Write Obsession

End of an Era 29 Aug. '11

2011-08-30T01:01:00.001+03:00

End of an Era 29 Aug. '11

A little story...

They look like shards of a mirror, shattered with the screwdriver pushing in and up and snap--bits fly with wings of force counteracted by air friction and gravity laying them to rest. I should have worn the glasses but I didn't and I was lucky. That little bit resting at the outer corner just hurt when I blinked. I brushed it way. The one on the right side below my collarbone sat on the skin, adhering by a bit of sweat, and that peeled off as if a fragment of reflective skin.

Fist laptop bought and about 8 years old, can't keep up with the WWW and simple if bloated MS Word at the same time. Favorite saying became: 'Not responding' add whichever application before that duet.

On this I carried my literary children 8000 miles away. On this I expanded the fantasies, daubed the red of horror into new declivities, and twisted science into my fiction. I spread slow poems to ferment for later arrangement and dropped quick ideas for stories that sometimes opened into vistas and other times sat intriguing and coy with just a line.

I wrote to old friends, made new ones, went semi-paperless for personal business, tried not to panic when I needed to open it and clean the dust, had the harddrive replaced, replaced the CD burner and spent a small fortune in cursing the slowness that increased as other newer better machines jumped on a millisecond. I ended up getting one of those, and this old (then at 4 years) laptop was relegated to the term 'spare'. It came in handy off and on feeling slower every time to the point of needing to end it.

I don't need some enterprising thief getting into my private business, though admittedly it's easier to use a tracker bot or keystroke recorder than it is to pick over a scratched disk. Easy enough to undo a screw, then 4 more tiny ones, pry the lip up and the coup de grace with the Philips screwdriver.

What are harddrives made of?

Things we want to remember. Things we've forgotten, with or without reason. Things we though we'd need, want, had an interest or passing fancy.

All the information is stored elsewhere, elsewhen.

Like the shattered mirror of the SnowQueen, dropped by arguing demons, bits of me were scattered, picked up and discarded, but none reached my eye or into my heart. The bits are already there, accumulated and expanded upon, organized and categorized, set safe and wanted in other places.

To that discarded machine, well done, good and faithful servant.

the Call Apr 27, 2011

2011-04-27T08:56:00.004+03:00

Two years ago, on a Monday, about 7:30am EST, (2:30pm CAT time where I live), my mother died. From that time til the home called my brother in NY and he to me, was about 3pm. It was a call I knew would come, and one I dreaded. My brother never calls that time in the afternoon, rarely did anyone else, so it was a foregone conclusion when I picked it up, heard his voice, and knew before he said anything.

My partner and I coordinated a seaside service the same day and time as my bother and his nephews held one alone by a sixteen foot Japanese maple tree. It was the same one we scattered my father's ashes under in '95. This one we planted, the second tree (since the first was undermined by insects), that we chose to plant for my sister two decades earlier.

Mothers and daughters.

Entire libraries could be filled with that relationship, whether by birth or choice.

Things we do, and don't do. Things I learned were topics best not discussed because my mother couldn't get past her dislike of the actions. Patterns set are hard to break, even years after.

Decades ago, a spot of blood on my brother's shirt became a point of hysterics when Mom found out it came from a scratch he'd gotten from his partner, same as now, with whom he'd had sex and she scratched him. Mom didn't speak to J for years, wouldn't even see his partner, whom he considered his wife, because of the scratch.

Same pattern, my sister G met a man she lived with until her death. Mom couldn't wrap her mind around that 'sin' of living together and didn't speak to my sister for years, wasting so much time.

I'd talk to G on the phone, travel to see her. Mom would send a card, money, but for years she held that 'living together is wrong' bullshit tight to her bosom.

Eventually, they did reconcile, Mom met G's partner who cared more about her than the man she'd married and divorced before. Mom gave G a kidney in '83 since G's were shrunk to the size of walnuts by Type 1 diabetes. G had 5 good years before she died in Nov '88.

So, what didn't I tell Mom whose closed mind was a rock in the river of my life? Like water, I went around, sent tentative drops up every now and again but they slid off, unremarked.

I'm pagan, wiccan. Mom was an atheist downgraded from agnostic and before that a Protestant. She wanted to believe, but there was nothing for her to hold on to.

I feel I'd worked my way up from Protestant to agnostic to seeing the Divine in everything.

Never told Mom I felt more attuned to women than men, again having gone from straight to neuter to lesbian. (Aren't labels wonderful?)

Mom asked, halfheartedly--and I denied, because I didn't want to get into that empty useless discussion and have her not talk to me for years. I wanted her to grow up, and failing that, I said nothing so as to keep her happy in her small space where she was comfortable. I knew we had very little in common, and what little we did was superficial most times.

My life sunk below the riverbed and the rock, finding another way, finding the one who is more a part of me than anyone ever knew.

When Mom met her, she said 'You two look so much alike' and that comment has since come from others on this side of the pond as well.

Mom wanted me to be happy, and I couldn't tell her who is making me so, and why.

End of every phone call, Mom would say, 'Give her my love.'

I could never say, 'Mom, I do.'

It Bleeds...14 Nov. '10

2010-11-14T16:40:00.002+02:00

And that is called the hook. The hook gets the reader’s interest. While the 'It' is undefined, the 'Bleeds' sets up a red flag -- not to be coy or a pun. Okay, what It are we talking about? A person or animal can roughly be defined as an It, as well as an alien or entity, or even a plant. This gives a mystery, the reader may not care about the It that much but the Bleeds indicates -- almost anything.

When I looked, only two wings were out on it, bright as a glass bead of fire, veined and elliptical framing the pale lilac tongue. Last night I left it so, I shut off the light and dismissed it from my mind. Today, four more of the orange wings had emerged, tearing silently through the green skin. Amber beads wept and dripped and stilled as they dried. I never thought of it, being so dissimilar a being, glorious, exotic in some parts of the world but common here. I never knew the Bird of Paradise could bleed into beauty.

How long do you want this mystery to last? That depends on the story. Ideally one hook should catch, and lead to another, and another as the writer keeps drawing the reader on. The writer doesn't have to make all the characters likable, but they must keep the reader's interest, keep those questions coming.

Alone with One Line - 26 Apr. '10

2010-04-26T16:10:00.001+03:00

Alone with One Line

Writing is a singular obsession, and hard to share. Upon a landscape, an artist looks at a canvas or a photographer takes the camera, and another, an audience, can look upon the scene, albeit with a less discerning eye but it is shared. The musician, the dancer–both offer audible, spatial exhibits. Even when starting out, something is there screeching and puttering along.

For the writer, the mindscape is closed to all until the words come out, and even then it’s not visible, but still unformed, Proteus, the god of all shapes and none. A writer takes images with the mind’s eye, fleeting and distorted as they maybe, and often as hard to hold as quicksilver.

Grab the pen, the paper, jot them down and hope to catch them, a foot print, a lost feather, a wisp of scent. Sometimes the writers do this at their peril when it coincides with family, friends, strangers who wonder about the person scribbling, lost to the matter at hand.

