or have a dead brother that they want to bring back from the dead.

There were two major ones with Savior (that I remember) that made me want to smack my characters. The first was that, after three years of working on this story, my protagonist pops up and says that his name wasn't really Trick, after all. It was Araeli, but he had changed it at some point to honor his brother's death, and wanted me to include that fact if I could. So I did, when I rewrote the entire manuscript. Then, this past spring when I was reworking the first hundred pages or so, Kel informs me that he had a cat that really ought to still be living with his brother and could be an important plot point. I tried my darndest to work that stupid cat in; I tore my hair out over it. In the end, I couldn't make it work. I don't think poor Vysni even got a mention, though I do have some fun ideas including her for shorts or prequels, if I ever make it that far.

Then there are the brilliant times when you're walking around (downtown, at work, around the house, at a writer's conference), talking to these insane beings that live in your head. Out loud. Please tell me I'm not the only one that does that. When they spring a plot point on you in the middle of the shower and you scream something incomprehensible at them because it either solves all the things you've been struggling with for the past year or creates even more chaos, and then your mother races up the stairs to make sure you didn't accidentally cut your arm off with the razor, is a particularly fun time. Especially explaining to her afterwards what really happened.

Non-writers just don't seem to understand the insanity that happens when working with characters who are supposed to be so real and believable. Part of being a good writer is creating these believable people to act in our stories; so why do we get incredulous looks and insane name tags when we bring up the fact that these characters really control the story, not us, the authors? Is it really so difficult to fathom?

Hello. My name is Emerson and my characters boss me around.

Distraction!

You know of what I have far too many? (We’re going to ignore that awkward sentence structure in light of it being grammatically correct.) Distractions. You know what I love but really should hate with the passion of a thousand dying stars? Distractions.

My favorite distraction? Text-based role-playing. It’s addictive for the writing-influenced mind, I swear. I suppose it could be compared to World of Warcraft or Dungeons and Dragons (I’ll admit to playing the latter, but I’ve never tried the former), except it’s all done with words. It’s all written out. There are no dice to throw or graphics to load, just a good, old-fashioned story to write with your partner(s). It's so helpful for throwing ideas around and a bit of world-building on occasion, definitely character development. What better way to get to know your characters than by sticking them in random situations with someone else's character, after all? 

But there's an inherent problem here. Well, two, really. 1) It's addicting and time consuming. 2) It's a distraction. There have been several times when I wander around thinking about a story and realizing I'm plotting out my characters' next moves in a role play when I should be working on something like figuring out how long it takes to get from one country to another in my actual story, especially without falling into the "Horse as Motorcycle" syndrome. Don't get me wrong, everyone needs a break from their work now and again. But this gets ridiculous. And, I'll admit, there have been times when I'm so sucked into a particular plot line with someone else that I neglect my book(s) for weeks at a time. I tell myself I'm still writing, so it's okay. 

Except that it's not okay. Yes, the role plays are fun and helpful on occasion, but they're not helping me get my book written. (With the sole exception of the one plot my friend and I are attempting to turn into an actual book eventually.) So here's my confession: My name is Emerson and I'm addicted to distractions. 

That's step one in recovery, isn't it? What's step two? I have no idea. For this, it's probably turning the internet off for a while every day and forcing myself to actually work. Otherwise this is going to be a very long, very slow, very painful process. 

What about you guys, all three of my readers? What are your worst distractions and how do you overcome them? 

Quite Possibly the Maddest Thing I've Ever Done

Almost exactly a month ago, I started a new piece. It's super duper different from Savior, as I'm attempting to make it an adult epic fantasy, for the hell of it. I wrote a bit about my inspiration for it over here. The original idea was to write the minstrel character from the song I linked to, going to war and all that fun stuff. Then I added magic and craziness, to make it an actual fantasy piece (and because I love magic). I had a vague idea of the cause for this epic war, but nothing solid.

Then I came home from the conference last Sunday with this desire to add two more point of view characters, just to play with it. I've been wanting to attempt a story with multiple points of view for a while now, why  not try it with this one? So I did. Neither of them are as developed as the main PoV character at the moment, because I just started them, but they've already given me the cause for the war, the main antagonist, and an insight into the initially 'evil' country that started the war.

Only problem is now this story is going to be huge. And it no longer follows the inspirational song basically at all. That makes me a little sad, but oh well. The story's got plot now! That's kind of important. And I've always wanted to write something that included both sides of a conflict as 'good guys.'

So let's hope this experiment works! Anyone else had a story veer sharply from the original intent after a single decision like this? Or is that a pantser thing?

What I learned at the RMFW 2011 Conference

Because I like lists and this feels like it ought to be in list format, here we go! In no particular order, some of the things I learned at the conference last weekend. The bold ones are really important things that everyone should know.

Conference Roundup

This year's Rocky Mountain Fiction Writer's (RMFW) conference was so much fun! I somehow found the guts to not only pitch but to sit at a table full of agents and editors one night, gather a fantastic group of people together for a critique group (if any of you guys are reading this, you're awesome!), and just put myself out there more than I normally do. Not to mention I learned so much from the fantastic workshops all weekend long; everything from how to write a good pitch, to how to use archetypes in a story, to different communication styles believable characters can use, to bartitsu--a Victorian fighting style that ought to be used more in steampunk.

It was fabulous to see so many faces I recognized from last year! And absolutely wonderful to meet so many amazing new people. We all need more writer friends, right? Or is that just me?

As soon as I catch up on the sleep I lost this weekend, I hope to post some of the more interesting or important things I learned this weekend. For now, though, I think I'm going to go attempt to figure out which characters want to be my secondary viewpoints for the new piece that I decided ought to have alternating points of view this morning, take a nap, and hope that I'm more coherent when I return!

RMFW Conference

Two more days before the Rocky Mountain Fiction Writer's conference. This will be my second year in attendance and I'm totally looking forward to it! This post is lucky to exist, as I'm taking a break from finishing up the critiques for the critique session on Friday to write it. 

Why am I so excited for this conference? It's really the only one I can afford to get to at the moment, for one. But the opportunities a conference includes are absolutely fantastic. This time, for example, I signed up for a critique session with Jennifer Unter (and I'm psyched that the lovely Jess of Falling Leaflets is in my group! Yay!), have a pitch session with an agent (I won't know who until I check in), and I've promised myself to sit at an agent or editor table during dinner one night to rub elbows. All this on top of the fantastic workshops and panels and lectures and the ability to just mingle with like-minded crazies. I say that with the utmost respect. I'm of the firm opinion that all writers have to be a bit of good crazy, after all. At least, they are if they're serious about their craft. 

Needless to say, the Saturday post will again be missing this week, as I will be eyeball-deep in overwhelmingly fantastic information in a hotel across town. Maybe I ought to choose a different day to update! 

Pantsing for Life

While I'm a proud pantser writer (I write 'by the seam of my pants,' having no idea where anything's going, for those of you who aren't part of the heated pantser vs planner debate), I'm learning that attempting to be a pantser in the rest of your life is a bit...well, difficult. You can't just randomly pop into the dentist's, most of the time, or expect the money to pay your school loans (ugh) to just fall in your lap. Life doesn't come with built-in, useful plot devices. At least, not when you need them. Wouldn't that be something, though? Just at the moment you need it, some rare spell shows up, or you find a magic sword.

So! All you planners out there: are you planners in real life, too? Or just in your writing? Any tips for a floundering pantser?

Whoops What Ifs?

Obviously, Saturdays are not working for me. I have no excuse for not updating yesterday, except the fact that I totally just forgot. Poof! I was even at home and on the computer most of the day, working on my new story idea (that I can't tell anyone about because I'm terrified if I do, I'll lose all my motivation for it), and just never got around to posting anything here. Whoops.

And I am still agentless. But! This time, for the first time, I don't feel a slump coming on. I'm still confident in my skills, I'm still working, and I've got a list of agents I'd like to query (thank you, WriteOnCon, for giving me a place to start!). So off I go!

Before I leave, though, I want to share some good advice I found on the Random Buzzer's blog. It's all about writing the story that only you can write. Everyone has a unique set of interests and knowledge and you can put that to work for you to create something entirely new and different. John Bemis (the author of the post I linked to above), suggests creating a list of what he calls Magnetic Nouns, the things that really, truly interest you--people, places, things, concepts, time periods, what have you. Then ask "what if?" questions about those Magnetic Nouns, and see if any of those spark an idea.

So! I'm going to give a shot right here, right now. My Magnetic Nouns: MAGIC, FAERIES, NORSE AND CELTIC MYTHOLOGY, TRICKSTERS, MUSIC, CULTURE CLASHES, PIRATES, LANGUAGES, IRELAND, and DRAGONS.

Lots of magic fantasy stuff! Okay, some questions. What if a dragon tried to join a pirate crew? What if a character from Norse mythology showed up in modern day Ireland? What if music was the cause of a cultural war? What if a trickster figure somehow wreaked havoc on the faeries? What if a normal teenager found out she was really a goddess from Celtic mythology?

So many crazy ideas! So, what are the thing that fascinate you? How can you use those to write a story that is only yours?

On the Query Train

I have this fantasy of going to a pitch or sending out a query and getting a request for a full, followed almost immediately by an offer of representation. What author doesn't, right? Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on your point of view), it rarely happens like that. Especially not for new authors like me. But that doesn't stop the dream!

It's only when that dream, that fantasy, gets in our own way that problems arise. Me, for instance. That dream of getting representation from a single pitch session at a writing conference has made me hesitant to start sending out queries again. I mean, wouldn't it be terrible if I miraculously got an offer of representation  before my pitch session at the conference? What in the world would I say to the poor agent I'm pitching to: "Oh, I'm sorry, but I've already decided to work with someone else?"

Of course, there's no real way I would get a representation offer in two weeks when it takes most agents at least that, if not longer, to get to initial queries. So what's holding me back?! That silly, glowing, golden fantasy in my brain.

So today? Today I send out a query. The first letter I've sent out in months. The first one since I finished the fourth rewrite. Am I nervous? Heck yes. Is it what I need to be doing? Definitely.

Wish me luck!

You're Sure to do Impossible Things

The week I make a promise to myself to make this blog more enjoyable and I miss my Saturday update! Yikes! I think I have a pretty good reason, though: the Lafayette peach festival! My family and I spent most of the day up towards Boulder, at the festival (yummy peaches!), then walking around the Pearl Street mall, which I hadn't been to in ages. I'd forgotten how much I love street theatre!

Walking down the street, there's a different performer every few feet, which results in an interesting clash of music sometimes. But then there are the magicians and the jugglers and the dancers and the didgeridoo players and almost anything else you can imagine (except aerialists. But that would be kind of difficult to do outside, anyway. Oh, and animal trainers; wild animals loose on a crowded street is not exactly a good thing). We stopped and watched a juggler for a while who was absolutely fantastic. He started his show by juggling flaming torches! And I've now officially seen someone juggle seven juggling balls at the same time. But the best part of his show, in my opinion, was that every now and then during his amazingly humorous narration, he would throw in a remark or two about following your dreams. Given the amount of kids in the audience, I think that message from a performer that all of them were likely completely blown away by (I know I was!), was really important. Seriously, this guy could have been in Cirque de Soliel, but he chose to perform at Pearl Street in Boulder because he loved street theatre and wanted to connect with his audience. If that's not following you dreams, I don't know what is.

So, I guess I want to pass his message on today. As someone who's currently struggling to follow her own dreams of publication, this is important to me. Never let someone tell you that you can't do something. If you want something bad enough, and you're willing to work for it, you will achieve that goal. What are you waiting for? Go out there and follow your dreams!

Inspiration

Whatever your art, I'll bet you all the money in my bank account (all twenty dollars of it) that you have some sort of inspiration, quite possibly from the other arts. If you're a musician, do you look at paintings for ideas? If you paint or draw, do you read stories for inspiration? If you write, do you listen to music? Do you people watch? Go for long walks and let your mind wander? Clean the house? Or does inspiration just strike you like a lightning bolt (you lucky, lucky people)?

I've done all of the above for inspiration in my writing. And, on occasion, for my doodles. But, mostly, for my stories. Prompts, photos, paintings, walks, music; it's all inspiring if you pay attention. For instance, I was listening to an updated, rock version of "The Minstrel Boy," the other day and bam! Story idea! (Does it say anything about my geek side that I chose to share the version of the song sung by O'Brien in Star Trek: Next Generation? No? Oh, good.) And at just the right time, too.

Last night I finally finished the rewrite I've spent almost a year on. I know there are still some things that need tweaking (aren't there always?), but the major edits should be done. Hopefully. We'll see how it goes when I start querying again.

But that wasn't the topic of this post! Inspiration was. And how inspiration strikes right when we need it the most. Keep your eyes and ears open for anything interesting, whether it's something as small as a character tic you want to work in, or something as huge as an entire plot. There's creative fodder all around us; you just have to look for it.

Authenticity and New Beginnings (Again)

It's the first day of WriteOnCon and I've already had a revelation. About this blog. The simple fact is that I'm trying too damn hard. I started this project with the sole goal of creating an online platform to promote my writing when agents look me up after a query. While that is a noble (and practical) goal, it's not really working. I find myself dreading updating this every week--which is probably obvious from the inconsistency of my posts the last few months. And that is not what I want from this. I want to increase my visibility out there, sure. Who doesn't? But I also want this to be something fun, for both any of my readers (all, what, two of you?), and for myself.

So, as of today, I am officially throwing my "must write about writing" theme out the window! See, there it goes! [Insert crashing noises here] Ooh, it just smashed my car. Guess I'm stuck at the office now. Dang. Good thing I have another blog I have to update today, more WriteOnCon awesomeness to attend, and a stash of chedder bunnies and chocolates in my desk. I think I'm set for a while!

I'm also going to try to update here more, with whatever pops into my head. I'm thinking Wednesdays and Saturdays. Hopefully, once I get out of the "I can only write about one thing" mindset, I'll have a lot more to say. That's not to say I won't continue writing about writing, of course. It just won't be the only thing I touch on.

Cheers to that! Let's all raise a glass (of Elvish wine?) to new beginnings! Slainte! That's Irish for "cheers" for those who don't know.

WriteOnCon and Writing Babies

WriteOnCon is this week! For those of you who missed my earlier gushings about this, it's an online writing conference for children's authors (from picture books to young adult novels), and it's completely free. They have a great-looking list of agents and editors showing up, an amazing variety of live chats and forum events, and ninja agents prowling the forums for queries. What's not to like? So, if you're a children's author of any kind (or are interested in the genre), check it out! The conference starts on Tuesday morning! Hope to see you there!

And, in my personal writing sagas, I finally sucked it up and decided to cut two relatively space-consuming concepts from the last quarter or so of Savior. This was tough for me, because I really enjoyed these concepts, but they weren't working for anyone else. Maybe I can somehow work them into personal shorts later on or something. Has anyone else had to let go of some of their writing babies? Did you ever do anything else with them, or did they wither away in the back of your mind until you forgot about them?

Oljiru Kovy

Fish Out of Water

Today I have an excerpt for you! It's from a piece I began--that may or may not go anywhere--in which I was attempting to re-imagine faeries. It sort of warped into a Fish Out of Water, Man Out of Time story as I went along, and I'm not at all sure where it's going now. But here's the beginning. I hope you enjoy it.