"I wore the bones for fifteen years."

"The only light in the blasted cavern came from her hair, like gold spun with dawn's pale pink newness."

"Wires shot out and imbedded in her flesh."

At the moment they came, I wanted to write them down. Granted, these may be throwaways, never used. I may take apart the idea, rearrange, lose interest, seek another bit, but these lines meant something, and I wanted to hold them.

Guilt - 21 March, 2010

2010-03-20T23:49:00.004+02:00

Guilt--brings a lot to a characters development...it works for and against a character laying waste and blame and heartache, a wonderful device…

***

It had been a year since Hannah's mother passed, didn't really matter how, she was gone, irrefutable, irrevocably and irreversible.

Mom…so many things I didn’t tell you…but then, how much did you tell Gramma? Did you tell her your first kiss made you want to throw up because the neighbor, Mr. Thomson said it was a ‘special day’ and he wanted to share it? He smelled like cheap liquor and that Paco Raban cologne knockoff that had a bitter edge to it—the kind that that company sold along with the other knockoffs that were more alcohol than decent work with blended scents and futures hoped for. He touched me…I didn’t tell you that either. I was 14, I wore that pale peach jersey, sleeveless. I guess from a distance it looked like I wasn’t wearing anything, to M. Thomson at least. I had tied that long dark cloth around my neck, listened to it flap behind me like a cape as I sped along on my bicycle, too old for the little kid’s game, too young for the others. Just right for him.

I was Viceroy, like the butterfly, only—just close to what a Monarch butterfly looks like, but one or the other, I’ve never remembered which, has a bad taste, so the birds leave it alone. I always loved that idea, how the look, not exact, but close enough, saved the one, for a mistaken identity.

You thought I was one thing, trying to make me into the image of the little girl you wanted, and—I couldn’t be that. Gods and little fishes, how much does it take for me to NOT say, “I’m sorry.” Why should I apologize for being me? Why couldn’t you accept me for me? You were you…maybe not the you, you wanted, but I could never be that either, didn’t you recognize that? A year passed, more and more, when I lived away from home, I tried to be what you wanted, sometimes I didn’t, but was that rebellion or being true to myself?

I didn’t want your life, I wanted mine. Why did that feel like a betrayal, a crime against the woman who bore me, who treated my sicknesses, who taught me about being—the kind of woman she was…

I remember the first time I thought of you as not my mother, but an entity with a life, separate and beyond, and simultaneously, I felt closer to you than I ever have, and farther away than ever from the you I thought I knew.

We are layers, webs, fractions parceled out among those we meet.

I did not know you, and was content with my separateness. Now, I wonder, how much of you is still in me, like the lining of the old trunk, pictures from lining paper out of stock, out of fashion, and never reordered for lack of interest. Then I open it, the scent of cedar and old silverware, scales from moth wings, and the handkerchief Gramma edged with lace to make it fancy.

What embellishments did we use, unknowing, to cover, to extend and pass as something else?

I’m still learning, and for that, I do thank you.

So, an excerpt from the mind of a daughter...

What Does Your Character Celebrate? - Nov. 26, '09

2009-11-26T16:01:00.000+02:00

What Does Your Character Celebrate?
For Americans, this is Thanksgiving Day, and I am thankful to have someone as my soul mate, a place that is our home, and the opportunity to do many things that I love with her. The turkey and chicken thighs marinated in spices, fresh squeezed orange juice, and honey, the dressing er, dressing-ated. Yes, I made that word up, and it came out all right for instead of putting in leftover breadcrumbs from an unlabeled container I ended up dropping in 1/2 cup of couscous. Added crushed cashews, chopped cooked onions, 2 eggs, cooked and crumbled lamb kebab instead of pork sausage for a less spicy taste, some chicken broth, and it actually came out well. Some kitchen accidents are edible.

I do put partial blame on the heavy duty antibiotics and cold meds I'm taking for bronchitis but the lesson too--label containers!

Holidays range from the personal to global, encompassing the silly, the profane and the sacred. We have birthdays, christenings, name-days, confirmation, and coming-of-age. There are anniversaries of meetings, engagements, weddings and vow renewals, holidays of love, war commemorations, jubilees for royalty, presidents' birthdays, days for remembering the dead individually and en masse, other occasions recall disasters and mass tragedies.

We celebrate Mother's and Father's Day, (my folks, to my question of why there isn't a children's day, said that every day is children's day), We've added Grandparent's Day, Earth Day, Secretaries' Day, and the quaint Groundhog's Day is never celebrated by the animal kingdom, though the Punxsutawney Phil groundhog of the day is given treats.

This latter holiday is actually quite old and is related to Imbolc or Brigid's Day on February 2nd when the peasants hoped winter was losing its grip. By this time food storage supplies are low, hunting is slim, and the ground still too hard to plant. If a groundhog or badger (European origin) can make it through the frozen earth--then soon it will be pliable enough for mattock and spade.

The oldest celebrations center around the seasons and the elements, for without water and food, we cannot exist. In pagan traditions the solstices and equinoxes honor the longest day on June 21st, and the longest night on December 21st. May 21st and September 21 have equal amount of day to night but one slips into a greater luminance, while the other's hours of light decline. The moon phases of new and full, waxing and waning also mark time.

What do our characters celebrate?

I've a QuarterMoon festival celebration in one book and two on a royal birthdays. The former is a license for excesses that will bring in revelers who will spend money and leave poorer though longing for next year's celebration. Some will bear Quartermoon babies in nine months, the pickpockets and sharpers will live high off their ill-gotten gains, and the slaves must work harder and quieter cleaning up and avoiding their masters and mistresses with massive hangovers.

On the latter, one princess on her balcony watches a parade in her honor. Despite the occasion celebrating her maturity, there's also the reminder of those gone before as youths and maidens pass below wearing masques of the gods, demons, and her predecessors. So too she knows her mother, died near her age, giving her life.

Another birthday for triplets is skewed, for only one is there, and the realm is turned on end by the visit from an otherworldly guest.

Would your character enjoy or hate the holiday? Would s/he celebrate alone or with someone? Is there feasting, fasting, prayers, or sacrifices? Is there a special place, a special costume, setting, ritual bathing or other custom that must be followed before the day? What makes the day so important for your character?

Rule of Thumb - Nov. 15, '09

2009-11-15T11:24:00.010+02:00

An incident with an infection brought this idea out...

What makes the top species? In our case it's the opposable thumb. It's how we grasp, adding flexibility, agility and strength to our handling of everything from hunting to building shelter, from touch interactions with others -- for good and ill, delicate manipulations, etc.

A species which can bring items close --those two or three feet of keeping the head upright means we're predators too.

You want a species to be the dominant one, they need that capability to bring things close, to throw or toss them away, to hold and all the while have and keep that important view against potential foes.

Having a thumb makes tool use easier, tentacles work much the same way for starfish, octopi and squid in opening recalcitrant shells--so having a tentacle-bearing ruling species isn't out of the realm of possibility.

A common punishment for thieves in the Middle Ages was to deprive the perpetrator of his thumbs. He could still carry heavy loads for honest work, albeit clumsily, but the light-fingered application was severely limited.