Itoro stood on the hill, long, dry grasses waving about his knees with the gentle breeze. His clothes were worn and patched, both leather and cloth. An unkempt beard graced his square chin, hiding the grim set of his jaw. His eyes, a soft but determined gray set deep above a long, crooked nose, surveyed the valley below him, lingering on the small collection of brightly-colored tents huddled against the base of the mountains. 

The thin chestnut horse beside him snorted softly and nudged his shoulder with her dirt-encrusted nose. 

He nodded gently as if she had spoken aloud, and gently took hold of the tattered leather reins. Finally turning his eyes down to the uneven ground beneath his feet, he carefully began to pick his way into the valley. A strange sense of foreboding knotted his stomach as he walked, though he did his best to brush it away. 

The mare limped beside him, doing her utmost to put as little pressure on her rear left leg as possible. The blood had finally crusted around her wound, leaving her haunch stained with a deep, rust-colored streak. But, like her companion, she kept her big, brown eyes fixed on the tents on the other side of the valley, only occasionally tossing her head in complaint. 

By the time they stood on the valley floor, the tents had disappeared from view, leaving the two weary travelers alone in a sea of dancing brown grass, the mountain peaks before them their only guidance. Very slowly, the strains of music appeared in the distance, beckoning and welcoming the weather-beaten strangers. Drums and rattles grew louder, more distinct, with every step. Eventually, voices joined the energetic mash of rhythm and deep, breathy flutes, chanting and singing in a light, lyrical language. 

He found himself humming along, though he could not remember the words. It had been far too long since he had come across a Faeling clan. He couldn’t help but wonder if he would recognize any of them. Or if any of them would recognize him. 

Oh, man, I have been on a "so much information I don't know what to do with it all; help me, I'm dying!" brainwave for the last few weeks. Hence my rather abysmal posting record recently. It's been a combination of a lot of things, really: new job, lack of motivation, reinventing some sort of social life. Been an interesting time to say the least. Hopefully, in the next couple of weeks, I'll get my feet under me again and really start cranking out some writing. Or at least finish that revision I've been working on for a year now.

I really ought to have more to say here today. But I don't at the moment. Perhaps I'll post again later; perhaps not. I guess we'll see if inspiration strikes.

Oljiru kovy.

Oops and Pseudonyms

Two weeks without a proper Saturday post. I'm so sorry! *Falls to the floor and begs forgiveness.* Last week I was out of town (buying my grandfather's car and driving home from Ohio), and yesterday...well, yesterday, I just plain forgot. But I'm here now--a day late--and that's what matters. Right?

Whether or not you forgive me, this week I want to talk about pseudonyms and pen names. I've been writing under Emer d'Ange for several years now, but I've recently realized something: it's hard to remember. And hard to remember (and spell, I'm sure) is not a good thing where pseudonyms are concerned. If you're going to write under a false name, make sure it's one that people can pronounce. So, thanks to some shallow soul-searching and advice from a few professors a couple months ago, I have decided to change my fake name. As of right now, I will write under the name Emerson Singer. Simpler, cleaner, no random apostrophes from French that no one will understand, and pretty gender neutral. Now to go change all my professional emails and usernames on various writing forums. To the internet!

But before I go, a little snippet to make up for being MIA for two weeks. Random little comedic moment from chapter eight of Savior. I hope you enjoy it!

Trick jolted awake to the feeling of lips on his cheek. He surged upright and smashed his head against Suoh’s, eliciting yelps of pain from both of them. 

Raja laughed raucously as the two men fell away from each other, cursing in different languages. 

“What the hell did you do that for?” Trick bellowed, pressing the heel of his palm to his pounding temple. 

“She told me to,” Suoh whimpered in reply, his head in his hands. “Gods, you’ve got a hard head.” 

“Gaviru! You’re the one with a hard head!” Trick cursed again as he forced himself to sit up, glad that the room wasn’t spinning. His fiery gaze flicked back and forth between the poltergeist beside him and the pixie a few feet away. “And don’t do every damned thing she tells you, Hatichiin! Just because she’s an Agent doesn’t mean you have to listen to her.” 

Raja smirked. “Actually, it does. Since he’s still our prisoner and all.” 

“Was there a reason you needed me awake?” The elf snarled instead of replying. 

“Besides providing me with entertainment?” She snickered and dodged Trick’s blow aimed at her face.

Let us begin with the unfortunate and not-writing news: I did not make Evita. Nerves and lack of practice with an accompanist got the better of me.

The good news is that not getting in the show means I don't have to try to juggle final rehearsals and the RMFW conference in a few months. And, honestly, I think writing is more important to me right now. Especially this monster book I've been working on for six years now. If it means I have to put my other passions on the back burner for a while, so be it.

I'm three quarters of the way through this rewrite, which will hopefully be the last major revisions I need to do on the manuscript. Crossing my fingers for that one!

Word Vomit

Last post today, sorry! I was out all day, running around various parks and meeting new people. But that's not important right now.

What is important is that I've jumped (once again) back on the rewriting horse. I'm about a quarter of the way from finishing this rewrite of Savior, which means I'll be restarting that query brain soon. Hopefully, within the next couple of weeks. I've also officially signed up for the Rocky Mountain Fiction Writer's conference in a few months, and I'm thrilled. I took the dive this year and signed up to participate in a critique session with an agent. If nothing else, it'll give me more exposure to how agents look at things, which is always good.

And, on the not-writing-but-still-artsy side, I'm auditioning for a local production of Evita on Monday. Excited and nervous at the same time, since it's my first time auditioning for a theatre I've always wanted to act in. With me luck!

Oljiru kovy.

The Real World

This week has been another slow writing week. This working in the real world and trying to carve out a niche for myself in the company has been rather a blow to my motivation. Which, of course, is hard to accept, since I'm so dang close to finishing the rewrite so I can start querying again. I want to go back to school and be able to justify sitting at home all day and working. And I've only been out of school for a little over a month now.

The good news? I have yet another project idea. This one playing with a faery tale. I know the faery tale retelling idea has been done over and over again, but that's not going to stop me from writing this, for fun if nothing else. I'm planning on tying it in with the history and myth of my world, which should hopefully make it a bit more unique than just another faery tale retold. Let's all keep our fingers cross for that one, shall we?

Oljiru kovy.

To Re or Not to Re?

Forgive the terrible, terrible pun in the title of this post. But I am of the firm belief (as of now) that every blog ought to have at least one post with a title parodying some great Shakespearean line. All the better if it's Hamlet. In all honesty, I should have written "To Resubmit or not to Resubmit?" But it just doesn't have the same ring to it.

As you may or may not have guessed at this point, I'm considering resubmitting to an agency that rejected Savior several months ago. Over the course of those months, I have rewritten the query letter thrice and reworked the majority of the manuscript itself. Plus, on the agent's blog, she mentioned a little while ago that they're looking for more manuscripts with strong, gay characters. And, to top it off, one of the two agents at the agency will be at the Rocky Mountain Fiction Writer's conference in September accepting pitches.

So what's the problem? I'm not sure if this specific agency accepts resubmissions, or if it's been long enough between queries to try again. I've been agonizing over this for weeks now, and have yet to come to a conclusion. Of course, I still have a few things to tweak in the manuscript before I start sending it out again at all (and all these ideas for new stories I'm getting are not helping), but I'm one of those people who likes to know what all my steps are for a bit before I get there, most of the time.

Has anyone else reading this considered resubmitting to an agent/editor? Did you do it?