The elephant's trunk has 20,000 muscles--tremendous flexibility, sensitivity, reach and weight-bearing capacity. And sitting on one during a summer festival, and she's hot, and she takes a snoot-full of water and snorts it over her back to cool off is an um, not quite an illuminating experience. Of what doused me, I never knew how much was water, how much was elephant snot, and how much was gooey grass and grain from her snack...

The Roman 'thumbs up' live, or 'thumbs down' die gesture is still in use for approval today. 'I bite my thumb' was an insult in Shakespearian times. Hitchhiking needs a thumb to show what way you want to go even if you don't know your destination.

How far can you operate without your thumbs? Tuck them in and type--ok, but that space bar is lonely, and moving the mouse is harder, and grabbing that full coffee cup using the thumb for opposition balance guidance, a little tougher. Eating without a thumb, dressing, driving, lifting, handling the tv remote! All suffer without that odd, sideways mounted digit.

The thumb does rule.

Freedom, What Does Your Character Have? - Nov. 10, '09

2009-11-10T15:13:00.003+02:00

In a broad stroke the word brings up patriotism, lack of responsibility, and such, but let's get down to a personal basis.

Freedom is one of those broad foggy ideas, but so much depends on the individual's upbringing, the environs, the society, culture, beliefs, fears, outside influences, triumphs and disasters.

A medieval serf follows the lord of the manor who is under the thumbs of the Church and the King, the latter two fight for who's greater ala Henry VIII. A king may marry a peasant girl, and raise her to the throne, but the other way was not so common until Elizabeth II.

If a character is free to follow her conscience, that depends again on what seeds were planted there--by family, by friends, and those from whom she learned. If the first love turns out to be a cheating bastard, that can be a motive for acting the same way. If parents overindulge in food, alcohol, recreation drugs, or any other excess, that implies acceptance (though by a limited few those few are immediate and have a huge influence).

Freedom to follow one's heart: will you love someone whom is accepted by your family, by your culture, by your species? An old saying: 'a bird may love a fish, but where will they live?' comes to mind.

What freedom is important to one may be insignificant to another: Joan is free to eat shellfish, but her immune system thinks otherwise and reacts with an allergic over-the-top response that results in hives the size of goose eggs, swelling of the throat and lungs and a very good chance of anaphylactic shock.

Danni is free to travel anywhere but she prefers to stay in her old cottage by the lake that her grandma owned. Danni spent every summer since the age of 4 there until three years ago when her grandma passed. Danni makes a healthy 5-figure income but doesn't feel the need to spend it on a place that is not loved as this is.

Freedom of speech also asks, behind the scenes, for a curb on the tongue, that no one yells 'Fire' in a crowded place,(without cause) or jokes about a hijack or other broad endangerment in an airport or train station.

Then there's the innermost feeling of freedom, of release: When Kari's dad passed, she felt a freedom that she hadn't had in decades. She didn't have to live up to his expectations, she could do what she loved to do--and that wasn't being a surgeon like him, or a lawyer like his dad. She wanted to open a shelter for greyhounds whose days after the tracks were short and severe. Once the bettors and trainers had gotten their money, and the dogs were left with less speed, there was no profit. Kari didn't give a damn about money, she cared about the beauty, the grace, and the need these throwaway's had. There was more joy in having these dogs come up to her and love her for caring, than in all the awards and social recognition racked up by the paternal line.

So...what freedom does your character need?

Character Limits - Nov. 09, '09

2009-11-09T14:32:00.007+02:00

"I'll follow you to the ends of the earth!" Quoth the lover. So does the prince actually move one foot in front of another to track down his lady, or does he throw up his hands as a lost cause, not worth it, etc?

Limits: knowing them, overcoming them, stretching them, are all dramatic devices to keep the reader reading.

It's wearing out seven pair of iron shoes to find the one you love, as an ancient faery tale goes, (and it's a woman wearing these by the way. We can go into footwear, sexism, culture and those meanings another time).

Think about it--first, say normal cobbler-work transformed into metal. So half-inch soles, iron isn't as sturdy as steel, so we've a few less years to walk. Then there's the whole chaffing and bunions, the weight, lack of flexibility, they will dry fast if you're not dragged to the bottom of a lake if you fall in, they are useful for kicking out a fire--as long as you don't dance all night on the coals--metal does conduct heat. If the lady fair needs to kick some attacker in the groin--the recovery will be non-existant, so that's a perk...

Rate of wear--and are we talking holes and rust? Aesthetic dissolution--"Gee, my iron shoes need polishing and I still can't find a purse to match" is far from being held on with twine and stuffed with rags. Oh, say 25 yrs per pair, over lots of rocks, rust helps to degrade the metal and our heroine is indefatigable.

Plus there's the little thing of the wearer aging. Of course in a faery tale--life expectancy varies wildly, and quests last centuries as if to imprint the lesson on the seeker ad infinitum, ad nauseum. If she's still alive, and in fair health, by the time she finds the object of her desire, she's still hobbling at 200 or so years of age, and shows it...will she give a flying phoenix fart for the old beau? Is he still alive, and what of the intervening years? Is the fellow alive? Was he as true to her? Is he surrounded by great great grandkids squabbling over the kingdom?

Lots of options here--limits give us something to play with, and it can be traumatic or eye-opening, just don't let it be boring.

An omnipotent being--no age, no health issues, no need for sustaining atmosphere, no need of liquid or food--is changeless, and stagnant. One way out is that the being imposes limits on itself.

A chaos omnipotent character I'm working with can be any sex, any form, become smoke, fire, etc, pretty damn near invincible--but she--since the character is usually in a female form, has a fascination with mortals. She also has an agenda with other supernatural creatures, and while she knows much more than she tells, she is not all-knowing.

Most of her limits are self-imposed, for by knowing all, by controlling everything, there is ennui, boredom, lack of expectation, and without looking forward, for good or ill, why exist?

The rider on horseback must be cognizant of weather, of terrain, of the condition of the horse, of the hoped for shelter and provisioning when fatigue hits. Your thief can steal and steal--but he's going to run out of pockets to stash the loot, and if there's no challege in taking the artifact--where's the fun? Then there's getting rid of the stuff.

Finite limits for power, for essentials, for life, keep the character going to replenish those areas. It keeps the drama on the page.

Character Needs and Wants- Nov. 2, '09

2009-11-02T12:11:00.005+02:00

Rummaging in the dusty corners of my brain I come out with this--what do our characters need?

Maslow did a pyramid for survival and societal needs though he forgot the respiration part.

Rule of 7 for the basic survival limits: 7 minutes without air, 7 days without water, 7 weeks without food--take this as an average for a fairly healthy human--and the person is dead or real close to it if any thing goes past 7. Lack of air and there is brain damage then death. This is a bit more flexible for a person who has an extremely cold body temperature. Many ice water drownings are reversed because the body goes into a low maintenance mode, but again this time is limited. Humans are about 75% water- a lack of water and you have increasing dehydration, toxin buildup in the blood, and cascade organ failure. Lack of food makes the body consume itself to keep the heart and brain going. Fatty acids aren't replaced, the liver and kidneys shrink, muscles atrophy and without intense and proper caloric replacement--the point of no return...