This week has also been rather slow on the writing front for me, seeing as my sister graduated from high school and I've had family in all week. However, that didn't stop me from starting a new project that I'm super excited about. As you've probably noticed, I've had a hard time sticking to one story for a while now, but I'm hoping this one makes the cut. It's more on the middle grade side of the young adult spectrum, which is a new experiment for me. I suppose we'll see how it goes. I'm including the first two paragraphs at the bottom of today's post.

This week also gave me a frustrating problem: the biggest anime convention in Colorado is the exact same time as the Rocky Mountain Fiction Writer's Conference. They did this to me last year, and I'm pretty sure they're going to continue doing this to me every year. This year, however, two of my favorite voice actors are coming to the anime convention (yes, you are free to call me a nerd). I also haven't been to a nerd con in years, and this one sounds like so much fun. However, I've made a commitment to my craft. There are a wide variety of fascinating and helpful workshops at the RMFW conference, plus a chance to pitch Savior again, rub elbows with agents and editors, and meet other people totally engaged in writing, which is just plain awesome. So, for another year, I make the tough decision to skip the anime convention (much to the chagrin of my friends, and the geeky part of my heart), and attend the RMFW conference. After all, who needs to meet voice actors and figure out how to get into voice acting when one can feel like a real author for a weekend, right?

And, now, the excerpt, before I continue whining.

The door opened and Terrence snapped his gaze to the entryway. A big man squeezed into the little room, seeming to fill every available amount of space with his bulk. At first, Terrence thought it might be fat, but upon closer inspection, he realized it was all muscle. This man was huge! His shoulders looked as if they were wider than Terrence’s arms could reach when he stretched them, and the thin cotton shirt he wore was pulled tight over the solid wall of muscle the man called a chest. His eyes were kind, though, pale green and in danger of getting lost in a web of friendly wrinkles. He sported a thick, curly beard that fell down to his thick shoulders, and his long, red hair was bound up in two thick braids at his back, both of them ending in big, heavy-looking gold balls. 

He made Terrence feel small and scrawny by comparison. He hadn’t ever been terribly self-conscious, but every now and then, he felt extremely out of place with his big, blue eyes, dirty blond hair and freckles splattered randomly over his long nose. And seeing this man who seemed to be physically perfect definitely made Terrence feel that way. 

Oljiru Kovy.

Apparently, the world ended today. Too bad it seems to be going on just as normal. Maybe the world hasn't caught up with what happened yet. Does that sounds like something from The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy or what? Sorry, the Vogons decided they had to reschedule. They won't be destroying us to make way for an intergalactic highway for another few years. Please go about your business. Nothing to see here; move along.

As for me? I spent most of this week concentrating on the new blog I've been hired to maintain for MedCenter Network: Connecting the Dots. So, if you're interested in reading more of my ramblings (this stuff on what the company is doing, as well as behind the scenes of video shoots and whatever else I feel like talking about), go ahead and check that one out. I'm trying to update it every weekday, and continue updating this one on Saturdays.

In addition to blogging and picking away at Savior, I've also starting playing with one of the faerie characters I created three years ago during my Celtic Mythology independent study: Amadán na Broina, an Irish faerie who possess the power to turn mortals mad with a single touch. I'm rather fond of writing crazy characters. Anyway, here are the first two paragraphs of the random little story I started with him this week. I hope you enjoy it.

Amadán crouched low as he crept through the tall grasses toward the tall dome of the hill. Power pooled in his footsteps like stagnant water, putrid, lively and disgustingly alluring. Madness hummed about him like a swarm of flies, undeniable, loud and beautifully dangerous. The top of his red, broad-brimmed hat bobbed above the head of the grass. His long, scarlet coat rustled gently with his movements. 

As he approached the hill, every strand of his obsidian hair bristled in its thick braid, the familiar magick both welcoming and forbidding. It had been a long time in this mortal world since he had set foot within the Sídhe. 

Two days ago, the registration packet for the Rocky Mountain Fiction Writer's annual conference came in the mail. I got inordinately excited. A collection of wonderful workshops, chances to rub elbows with agents and editors, a pitch session, and, hopefully, a chance to see all the lovely ladies in my critique group again. What isn't to like? Well, besides the price tag, but I can easily justify that. And the fact that it's not until September. Though, of course, that just gives me more time to finish polishing before I pitch.

This past week on the writing front has been all Savior, all the time. Mercedes Lackey says that she loves writing revisions, but I much prefer first-drafts. I like getting all the stuff out there, and being able to play and not have to worry about the continuity or whether or not this plot twist is necessary or whether this sentence is much too long. I've been mucking through revisions for what feels like forever now. I know it means I'll have a nice, polished product at the end, but at some point, it just gets tedious. Good thing realizing that I can have a pitch appointment in five months seems to have given me a kick in the butt! I'm almost done with the major revisions and can move onto tweaking.

I would normally put an excerpt from this week in this space, but seeing as I'm currently reworking the middle section of the book, I feel that a snippet might give rather more away than I'd like to put out there at the moment. So, instead, I'll leave you with an excerpt from the beginning of the book. The first two paragraphs, to be exact.

Seven-thirty Ikol Avenue was a small, one-story house straight out of a children’s book: white picket fence, blue tiled roof, red and white checked curtains in the window, a beautifully sculpted, tulip-shaped knocker, and a spattering of blood on the doorstep. 

Trick Mathis hesitated at the gate, his back ramrod straight. His normally pale skin was a sickly shade of yellow, his delicate nostrils flared at the expected scent of blood. He tried to swallow in a dry throat. When that failed, he pulled the black uniform collar over his mouth and nose and pinned it in place  with the bridge of his oval-shaped spectacles. 

Oljiru kovy.

Nothing to Say

This week has been super slow on the writing front, but not for lack of trying. I graduated a week ago today, spent Sunday bidding Anchorage adieu, and flew back to Colorado super early Monday morning, complete with a budding cold. After not even twenty four hours at home, I got on another plane to Boise, Idaho for a video shoot with my dad (he's working on training videos for cable installers at the moment, in case you were curious), and returned home yesterday morning. At the moment, I'm still sick, but slowly getting better. I hope to get back on the Writing Bus today or tomorrow, and start up the Looking For A Job truck as soon as I feel better.

Sorry for the short post this week, friends. Hopefully, next week will be longer and more on topic!

Early!

I'm updating a few days early this week because I'm not sure if I'll be able to make my normal Saturday update on account of graduation that day. That's right, folks, I'll finally have that BA in liberal studies with a concentration in writing that I've been claiming in my query letters (I figured with a  month or so left before graduation, I could basically say that I had a degree, right?). On top of the ceremony and subsequent celebrations, I'm also getting kicked out of the dorms, showing my parents around Anchorage and getting ready for a flight back to Colorado. Busy, busy, busy.

This week, I'm also going to skip an excerpt (though I assure you, I've been working very hard; I rewrote an entire chapter and, after months of mucking about in the Land of the Unmotivated, that was a very big deal), and talk about this article. For those who won't click on the link: basically, a high school English teacher was found to be writing and publishing erotica on the side. I, personally, am not a huge fan of erotica, but I fail to see how in the world it should affect this teacher's classroom. She didn't expose the students to it, use them in the book, or even talk about it until some parent found out and flipped. Doesn't a teacher have a right to her own life, too? I mean, they have homes and private space for a reason. Right? Okay, I can understand bringing a teacher under fire if he or she is having an affair with a student, or is dealing drugs to the students, or is a mass murderer or something, but for writing something she enjoys writing? And under a pseudonym, no less!