Needs are physical and emotional health maintenance. I need water but I want a cup of coffee. I want a hunk of pumpkin bread slathered in quince jam (both homemade by the way), but I need to eat a healthier breakfast.

For sci-fi and fantasy--the space traveler needs backup oxygen, or methane or whatever the character breathes, and a delivered or grown supply of water and food. Does a mermaid suffer breathing the tainted waters around an undersea volcano?

Next up is feeling secure and protected--this is with others and or in a sheltering environment.

What is 'safety' for your character? Being in a clan? Alone in a fortress? Is your protagonist curled up by a fire with a large scaled friend who's ready to toast anyone who dares look in with evil intent?

The next step overlaps a bit for the needs of love and belonging. Dracula and Frankenstein's monster may ravage the countryside--but at the core--they want someone to love--and to love them. Once human, whether undead or a hodgepodge of parts, that need is still there.

Even if love is absent--then there is fear--and that is still recognition and acknowledging the monster as existing.

That's the next step--that others know you exist--for good or ill. An empress or demon god is nothing without subjects. The richest and most powerful person on earth needs to interact, to spend, to make more--to be visible and immediate for that self worth. Is that worth--real or false?

The very top, or last part--is know thyself, which often strips away all the layers and collections and masques built as defense, as protection as a joke that lives on, as a habit that feeds the illusion. What are you without the BMW? Without the trophy partner? Without the second home and the newest and latest gadget?

In India there is a sect called the Jain. The male monks wear nothing, the Jain Mothers wear only a white sari. They carry a broom of peacock feathers so that they may sweep the ground before they sit so that they can brush away any creature and not crush it. The only other thing they carry is a small water pot. They are celibate, their belief is extraordinary, and their joy unearthly. They preach to those who will listen, bless those who ask for it, and pledge their lives to help others. That is their need.

Boring! Nov. 01, 09

2009-11-01T14:57:00.003+02:00

Granted, 'Boring' much like Beauty, is in the eye and mind of the beholder. There is a fine line between repetition and exposition to further a cause or a description. Reiteration is used for many purposes: to set a scene, to reinforce a mood, for impact, but when does it go from 'Wow!" to the, 'theatre is empty except for the sound of crickets'?

Phrases such as: 'In other words' and 'to restate' signal the reader that yes, same ol' same ol', but is this necessary for the reader--or because the writer didn't put down the previous words with enough clarity and focus that a reorganization of the words and thoughts are worth doing again?

Ex: "Jaqui sat with her chair tilted against the wall, a toothpick in the corner of her mouth. Eyes shut, she ignored the sultry still air. By the window, a fly droned in its desultory effort to slip through the torn screen. Nothing to work on, no one to see, she had an open schedule for the next decade. She was bored. She had nothing to do."

The above works just as well without the last two sentences. Jaqui could also be trying to nap, be stunned from an injury and quietly bleeding to death listening to the fly.

"Chesapeake", "Iberia", "Alaska", "Hawaii", et al, written by James Michener were exciting one by one, but as I continued reading more of his long novels I realized Michener used the same formula: big bang theory, tectonic plates shifting to form continents and rivers, primitive peoples migrating, stages of occupation with a bit of human interest here and there with a flint-napper, and we're up to the modern day family saga. That bored me. I dropped any interest in Michener's novels by my early twenties.

A simple theme can be reworked: the tragedy of Pyramis and Thisbe becomes Romeo and Juliet then it transforms into West Side Story.

Even if we know the ending--the journey can still captivate.

Weather or Not - Oct. 31, '09

2009-10-31T02:00:00.006+02:00

I'm a Connecticut Yankee living in King David's Court, (per bio), so the climate change took some getting used to. In New England, if you don't like the weather, wait a minute, so goes the saying. Here in the Biblical territory, winter means rain, from sometime in October to March, precious rain that is absent for most of the year.

Literary weather affects the characters too. Thunder and lightning is Zeus's idea of target practice, or Rip Van Winkle's bowling buddies, or it precedes the Thunderbird of the Native American myths in the west. A storm can presige disaster or be the perfect time for two antagonist characters to find comfort in each other.

A sunny day can be the first welcome light--or another in a long monotonous series that dries up the earth and stifles the air.

A tornado carried off Dorothy and Toto, earthquakes and tidal waves sunk Atlantis, Mu, and Lemuria, Poe placed his love Annabelle Lee in a kingdom by the sea without fear, though olden sailors never learned to swim for to struggle against the Sea was to try to outwit fate and drowning.

Volcanoes can be the workplace of Haephestus or Pele's home, or the birthplace of dragons. Climate and the elements can enrich tales of all sorts in reflecting moods or set up in opposition.

Smell the earth after a rain and be reminded of a home long lost, or the new garden you just have to plant. Feel the trunk of an ancient tree burned in a forest fire and smile at the new shoots--who needed that fire to encourage the seeds to sprout.

In many legends a flood covered the earth to make way for a new people, or the world shall turn to ice in Ragnarok.

The setting sun is the last sight for the fearful peasant who rushes indoors and bolts the house against the things that go bump in the night. For creatures of darkness--it is always night in some part of the world--or under it.

We can ionize our air, heat and air-condition it, install humidifiers and dehumidifiers to control our personal climates--and then--we can step outside--and feel the power subtle or omnipotent, light as a kiss or devastating as a hurricane.

Info - Or How Do We Know What We Know? - Oct. 25, '09

2009-10-25T10:25:00.005+02:00

Let's base this on human experience -- or semi-humaniod even if we're taking aliens and demons here.

Characters are born too, not necessarily with the nine-month gestation. Immediate sensation come through deeper than with sight and sound, scent, taste and feel conveys more than we acknowledge.

Development comes with how the characters know what they know. Parents, siblings, children, lovers, friends, sales people, religious functionaries, and others provided a social network of lessons, crafts, how to do things, how to act in a situation, who's in what kind of health state, when to plant and reap, animal husbandry, weather wisdom, and much more.

This knowledge broadens with the character's level of education, travel, the level of technology or magic for gathering information.

Scribes and couriers expand on the orders of royalty and other leaders; traveling bards, physics, and war-weary mercenaries carry tales. Merchants and map-makers transfer knowledge of other places and the goods and customs found there. Sorcerous means come via scrying with assorted tools like water or crystal, or seeing through another's eyes and taking in impressions through another's senses.

The vast overview of a general on a battlefield, or a sailor swaying in the crow's nest leads into details of colors and motion.

Today, I have at my command millions of alternatives for printed matter, news and blogs, corporate white pages, updates, links, sound and vision into almost every corner of the world and a smattering outside of it.

Then comes the drama--is what is taught and provided, true? Is it free of any taint of favortism or slant on the part of the deliverer of such news? Every 'up-to-the-minute' relay comes based on who pays for the information to be transmitted, and how can that information be used?