In all honesty, this kind of freaks me out. If I were to become a teacher for any reason (not likely, but let's roll with it), and some parent found out I write gay romance, could I be brought under fire for preaching homosexuality? Even if I only wrote on my own time, never talked about it with the students, never brought the school into it, etc. etc.? When did asking teachers to separate their school lives and their private lives become asking them to deny their private lives, their desires and goals, altogether? It just doesn't seem right to me.

Oljiru kovy.

Writing on Shadows

As of right now, I think I'm going to tweak this blog just a little bit to include excerpts of what I've written every week. Unless I have something really, really interesting to say (like, for instance, the last query event of April at WriteOnCon is on Monday, wish me luck!), or some other insight into the writing business. When it get closer to time for the conferences I'll be attending this year, I'll likely be writing a lot about those; but for the moment, things are slow enough to simply post bits and pieces of my work, thanks to graduation and moving and all that fun stuff.

So, a bit of what I've been working on. Last week, I went on a school trip to the Anchorage zoo, and we attended a seminar about wolves after our little tour. It got me really inspired to write something wolfish, but I wanted to steer clear of werewolves and simply writing from the wolf's perspective. So, I dug out the old idea I used for my National Novel Writing Month novel: inspired by Jungian psychology, every person in this world has a Shadow, an animal companion that is irrevocably tied to them. Similar to the concept in the His Dark Materials trilogy, except that the Shadows have a single shape from birth, and they don't speak a language their partners (called Sources) understand. Hopefully, I've made it different enough from Pullman, while still sticking to the Jungian concept of the shadow and the anima/animus.

Anyway, this story has no overarching plot yet, but here's a taste of the beginning:

A howl cut through the night like butter. Ketina’s round, furry ears perked as she raised her head and turned it in the direction of the sound. She sniffed at the cold night air, searching for anything at all to tell her how far away the pack was. She had known the moment they entered this wood that there was a wild pack here, but her Source just wouldn’t listen to her protests. After a moment, she lowered her head again  and nudged at the sleeping man beside her with her soft, gray muzzle. 

Emris swatted at her and rolled over. “Not morning yet. Go back to sleep.” 

She growled softly, deep in her throat, and nipped at the back of his neck. Another howl pierced the night and Ketina felt her thick fur bristle. If her Source wouldn’t wake on his own, she would drag him like a pup, if she had to. Her survival depended on his. And, even if she was a Shadow, she was a wolf, through and through. And she was rather fond of living. 

“Sleep,” Emris grumbled, jabbing his elbow into the wolf’s side. “Remember sleep?”

Ketina growled again and locked her jaws around the young man’s neck, refusing to let him fall back into slumber. She shook him gently, not afraid to let him feel the point on her teeth, even though the sensation of her own canines in the scruff of her neck was a little unnerving. She brushed it off as best she could, knowing it was a side effect of the bond between Shadow and Source. All that mattered now was getting out of this forest before the pack of wild wolves found them. If she was any other creature, there would not be such haste. But a single she-wolf encroaching on the territory of a pack could spell disaster.

Another Slow Week

Not much to say on the writing front this week. Again, packing and finishing up the semester seem to have made my words all dry up. I get restless every time I sit down to work, and it's tough pounding out at least a few paragraphs a day. Oh, well. I'm almost done.

I did get rewrite my query letter, though. That's always fun and exciting.

This week, your bit of fiction is the beginning of an old, old story that I'm reworking. Enjoy.

“Get down!” Ellianna T’fos shouted as she leapt from her hiding spot. She easily cleared the man’s head, landing heavily in the mulch. Dead leaves and debris scattered from the place her boots touched down. Without a moment of thought, she drew her sword to parry the  attack aimed at her head. Steel sang against steel. She moved one foot back a step to brace her against the force of the blow. Recovering quickly, she forced her attacker’s blade back at him and followed with a quick thrust at his gut. 

He barely managed to knock her blade aside in time. 

“This really isn’t—” The man behind her, who had been the target of the attack, spoke in a soft, pleading voice. Until the attacker’s dagger landed in the tree behind him, inches from his hooded head. 

“Shut up,” Ellianna hissed, ducking a blow aimed at her head. She rolled into her opponent’s guard and drove her blade up, into his stomach. If he was what she thought he was, her strike would do nothing but slow him down. Worth a shot, at least. True to her instinct, the man simply staggered back, cursing. She felt a sharp tug at her chest, the center of the magic that kept her alive, as the wound in his stomach knitted itself together again. So he was an Andra, after all. Damn it. That would make things much more difficult.

Excerpt

This week has been up and down writing-wise. Packing and finishing up my last year of college apparently tends to make me less motivated to work on the things I really want to get done. Like finishing up the rework of Savior so I can start querying again. Oh, well. Life is silly like that.

To make up for the fact that I don't have much to say today, I present you with a bit of a story that may or may not go anywhere. I began this tale for my senior project and re-imagined it a bit to fit into the "Tarot Stories" series. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this snippet of a dragon story.

Scales hissed across the stone floor. Initaveske strode slowly, deliberately, toward the mouth of her cave, her long, white tail dragging on the ground behind her. Her milky eyes fixed on the oval of sunlight that was the entrance to her little home, despite the fact that she had not seen in hundreds of years. Even by dracenian standards, she was old. Ancient, even.

And this would be her last day.

She reached the tepid warmth of the mountain sunlight and turned instinctively to the right. Just outside the cave entrance perched a small ledge, only large enough for a clutch of three dracenian eggs. All three were as snow-white as the old dracen beside them, each one shuddering at its own pace as the hatchling inside struggled to free itself.

Initaveske pressed her warm, scaly nose to the nearest of the eggs, feeling her offspring’s heartbeat through her nostrils. This one would be strong. Good. Her last clutch would not fail her. She puffed a breath of hot air onto the egg and moved onto the next one, gently rolling it over to feel the heartbeat of this second hatchling. A quick, hard thrumming. Another leader.

She had to crane her neck over the makeshift nest to reach the last of the eggs. Her nose gently turned it over and over, searching for a sign of life. Finally, she felt it: a soft, fluttering heartbeat, irregular and gentle. She snorted in surprise, jerking her head back. The great wings on her back twitched, shedding a few snowy feathers down into the canyon. In all her fifty broods, she had never encountered a hatchling with a heartbeat like that. Irregular hatchlings existed, of course, but her bloodline had never produced anything except the strongest. Those with weaker hearts in the egg generally became a traitor, an exile, a disgrace. Very few managed to remain within the clan.

She could end it now, before it hatched, and save her line the humiliation. Push the egg out of the nest; let it plummet to the canyon floor as so many others had done. It would be the honorable thing to do. But the rhythm had been so fragile, so delicate. In her heart, she knew fragility was not a thing any dracen could possess if he wished to live, but she had grown sentimental in her own age. Delicacy was so rare that it was beautiful. 

Metamorphosing Queries

Ever have one of those days when you just have to wonder where your life is going? I'm there. In a good way, though. I'm graduating in a month; I have a full manuscript that really only needs some minor editing to be finished again; I have several short stories I can fix up and try to submit to various magazines and anthologies; I'm heading back to Colorado soon. And, yet, I still have no idea if/where/when I can get a job. Oh, well. I shan't mope about that here.

This space is for writing and arts and creative things. Like Metamorphoses. I don't think I mentioned it here previously, but I'm currently in the play, as "Eurydice and others." For those unfamiliar with it, Metamorphoses is a one-act play written by Mary Zimmerman, based on the writings of Ovid. In other words, it's all about Greek myths. The big brouhaha of the show is that it was originally produced with a pool of water on stage, so our director decided he wanted to do the same thing. It turned out all right, but it's been a bit of a hassle and I won't say I'm not happy to see the last of it. Overall, though, it was a wonderful experience. If you get the chance to see a version of it and are at all interested in mythology or different types of theatre, please do so.

And now onto the writerly update of the week: WriteOnCon is my new favorite website ever. Q&A sessions with agents, query letter critiques, an online conference in the fall; what more could you want? This month, there are three literary agents going through query letters and saying whether they would request pages or not, and their reasoning. Not only is it absolutely wonderful of them to give their time like that, but it is also much more useful for us, the authors, than a form rejection. At least, I think so. The thing that bothers me about form rejection letters is not knowing why the agent didn't want my work. I understand completely that they're very busy people and they don't have time to personally comment on everything, but it's also a bit confusing not to know whether it was a poorly constructed query letter, an unappealing premise, or simply the wrong time to query. So having someone comment on my letter will at least confirm whether or not I need to rework my pitch, in addition to fixing up bits of the manuscript. I'm looking forward to it.

Onward! To the senior project presentation and graduation!

Oljiru kovy.

Names, Critique Groups and Kells

This week I discovered that I'm a lot more detail-oriented that I realized. I wanted to write a short set after Savior, but realized that the names I had originally chosen for my twin characters did not fit at all. For one thing, they both started with the letter K, and I already had one person with a K name in the family, so having three was a bit overwhelming. And, secondly, neither of the names fit in with the other Elvish names I used. Keenai and Kalin just don't really fit with Araeli, Kelaen, Caera and Lekotae. So I spent much longer than I should have creating a family tree that will never see the light of day, just to see if these kids could be named after their great-grandparents or anything. I finally settled on naming only one of them with an Elvish name, since only one of their adoptive parents is an elf. The names I wound up with, thanks to discussion with a friend and a tweaked name generator result: Arillae and Enden. I'm much, much more satisfied with these. Yay names! Yay crazy ways to find them!

In related news, I've reworked the majority of the first chapter of Savior. All that's left there is to figure out a form of transportation that melds technology and majyk. I've got a vague idea of what I want to do, but I'm waiting to see what my critique group says before making anything solid. What I've got so far could be read as a bit...silly. And silly isn't really what I'm going for.

On the note of critique groups: I'm thinking about joining another one when I get back to Colorado. One that meets in person, as opposed to the online one I participate in at the moment. I just think I'd like the face-to-face interaction, in addition to email. And goodness knows that my manuscript still needs a lot of work. It's getting there, though. I just want as much input as I can get.

For the "not-writing-but-still-artsy" update of the week, I finally got around to watching The Secret of Kells. It's an absolutely stunning film, if you haven't seen it and are at all interesting in Irish mythology. The artwork is gorgeous, the characters well-developed for such a short span of time (it's only a little over an hour long), and the dialogue perfectly parsed. For me, though, it was even more wonderful, because I've spent months studying Irish history just before the time period this film was set, and to see most of my research represented in this film, in addition to the Irish mythology (which I've also been studying), is just amazing to me. I love it when things interconnect like that, don't you?

Oljiru kovy.

Whoops

A little late this week. Sorry! I got distracted by all sorts of craziness for the last few days--building a set for the show I'm currently rehearsing, finishing up the creative part of my senior project, and possibly starting a new co-authored project with one of the other ladies in my critique group. On top of the typical, life things that always get in the way, like sleeping and eating.

And, yes, you read that right. I've finished the story writing piece of my project. Which leaves me with a semi-academic paper explaining my process, my inspirations and what I gained from writing these shorts (yuck), and my big presentation at the end of the year. I'm tempted to polish up these stories, throw a few old ones in with them, print them out a few times, bind them together into some sort of book and sell them for five bucks a pop. I'm pretty sure no one's going to buy it at a senior project presentation, though. Oh, well. Guess that just means I need to polish them up and send them out to magazines an anthologies instead. That was part of the project goal, after all: a final product that I could potentially look into publishing. Don't worry, the first news of that endeavor will be posted here.

In other news: I didn't win one of the query critiques from Write On Con, but I spent a good hour and a half at Barnes and Noble on Friday, reading through The Writer's Digest Guide to Query Letters, and I have a few more ideas on how to fix up my query before I send it off again. Of course, I need to finish reworking the beginning of Savior before I do so. Motivation! I choose you!

Off to the grindstone! Oljiru kovy.

Good Morning World!

It's bright, early and quite possibly going to be sunny here in Anchorage this morning. A brief rundown of the last week for any and all of my (what, two?) readers: spring break is not quite a productive as one might think. I wound up getting a single three-page short done, a few pages on my personal "never going to see the light of day" project, and a few beginning paragraphs on a coauthoring experiment. I had hoped to get two or three shorts out of the way for my senior project, but that's the way life goes. Better to relax a bit and regain some sanity once in a while, am I right?

Although, I'm not entirely sure how relaxing it is working on four or five projects at the same time. The good news is that I'm writing again, at least. For a while there, I was having troubles pounding out a solid paragraph a day, and now I just have to decide which piece deserves that paragraph (plus, say, a page or two). Much, much better than writing basically nothing at all.

Righto. In other news: I won't be going to the Iowa Writer's Workshop in the fall; I'm waiting to see if I've won a query letter critique from the lovely agents who volunteered their services for WriteOnCon (see the previous post for more information), and will be sending out a query or two after I find out. Actually, I need to finish reworking the beginning of Savior before doing that. So, new plan! Write, write, write, edit, write, write. Six years on this book and I'm still editing. Maybe I'll have a manuscript I'm happy with by the time I graduate.

Probably not.

WOC 2011

Wondering what WOC stands for? WriteOnCon. Started last year, WriteOnCon is a free online writer's conference held over the summer, geared toward YA and children's literature. I haven't attended yet, but I have every plan to do so this year. At this point in my life, writing conferences are probably the best invention ever, and having the ability to attend one online, from wherever I'll be at the end of next summer, is absolutely wonderful. To spread the word, there are several literary agents offering query critiques to the winners of various contests. It's a great opportunity!

For more information, check out the WriteOnCon website.

Description

I am a very dialogue-heavy writer. Always have been. I prefer my stories to be character-driven instead of plot-driven (though I can make an exception for some epic fantasies), and, as such, I write that way. Of course, this occasionally means that I skimp on the description. It's something I've been working on for a while now. I always feel that a few sentences of description is enough and anything more will fall into the realm of "info dumping," which drastically slows the flow of the story. Once or twice is fine, especially at when creating a fantastical world, but any more than that makes me want to skip ahead a few pages and get back to the characters' problem.

In light of this rather unfortunate quirk of mine, one of my professors has challenged me to write a series of vignettes that are purely descriptive. This is much harder than it sounds. Initially, she asked that I simply set a scene, create an atmosphere, and leave it at that. No characters, no conflict. I had absolutely no idea what to do. When I went to ask for clarification, she suggested writing a type of riddle, where something occurred just before the scene I'm setting, or something will happen right afterwards. This makes a lot more sense, doesn't it? I still get to put characters in, I just don't have the time to develop personalities or conflict. But at least I have something to focus the story on, instead of purely writing setting. I'm sure there are plenty of people out there who have no problem churning out page after page of description (I've read a few, haven't you?), but I'm certainly not one of them. So far, I have two and a half pieces, at about a hundred words, and I'm pleased with. This, after almost a week of working on them!

So to wrap this little ramble up, here's the first successful flash fiction-y, descriptive piece. Any thoughts from whoever happens to be reading this?

Golden light filtered through the large, half-circle window, gilding the planes of his face with a warm, beatific glow. Tiny specs of dust floated lazily through the sunbeams, dancing gently back and forth. The remainder of last night’s rain clung to the windowpane; the water very slowly evaporating in the morning’s warmth.

His stomach gently rose and fell with his soft breaths. The purring cat on his chest carefully kneaded at the thin blanket between them, her claws catching on the coarse cloth. Serenity painted the apartment a soft shade of sunglow yellow.