'Buy this or that' because the advertiser supports the local newscast. The TV personalities in their booths, dressed down but with the subtle inference of power based on the sharing of disasters, takeovers, horrors and such, live for the audience who sees the coiffed, poised puppets read off a teleprompter.

This artificiality robs the personal touch, numbers are glossed over for one close-up of mayhem.

The Hindenberg disaster was covered by a reporter, Herbert Morrison who was there for the docking of the queen of the sky...

"It's practically standing still now. They've dropped ropes out of the nose of the ship, and they've been taken ahold of down on the field by a number of men. It's starting to rain again; it's — the rain had slacked up a little bit. The back motors of the ship are just holding it just, just enough to keep it from — It burst into flames! It burst into flames, and it's falling, it's crashing! Watch it! Watch it, folks! Get out of the way! Get out of the way! Get this, Charlie! Get this, Charlie! It's fire — and it's crashing! It's crashing terrible! Oh, my, get out of the way, please! It's burning and bursting into flames, and the — and it's falling on the mooring-mast and all the folks agree that this is terrible, this is the worst of the worst catastrophes in the world. Ohhhhh! It's–it's–it's the flames, [indecipherable, 'enty' syllable] oh, four- or five-hundred feet into the sky and it ... it's a terrific crash, ladies and gentlemen. It's smoke, and it's flames now ... and the frame is crashing to the ground, not quite to the mooring-mast. Oh, the humanity and all the passengers screaming around here. I told you, I can't even talk to people whose friends are on there. Ah! It's–it's–it's–it's ... o–ohhh! I–I can't talk, ladies and gentlemen. Honest, it's just laying there, a mass of smoking wreckage. Ah! And everybody can hardly breathe and talk, and the screaming. Lady, I–I'm sorry. Honest: I–I can hardly breathe. I–I'm going to step inside, for I cannot see it. Charlie, that's terrible. Ah, ah — I can't. I, listen, folks, I–I'm gonna have to stop for a minute because I've lost my voice. This is the worst thing I've ever witnessed."

The drama is in the sharing of humanity, not just the retelling it.

Another Idea - Oct. 19, '09

2009-10-19T12:24:00.005+02:00

Pick a phrase: Nice and warm.

We've all heard those types that pass without notice, but take a deeper look.

What does this describe? Make you feel? Turn it inside out and around!

Nice and warm like on a beach -- not having your buns toasted so you can't sit easy and then your nose peels because you forgot the sunscreen and how did you know the sand fleas loved having you for dinner?

Or nice and warm, curled up with your main squeeze watching a video. You make space for the younger cat who insists on squeezing between you two and who tends to park her not so fragrant butt as close to your nose as possible while smiling at her other mom, rubbing her nose in kitty kisses and giving snarky looks to you.

Nice but not so warm in October when the leaves drop and rattle like potato chips under foot and you crunch through them and don't care that you're way over the childhood limit for acting like this is fun. Then you look up from scuffing through the oak and maple discards on the sidewalk and a fellow coming toward you smiles and you KNOW--it's because he wishes he had that nerve to crunch and crackle and enjoy the moment. That is a victory bittersweet because not alot of grownups will let the child out to play without condemnation.

Not nice, but at least it's warm when you stand under a doorway near the subway grate and get the heat rising over your cold wet feet. The snow's melted from the concrete around there and granted it's not the best place in the city but at least you're not freezing your nearest and dearest while waiting for a taxi.

Not nice, not warm...Middle of the damned park in February, you dropped your cell tel in that puddle and HOPED the ice crusting the top would keep it from crashing through. Nope, not a chance in this semi-frozen muck--that your tel would get a break. So off with the glove, stick your hand in the DEEP mucky puddle and hope that isn't a frozen dog dropping you just grabbed. Got the phone, it's dripping, it's got stuff on it HAZMAT wouldn't touch and damn if you didn't have insurance on the pesky thing.

Oh, give me back: Nice and warm. :}

The Dry Spell - Oct. 18, 09

2009-10-18T19:22:00.006+02:00

Happens to all of us, no matter what venue we put our hand to. Sometimes we can stumble along, other times we just go around the block and try not to think about it. Or maul a piece of a paper or the blank screen with nonsense--and that is good. Nonsense is vital--it activates the 'I'm groping in darkness, I've got dirt and the pile of discards and it's meaningless--so I don't have to fear I'll fail.' We all hate that, whether in life, writing, or making a toasted cheese sandwich that comes out resembling a charcoal briquette that's gone to seed.

First I was full of good intentions for this (blog/my stories/name it) then got side tracked, then lost sight with coping with things in life--the passing of my 90 year old mom in April, something she had wanted for quite a while, and which took me a while to accept what she wanted, what was the best for her.

I scribble stuff down, get bits and bobs of ideas, then within the past two weeks I lose two more I love. This post isn't about just being in mourning, but accepting what must be let go of, and what must be GENTLY returned to.

Forcing anything--may get the job down by a mental deadline but is it down with love? Some folks have a tight writerly schedule and bless them for showing up on the page from 9am to 3pm. Some grab a word or an idea and just free fall with it. Some do take that break to let the resources refill, let the waves resculpt the sand, to allow renewal, a healing, a peace return.

Fear of Writing Jan 31,2009

2009-01-31T15:46:00.002+02:00

Yeah, it happens and it's not pleasant.

Why it happens has many reasons. Maybe I don't want to confront the same words that had me enthralled and don't any more. Maybe I wonder if it what all I've written is tripe and I'm better off doing something else. Maybe I've learned more and I dread having to rewrite, or to put down something new that doesn't match what I see in my head, what I feel in my heart.

I started out drawing and painting at a very young age, writing came later. My mom would pass me a 3x5" pad in church and a pen and I would keep still and occupied. I graduated from university where I earned a degree in Graphic arts. My first stories were told on paper or canvas, with Crow quill nibs and Higgins indelible ink, or colored pencils and watercolors. I looked up the difference between cold-press and hot press boards, I piled up slabs of acrylic and did washes in oil. I looked for natural hair brushes and experimented with mixing turpentine with Linseed oil for a thinner--bad, bad idea. Just dissolved the oil sketch I'd done and made everything runny and gooey. I cursed the book and the author who suggested it, scraped off the canvas and painted more.

I've done a few art shows and usually made enough to cover the entry fee. I did better with dream catchers--more people buy crafts, which usually sell at a lower price. The best part was sharing the space with those of like minds, meeting new friends, talking about what I love to do, and hoping someone would enjoy it enough to buy a watercolor of a bird-of-paradise, or an oil-cut-out collage of a dragon.

I still love going to art stores. I test the hairs of a new brush against my lips, I examine palette knives, and new colors. I drool over the variety of papers with deckle edges with the fibers thick and thin over embedded dried petals and tiny maple leaves. I still would love to get real parchment--from a sheep or goatskin not the parchment paper.

I was vigilant about cleaning the brushes, making sure my light was good, having the right proportions and color balance.

Was I more willing to make mistakes, to learn and play and try new things because the medium was visual and visceral? Did the props of paint, brushes and paper make it more real?

I've come a long way from submitting good ideas badly done. I've learned about delivery, setting, continuity, omitting the obvious, etc. Those early publishers who rejected me--rejected the work, not the writer. They were correct. I was trying to pass a seed or half-fill fruit as a fully grown tree.

Maybe I am more inflexible and need to keep reminding myself that writing is just as magical, with less outer tools and more inner ones. Pen, paper, period. Or FOK-U: Fingers on Keyboard--You!

I need to be gentle with myself, to say--perfection is a myth, enjoyment of what is there is real, it is worth my time, my love for the characters, the drama and the world I paint with words.

The 12 Days of Fantasy Writing Dec 9th, '08

2008-12-09T18:49:00.002+02:00

Just for fun! And I like parodies that go off the deep end :}

On the first day of fantasy, this cliché came to me:

A sultry sylph in a birch tree.

On the second day of fantasy, this cliché came to me:

Two dragon-eating virgins, and a sultry sylph in a birch tree.

On the third day of fantasy, this cliché came to me:

Three toothsome trolls, two dragon-eating virgins, and a sultry sylph in a birch tree.

On the fourth day of fantasy, this cliché came to me:

Four fierce ogres, three toothsome trolls, two dragon-eating virgins, and a sultry sylph in a birch tree.

On the fifth day of fantasy, this cliché came to me:

Five wicked warty witches! Four somewhat-fierce ogres, three toothsome trolls, two dragon-eating virgins, and a snarky sylph in a birch tree.

On the sixth day of fantasy, this cliché came to me:

Six sleazy villains, five wicked warty witches! Four ambivalent ogres, three tra-la-ing trolls, two dragon-eating virgins not on a diet, and a surprised sylph in a birch tree.

On the seventh day of fantasy, this cliché came to me:

Seven doe-eyed maidens, six sleazy villains, five wicked warty one-eyed witches! Four fiddling ogres, three travel-weary trolls, two dragon-eating virgins who aren't vegetarians, and a startled sylph in a birch tree.

On the eighth day of fantasy, this cliché came to me:

Eight eagle-eyed elven archers, seven doe-eyed maidens, six sleazy villains, five wicked warty one-eyed wincing witches! Four fainting ogres, three tv-addicted trolls, two dragon-eating virgins in need of a stair-master, and a sylph scratching poison ivy in a birch tree.

On the ninth day of fantasy, this cliché came to me:

Nine nasty necromancers, eight eagle-eyed elven tiddlywink champs, seven doe-eyed maidens (at least that's what their name-tags read), six sleazy badly-dressed villains, five wicked warty witches with winsome slack-jawed smiles! Four flatulent ogres--no more refried beans, three traveling trolls looking for room service, two dragon-eating virgins who don't need this much fiber in their diets, and an antsy sylph in a birch tree.

On the tenth day of fantasy, this cliché came to me:

Ten tremendous giants, nine nasty necromancers wearing Nikes, eight eagle-eyed elven florists, seven doe-eyed maidens--who are we kidding they're all trollops, six sleazy villains with greasy hair answering to the name of Snape, five wicked warty witches with widdle bittle bwack kitties! Four frumpish ogresses sans spouses, three toothsome trolls opening a dentistry service, two dragon-eating virgins (the girls need antacid by now), and a panicking sylph in a birch tree.

On the eleventh day of fantasy, this cliché came to me:

Eleven scheming councilors, ten tremendous giants with gout, nine nasty necromancers in search of a reality show, eight eagle-eyed elven pizza delivery boys, seven doe-eyed maidens, er, okay, not after the wet-t-shirt contest, six sleazy villains working at Wall Street, five wicked warty witches with stock in Mary Kay cosmetics! Four fur-covered ogres since winter's finally here, three toothsome trolls nibbling on the dental receptionist, two dragon-eating virgins who have stopped snacking between meals, and a hysterical sylph with oozing blisters in a birch tree.

On the twelfth day of fantasy, this cliché came to me:

Twelve regal empresses, eleven scheming councilors in a pillow fight, ten tremendous giants who want to be couch potatoes, nine nasty necromancers selling fake Viagra, eight eagle-eyed elven mud-pie makers, seven doe-eyed maidens--uh, they're in their fifties now and opened a whole-food outlet, six sleazy villains torturing Barbie dolls with Malibu Stacy, five wicked warty witches slow-cooking Mary Kay founder for false advertising! Four flailing ogres who fell through thin ice on their way to the ballet, three toothsome trolls who gave up the whole Billy Goat's Gruff schtick, two dragon-eating virgins in jail on the Endangered Species act, and a hysterical red-bump covered sylph needing more hands to scratch with, and who wants to bulldoze every damned tree!

Your Character's Voice Nov. 30 '08

2008-11-30T14:01:00.001+02:00

Your Character's Voice

This has oodles of variables from age, sex, education, areas lived, social status, family income, friends and acquaintances, personal influences, and physiology of the mouth, lungs, vocal cords, etc.

For modern teen males, the increased use of slang and shortcuts like txt msg are popular. Sometimes vulgarity use is higher with teen males though that can be dependant on dozens of correlations.

Experience and knowledge--which 99% of the time comes with age will make a difference in the voice. Even if a teen is a genius, s/he will not have the social and emotional ranges that an adult has accumulated by the sheer passage of time (again this leaves out hermit types).

Traumatic events can also shape a characters voice and lock them into a replay of a certain past that will show in times of stress.

YA voice vs adult, think JK Rowling's Harry Potter vs the Robert Ludlum's Bourne Identity/Ultimatum, or Patricia Cornwall's forensic novels with Chief Medical Examiner Kay Scarpetta vs the whodunits of the Hardy Boys.

Read the genres you love, and read the ones you don't like because even they can teach a new turn of phrase or how other writers deal with situations, characters, dialogue, settings, etc.

Watch shows and movies with good writers. Some of my favorites are: Saving Grace, The Closer, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Babylon 5, Farscape, old Twilight Zone classics are right up there. Actually many Tales from the Crypt are very well done and Alfred Hitchcock Presents suspense classics are great.

It's not just good writing, it's how the character says it, body language, pitch, emotional input. Communication is only 5% verbal, the rest is how a person looks at others or the surroundings, how the body is held tense or loose, what the hands are doing, shrugs, grimaces, sniffs, fiddling with exterior objects, and more.

Reality TV is useless garbage. Survivor, The Great Race, cook-offs, designer fetes, singing contests--the situations are contrived. The contestants/people are voted in to draw the most viewers by the greatest shock value and the most stupid/outrageous words/actions.

Being a good writer happens in part by being a good listener, you need to be able to discriminate between what you hear and what you're being told as in commercials.

Ex: Buy a new car for only $17,995 gets more people than a car for 5$ more at $18,000. What does the commercial push? Features, mileage, how a model is draped over the car (as if the woman is part of the extras), or how much more machismo also known as mental Viagra comes from driving a Hummer vs a Subaru.