A soft, sleepy sigh escaped his lips and he stirred.

Waiting and the Tarot

The worst part about where I'm at right now is waiting. Waiting to get feedback on my senior project; waiting to hear back from the University of Iowa, where I've applied for graduate school; waiting to hear back from the agent I most recently queried (which may or may not ever actually happen, since it's a bigger agency). I'm normally pretty good at patience, but sometimes I just want to know what's going to happen. Especially with things like Iowa, which are going to determine what I'm doing next year--more school trying to find a job. I'm really, really hoping for the former.

Now, onto the writing portion of this week's post. Last time, I mentioned that I have been working on a collection of flash fiction-esque stories inspired by the major arcana of the tarot. I say flash fiction-esque because most of these stories took more than a few minutes to write, and several of them are much longer than a typical flash fiction piece. Anyway, I finished the series earlier in the week. The entire piece totals at roughly 12,000 words. A little long for a short story, but much, much shorter than what I'm used to writing.   Overall, I consider the experiment a success, though several of the pieces were rushed and I'm not entirely sure if I pulled off all the little challenges I incorporated. My favorite is a second-person piece (aka, written using "you" instead of "he/she" or "I"), inspired by the Devil card. Unfortunately, it's a bit long to share here, so I'm giving you "The Fool," instead.

This story is different from what I normally write, both because of the semi-ambiguous ending, and the use of present tense narration. So, basically, I present a slice of what I completed last week. I certainly hope you enjoy it, whoever actually reads this.

0-The Fool

Infinite possibilities stretch before him. They expand like a map, flowing away from him as far as he can see. Different paths, different futures, all mingling at the point where he stands, all rippling out from under the souls of his feet. Which path will he choose? Which story will he write?

He turns to the left, toward the path that leads down a series of ever-darkening tunnels, toward a distant, barely visible light, and crouches down. His fingers are steady as he takes hold of the path and lifts it up, into himself, pressing the entire story into his chest. For a moment, he is frozen as he absorbs this knowledge, an entire lifetime of journeys.

The other possibilities slither away, back into their red-checked bag.

He turns to the shadowy figure that holds the sack, opens his mouth to speak, and falls. The newly gained knowledge is stripped away from him as he drops. Down, down, away from everything he has known. A sudden jolt ends his descent.

A baby boy cries as it is born.

Senior Project Rambles

Alaska Pacific is an interesting school. Instead of a capstone course or a thesis, an undergraduate has to complete a senior project. This can be almost anything you can think of, as long as it pertains to your major and can bring together various aspects of your education for however many years you've been here. 

For me, the plan was originally to write an historical fantasy novel with two, interconnecting plots: one set in early Christian Ireland (around 500AD), and one in modern day (or forward a year, to 2012 and the supposed end of the world). The writing of it would include all sorts of other challenges to myself as a writer, and it was going to be wonderful. The only problem is that, when I set out to do my research for the historical plot line, I got another idea for something every other page. So I contacted my project board and asked if I could tweak the project so that I was writing a collection of short historical stories instead of the long, intricate novel. Bear in mind that I've always had horrible luck writing shorts--I tend toward fantasy naturally, so the ideas for my stories are so big and so long that trying to smash them into 10,000 words or less doesn't really work. 

Whether it was that or the fact that I've never written a historical piece in my life (school papers exempt), I found myself struggling to get past a single page on anything I started. With that in mind and the beginning of the semester looming, I decided to make another change: this time I was just going to be writing a series of short stories that all involved some sort of writing challenge to myself, e.g., a single historical piece, something in first person, a comedy piece, a contemporary fiction piece, things out of my comfort zone of male protagonists and high fantasy. 

For the last few days, I've been plugging away at what was supposed to be only part of this, but may wind up being most, if not all, of this project: a series of flash fiction/super short stories inspired by the major arcana of the tarot deck. Each story is one of the different challenges I wanted to attempt and they're all tied together in a minor way, so that each tale--no longer than three pages, at the maximum--fits into what was supposed to be a single short story. It's looking more like a novella, at this rate. Regardless, the whole piece is an experiment in itself. As far as I'm aware, the only piece that uses the tarot in a way similar to this is Neil Gaiman's "Fifteen Painted Cards from a Vampire Tarot," and even that isn't exactly what I'm doing. I'm just hoping it turns out decently.

I'm also tossing around the idea of gathering a few other shorts together with it, polishing it all up, and submitting it to Createspace or something of the ilk. Of course, that would mostly be for my ego, more than anything; vanity presses like that don't generally go over well with agents or publishers, from what I've heard, so I would generally just leave it off any query letters. But it would be an interesting experience and, potentially, a good aspect to add to the project. I guess we'll see how that goes. 

And, though I'm not really anticipating anyone actually answering this question, I'm going to pose it anyway: anyone interested in reading bits and pieces of the tarot stories?

The Realm of Revision

I'm a perfectionist. At least, when it comes to my creative endeavors. Point in case, I've been working on Savior for six years now, trying to make it as perfect as possible. Of course, each successive draft is "perfect" until I go back and reread to make edits. Then it feels like I've written nothing but dribble. Any other writers/artists out there who feel like this, go ahead and raise your hands. Yeah, I thought so. It's a common problem among us creative types, I think. We never give ourselves enough credit.

What we should be looking at when we go over the most recent draft or the final painting is how far we've come. Yes, we will always see something we can improve; but just think about how much this draft improved over the last. Eventually, there will come a piece we are proud to call our own. I sincerely hope I'm almost there with this book. As I said, I've been plugging away at this story for six years--since I was a sophomore in high school, yikes!--through four versions, and it's still not completely where I want it. This from the girl who never wrote a rough draft for a school paper in her life.

Anyway, what I wanted to get at with this first "real" post is both a reminder to myself and to other perfectionist types out there: perfection changes; there will always be something we could tweak; get it to where you're happy and set it aside for a while. As an example of this "celebrating how far I've come" mindset, I'm going to let you, whatever readers I have, read a bit of one of my oldest and most beloved stories. Four times. No, it's not Savior. It's something that came about before that, between middle and high school, when I was just starting to dabble in creative writing. At the moment, I'm calling it Wizard's Bane, but that's not final. What I'm going to share with you now is the way the opening to this story has changed with each successive draft, from the very first to the one I started a few days ago. Why am I doing this? In an attempt to persuade any other artists reading this that you can improve with practice and that you shouldn't give in just because one draft isn't what you wanted it to be.

So, without further ado, the beginnings of Wizard's Bane:

2004: 
Tomorrow was Naylen’s coming of age. At Noon, he would be fifteen, the time of change and discovery. Naylen was not sure if he was frightened or excited by the impending period of exile. Exactly one hour after the coming of age ceremony, he would be kicked out of Omicron until he found his true identity, name, destiny and all. All of the sorcerers in Omicron had gone through the exile though no one revealed their true name to anyone except the elf-priests so the burial rites could be preformed properly after death. Naylen swore not to give out his name to anyone, that way he could not be controlled by him or her. Naylen got up off his bunk in the boys’ dormitory of the sorcerer school. He headed down to the large oak door that led down to the village.

“Alani,” Naylen called to his warden, the school was so small every student had their own warden, “Alani, I’m going out. I’ll be back by supper, don’t worry.”

As he headed out the door, a heavyset man came jogging up to him. “Naylen, where are you going? You should be resting.” The man stopped and tried to catch his breath.

Naylen laughed nervously. “I…I haven’t gathered my supplies yet. But I swear that I’ll rest when I get back. All right Alani?”

Alani nodded. He was still huffing very hard.