I worked in advertising and what advertising sells what the advertiser wants you to believe, not what you actually need--which is reliable, inexpensive, transportation. Be an educated observer and question what you hear. Crest toothpaste won't make you popular, the Armani clothes won't make you a magnet for love, the Infiniti sedan won't enhance your business, Burger king fast food won't increase joyous times with friends, the Nike sneakers won't make you a better athlete.

What do you want the reader to take away?

Publishers Guidelines Oct 22, '08

2008-10-22T19:56:00.006+02:00

I sent out one of my literary children today. I hope for the best and am prepared for a rejection or more likely, no response whatsoever.

It's a novella, about 28K, enlarged a bit and darkened to fit the writing guidelines for which the publisher asked.

I spent about 20 years in the graphic arts field. I know the why of things for publishing standards. So I follow them. They aren't arbitrary rules just to piss off writers.

ALWAYS FOLLOW THE PUBLISHERS' GUIDELINES.

Not following them accounts for 99% of rejections. If you're a NAME like JK Rowling or Stephen King, you could submit in purple crayon on toilet paper, likely used. Since most of us are not, be wise, follow the publishers' instructions.

If the publisher doesn't say what they prefer, write an email and ask. Better to appear ignorant and become enlightened rather than assume, do it wrong, look stupid, and be trashed.

"Oh, but why? I want to stand out so they'll pick me!" Often comes from newbie eager writers.

News flash--there are reasons for a standard submission in the industry. Sticking out shows you're new, you're ignorant, and that you're cocky and rude not to have spent a wee bit of time cooperating and doing as the publisher asks. So why would anyone want to work with you?

"But I've written the next GREAT AMERICAN NOVEL!"

Yawn. No one will read it unless you send it conforming to the guidelines.

1: Ease of portage: it's easier to handle a stack of 8.5" x 11" & A4 (European size) paper than to have poster sized writing or your anthology tucked into a do-it-yourself 5x8" book, with pullouts, pop-ups, post-its for 'the good parts' etc.

2: It is a courtesy to follow the rules when you're in someone's home. Sending a book is going into the publishers' home. You keep your feet off the furniture, mind your manners, and give respect.

3: Ease of readability--this is the mechanical part:
--standard paper size: 8.5 x 11"/A4 20#/75k bond--plain copier/laser paper, not coated, no watermarks. WHITE only. No color, no exceptions.
--printed with margins min. 1.25"/3 cm from all edges because publishers write in these margins, and having white space allows the eyes to rest.
--solid black ink, minimum 360dpi. It's a decent contrast against the white paper and easy to read.
--only one side of the sheet printed. Yes, a waste of trees, but much easier than flipping over to read the back side--that takes time, time the publisher would rather spend reading. When an editor makes corrections these would likely bleed through to the back making it difficult for the author to see what's what.
--send it in a snug sturdy box for a large book, or a snug envelope with a sheet of same size cardboard to help keep the pages flat.
--leave the pages loose, no staples, no paper clips, none of those brass T-shaped paper holders that come in different sizes and the middle of the T opens to bend back around the pages. They make it hard to read what's on the binding edge. Don't send in a file folder, spiral binding, report binder with a slip on edge, keep the pages loose.

Formatting standards--I found these on the web:
--Use a fixed width font like Courier at 12 point. This is a font in which the 'I' takes up just as much room as the 'Z'. This way the publisher can determine how many words in a close approximate count. This count can be then projected into how many pages for a 5x8" or 6x9" whatever size book. It is also used to calculate the amount of paper needed, the amount of ink, the printing press time, the hours the printer person will need to be working, binding materials and time, the number of books that will fit into a box, number of boxes on a pallet for shipping, shipping costs, etc. All this depends on the word count.
--Line break use # symbol --just one, centered. This is a symbol that means space.
--If you need to italicize for thoughts, or for flashbacks, songs, etc, use underlines. Italics often get lost when converting between software programs.
--If you need emphasis, "Mary--look out!" Use 2 hyphens. A single hyphen is known as an en dash, 2 hyphens make an em dash, touch the em dash to the letters on either side.
These are old printing terms from the days of lead type. An en dash is one letter space, an em dash is two letter spaces. Often word processing programs will substitute a solid line for an em dash. Again, that can get lost in conversions.
--Paragraph indent 5 spaces from the left. Just hit the space bar 5 times, see where it goes and you can set your margin stop to there.
--Always double-space between lines & sentences, & after colons. Again easy to read. Yes, making it easy on the publisher will be appreciated.
--Flush left type -- not counting the indents for paragraphs, and leave the right ragged. Justifying with even margins makes it hard to read--we've all seen lines scrunched up, because paper costs money and this can save paper. It also makes type look wonky when they stretch to fit across the column but that's the price you pay, or not.

Top of first page on the upper left corner:

Author Name -- the real one you want the check made out to
Address
City, State, Zip
ten digit tel: (000) 000-0000
email addy (wshakespeare@gmail.com)

Make the email a professional one, don't use your surfing email like 2Hot@handle.com because it looks amateurish.

If you belong to a professional writing organization, you may list your membership beneath this information if it is relevant.

Top of first page on the upper right corner:
word count (2,500 words)
Byline, max 2 words of your title, page # (Milton, Paradise Lost, page 2)

DO NOT LABEL PAGE 1

How can you NOT put that in? Easy.

Top of MS Word, Insert menu, drop down, Page Numbers, has a box that you can check or not if you want the first page labeled.

In the upper-right corner of the first page place an approximate word count. If your manuscript is between one and 1,500 words long, round your word count to the nearest 100 words. For manuscripts of between 1,500 and 10,000 words, round to the nearest 500. For 10,000 to 25,000 words, round to the nearest 1,000. For 25,000 or more words, round to the nearest 5,000

You do not calculate the wordage of your story by counting actual words. Figure out the maximum number of characters per line in your manuscript, divide this number by six, and then multiply by the total number of lines in your story. This gives you the word count. Round from there.

This is for printing, if your work is to be on an ezine, the MS Word count will be accurate.

Center the title in bold capital letters about one third to halfway down the first page of your manuscript.

Two single lines below your title, you should place your centered byline. Your byline is the name that will receive credit for the story when it appears in print. Not necessarily the same as your real name.

Begin the text of your ms four single lines (or two double lines) below your byline.

If a word is too long to fit at the end of a line, then move the entire word to the beginning of the next line. Only if a phrase is normally hyphenated may you break it up at the end of a line. Thus, you must always place "antidisestablishmentarianism" on its own line, no matter how much empty space this leaves at the end of the line above. Never include a hyphen that you don't want to have show up in the final printed version of your manuscript.

Do not place "#" or "30" or "The End" or anything of the sort at the end of the story. The exception to this comes when the last line of your story happens to fall at the bottom of a page, write the word "end" by hand and in blue ink in the bottom margin of the last page.

Yes, following the guidelines can be a pain in the ass, but once you do, you've cut wayyyy down on the reasons for a publisher NOT read your story.

3 Evil Words--Make Me Proud, 9th Oct. '08

2008-10-09T14:37:00.003+02:00

This isn't exactly about writing but it will be.