“Good. Bye.” Naylen left the older sorcerer standing in front of the school. Following the well-worn path out of the small wood and into the market, Naylen soaked in all the sights of the village, including the monstrosity that the wizards called a school. When he finally arrived at the market on the other side of town, he proceeded to buy supplies for the journey tomorrow. First he bought a sturdy pack followed by a strong bow, good arrows, dried meat and fruit and finally a small knife. After gathering these few supplies, Naylen hurried back to the school, supper was almost ready.

2006: 

The young sorcerer tread silently through the corridors, wringing his hands. He came of age tomorrow and he still hadn’t gathered any supplies for the quest that would follow the ceremony. Taking a deep breath, he stepped into the gardens that flowed down from the school to the village. The soothing gargle of a fountain calmed his nerves but they quickly returned as his eyes were drawn to the foreboding stone fortress that served as a school for the wizards. He would have to find a way past all that dark magic.

The wizards were well renown for their evil ways. Rumor among the students at Semper Terra, the sorcerer’s school, was that the wizards could drain magick with only a look. Of course the staff was eager to put down these rumors and encourage good will toward their fellow magick users. Most of the students found it hard to think of the wizards as something like themselves: wizards were born of human parents while sorcerers had no such luck.

In fact sorcerers were rare among the world, coming into being only when lightning strikes marble. Every student at Semper Terra had his or her own warden for crying out loud. Wizards despised them; magi were neutral in these disputes, sometimes siding with the wizards and other times with the sorcerers, depending on which mage one spoke to and what was happening with the humans at that point in time. Both sorcerers and magi tried to live among humans without qualms once they were out of school. Of course it didn’t always work…especially when a wizard showed up. That’s really when everything went wrong.

Naylen sat on the edge of the fountain, his mind wandering through his lifetime of lessons. Of course it wasn’t really all that long…he was still very young by sorcerer’s standards. Unwillingly his mind strayed back to wizards and the problems he might encounter trying to sneak past them. 

2009: 

The stone halls of Asharusk filled with the tolling of the bells, summoning students to the first classes of the day.

Naylen Liemdel waited in a shallow alcove, leaning on his broom as he watched the students hurry past. He was a servant in this school for wizards and easily ignored by those who attended lessons. He easily blended into the crowd; with his dusty blond hair and green eyes, he wasn’t exceedingly handsome or horrendously ugly. Just a normal, gawky servant boy. How he wished he had magick and could attend the classes here.

But he was stuck sweeping up the little fragments of magick and spells that got away.

The hall emptied and he stepped out of his alcove, turning his attention to the dust and dirt that the young wizards had dragged in. He hummed to himself as he worked, the bristles of the besom grating against the stone in a hypnotic rhythm.

When he was halfway down the corridor from his hiding spot, a great cheer burst through one of the closed doors.

Naylen jumped at the sound, his grip tightening on the handle of his broom. He hesitated, staring at the place where the sound had emanated. With a hard swallow, he crept toward the door and stood on tiptoe to peek through the tiny window in the wood.

Through the warped glass, he saw a large brown dog sitting on the professor’s desk. The class had erupted into chaos, the students throwing paper balls and harmless spells at each other. Several of the older girls were huddled around a solidly built boy named Tomo Orlan, who had his booted feet propped up on his desk and was idly examining his fingernails.

20011: 

His lungs burned. Leaves, twigs, brush, and thorns snagged his clothing, slapped against his face, and tore at his flesh. Blood trickled down his forehead. He struggled for breath. He stumbled, his foot in a tiny hole. His ankle wrenched and he bit back a desperate scream as he fell. No. No, no, no! He couldn’t stop running! He had to keep going!

Naylen forced himself to his feet, pained tears rolling down his cheeks as he staggered on. If he stopped, the wizards would catch up, and that meant certain death. Even with a sprained ankle, he had to keep going. He had to. A branch snapped back after he brushed it aside, smacking into his eye. He yelped this time, despite his better judgment, and pressed the heel of his palm to his eyeball in an attempt to ease the stinging pain. And still he stumbled forward, limping and crying. The only other choice wasn’t even really an option. At least, it wasn’t one he wanted to consider.

“Stop! Oi! Sorcerer!” That same, rough voice from Asharusk shouted through the forest, making Naylen’s heart leap. A moment later, the violent crashing of foliage shattered the relative silence among the trees.

Naylen kept running, though he was blind with pain and tears. All he knew was that he had to get away. Why he was running, though, was a mystery. He had woken in the middle of the night to his mentor hurriedly explaining some sort of ancient prophecy, shoving a pack at him and telling him to run. Not five minutes after that, a trio of wizards had broken into the school and started shouting, both with their voices and their spells. It hadn’t taken much more persuading to get Naylen out of bed and racing for the woods on the outskirts of town.

***

See how the opening changes over time? It's still the beginning of what will be the same story, give or take a few details or changes to the characters, but the writing is different. As we learn, our style and voice changes, our idea of perfection enters a state of flux, and some of us are driven to dredge up old stories or ideas to renew them with our new knowledge. I encourage you, any and all of you who read this, to try this at some point. Pull up a piece, written or otherwise, and redo it, then compare the old with the new. Which do you like better? Why? What did you learn from this? For me, rewriting this story gives me new insight into the characters each time, new plot twists and ideas, and a new understanding of why this isn't anywhere near ready for publication yet. And, I promise, that's not just the perfectionist in me coming out to play. 


Oljiru kovy.

Welcome!

A big shout out to everyone joining us from the internet today! Welcome to Writing Emer, a new blog by Emer d'Ange: a struggling student/aspiring writer with plenty of quirks to go around and a desire to see the world. Like all novelist wannabes, I've got a touch of arrogance, a love of my work, and the occasional bout of insanity (far more often than I'd like to admit). And you, my lucky guests, get to experience it all with me.

Here, I plan on musing and rambling on art in  general as well as writing, in specific, books I've been reading, school, the horrors of the slush pile, finding an agent, bits and pieces of writings-in-process, questions, advice I receive, advice not to follow, helpful websites or books, and whatever else comes to mind. In other words, follow me long enough and I'm sure you'll get to know the inner workings of my mind almost as well and my characters and I do.

So, for this introductory post, I suppose I'll start with some trivia. I'm a senior at Alaska Pacific University at the moment, planning to graduate in April (so keep your eyes peeled for some graduating posts in a few months). At the moment, I'm shopping a manuscript to agents--more on that later.  My pseudonym actually has a story behind it: Emer was a queen of Irish mythology, the queen of the great hero Cuchulainn, said to possess the six virtues of womanhood; d'Ange is French for "of the angels." All in all, much more appealing and unique than my legal name, which shall remain a mystery. I am, indeed, a woman, but I prefer writing male characters--females are, for some reason, a challenge for me. One I'm attempting to battle head-on. My publishing credits at the moment include a few short pieces in my high school's literary magazine, various short stories online (mostly via fictionpress and DeviantArt, which don't really count), and a few thousand forum posts. The manuscript I'm shopping at the moment (I'm sure you'll also get to read all about that process) is a young adult fantasy with a working title of Savior that I've been perfecting for six years now. Long story about that; it'll all become clear at some point, I'm sure.

To be honest, though, I'm new to the big, wide world of blogging. I've read a few, of course, and I know the theory behind it, but this is my first attempt. If anyone who stumbles across this has any advice for a novelist-turned-blogger, please don't hesitate to throw it my way. I'd be eternally grateful. For now, I believe I'll leave this prologue as is and begin throwing ideas around for the first chapter of this Writing Emer experiment.

Oh, one more note before I go: the words I plan on wrapping these posts up with are my own elvish, meaning, roughly, "good day." For those of you remotely interested.

Oljiru kovy.