'Make me proud' is a demand. It may be couched in a sweet tone, or a pleading one, but take away the coating and it's has nothing to do with love. It's conditional acceptance of something or someone to elicit the reaction of pride. A reaction like this is a secondary, side-line, parasitic disease sucking the life and energy like a leech.

The parent demands with the word 'Make'. The parent holds the child's life and dreams hostage for the lack of whatever in the parent's life.

When a parent says this--what are they looking for? The boy gets into the Little League because Dad loves baseball? The daughter is in law school because Mom always wanted to be in the middle of a courtroom drama?

Yes, parents want their children to do well, as authors want their work to sell, but that has got to low on the list because it is based on artifice. It's based on selfish reasons, not on love for the sake of something just being.

The parent is selfish using the word 'Me'. Oh, 'I gave the child life, the child owes ME'. Really? The parent is the one who provides the egg or sperm. The child HAS NO CHOICE IN BEING BORN. Many parents take away other choices: in what the child should do, whom they should be, what kind of spiritual life they should practice, what kind of partner with whom want to share their life, and on, and on.

Pride is a feeling of self-worth and self-respect. The one who says this, Make Me Proud, is stealing that worth and that respect from another. Emotional slavery reinforced by acting tall because one stands on another's shoulders.

I want this story to sell. I want the world to know me.

Is that going to be the basis for the writing?

Being published is not bad, making money from what you love to do is not bad.

We all enjoy laurel wreaths and financial recognition, but they are temporary. When champions rode through Rome, lauded by the crowds, one stood by whispering in their ear.

"Remember, thou art mortal."

Love isn't. When you love, that just keeps going. It's not based on 'Make Me Proud', or 'what are you going to do for me?' which stretches wants into the future, but on what is now.

I love this child, now, as she is, as he is, that's all. I want the best for this child. I give the child all the tools I know, all the tricks I have, all the places I know to be that, and I will give the child freedom to find her or his own path.

I love this story. I will make it as good as I can. I will look for others who will help me to do the same, and I am happy that it exists, here and now.

Editing pt 2--Oh You Knew This Was Coming :} Oct. 04, '08

2008-10-04T13:47:00.001+03:00

Based on a comment that what if the writing was 'A child caked in mud'? Love that, TL.

Take time off--3 days, 2 weeks, (let the mud dry), then randomly pick a passage and start there.

It's never as bad as you think. There's a purpose to 'mud' aside from keeping off insects and hiding the truth. Often literary mud is a way for us to protect ourselves--and we do need it. Writers sabotage their own work by being too critical, by losing the love they have for the art, for the play of words.

Forget the audience, forget the publisher, just tell the story. Read aloud to yourself as if you were a child--or appropriately aged audience of yourself. Read to share, not to scare. Don't rush through or feel like it's a chore, these are your words, with your heart in them. It's okay to feel a bit shy even with yourself.

You love this part of yourself whom you're reading to, and that listening part adores the writer. I'm not saying blind adoration, I'm saying again, GENTLE ACCEPTANCE. Let the flow come and be heard, watch for repetition that can be deleted and turned into a better description.

READ ALOUD--I repeat. This is an effective way to pick up all sorts of things, which can be improved. I catch the same descriptive phrases or words done in close proximity, or using the same word to begin two adjacent paragraphs. I can straighten out action and dialogue between two characters. I can embellish to make a description richer: blue becomes teal, indigo, cerulean, cyan, lapis, sapphire, topaz. Him or her, nameless--not so much of a connection, but give a name, even a made up one for a minor character: Duin, and you snag the reader. Names have meaning. We don't name something that we don't care about.

If you have that luxury of time, giving time between works in progress is helpful. If not, read the work differently.

I've only one pair of eyes! Unless you're an arachnid, but hey, we can still fool ourselves with changes in font, color, size, spacing, direction. These will all make us pay new attention to a familiar work.

Change the font style. Print the work out in a different font than the one you use for the screen. If you want to save paper, then just change the font on the screen. I always use Arial, similar to Helvetica, sans serif (Latin for without feet). Something like Courier or Times is a serif font. For some people the serifs feel like they link one letter to another making reading faster and easier--which means we can miss errors. Condensed type also makes us read faster, so do Italics because they are on a slant. Don't use them. Ponderous fonts labeled Black or Bold are hard to read because they look intimidating by calling attention to themselves. Good for titles but not for the body of work. I know, it's all optical illusion and psychology but it's true, so play into it and switch to Garamond or Gill sans.

Change the font color--do dark blue or red or purple. As you edit, change the read paragraph back to black so you can easily track what you've done.

Change the size. We pay attention when something is larger in our field of vision. One of those pesky instinct things.

Change the spacing between paragraphs. I write single space but with air, meaning more space with a double or space and a half between lines, again you feel less crowded and tend to see errors better.

Read back to front. What?! Yes, this does work. It's tedious, but reading the last paragraph and working your way back to the beginning is a whole new way to see the literary child.

Re-Re-Re et al Ad Nauseam Editing -- Or Not? Sept. 27 '08

2008-09-27T14:21:00.005+03:00

Many writers would rather have a combo root canal/colonoscopy with a pair of rabid weasels than do editing.

Why does editing our own work have such a bad connotation? For some it's the time constraints of needing the finished product out NOW. For other's it's the 'damn I was stupid to put that in/leave that out/why did I write such tripe?' moments. One character takes over a scene, another doesn't play nice, the mule in Ch. 6 is a donkey in Ch. 7 (my bad on that).

Why can't we write perfect the first time?

Because perfect is an illusion.

We need to BE GENTLE WITH OURSELVES AS WRITERS AND AS PEOPLE.

That's in all caps because we're not, not even me. We need to be that way, to nurture ourselves instead of 'I'm an idiot, oh that was stupid, you're a jerk'.

Rough geometry of comments and the effects: it takes 1000 'Good job!' to offset 1 'That's crap'. Even more, when we do it to ourselves.

This can all come back to why we write, for love.

We need to remember that love of writing whether we're sand surfing on Mars, gunslinging with Doc Holliday, flirting with Madame Pompadour, or telling how to get along with Vista. (I don't hate it quite as much any more).

We can't help being critical, or being judgmental. It's hardwired into us for survival--reading the signs of game that passed a few hours could mean a meal, vs. following signs days old that lead nowhere. But it's not good and evil, it just is.

That inner editor and the inner child are always battling for supremacy. So SHARE! Inner child gets to play alphabet soup and put down all sorts of stuff, and then inner editor gets to arrange into something cohesive. Damn it, they ARE FAMILY so they need to respect the time and effort each makes.

Dropkick that resentment of the inner child from the editor, because without those playful moments--there'd be nothing with which to build. Tone down that editor to a gentle parental role, nurturing the seeds the child plants. A broad cast works for some styles, measured furrows for others, or even a single pot, poke a finger in the soil, drop in the seed and cover it gently.

The child and the editor aren't adversaries, but complementary, both are the progenitor of the story, and stories, like everything else, grow best with love.

Reading and Writing Evolution -- Sept. 08, '08

2008-09-08T14:02:00.006+03:00

We read books, newspapers, magazines, web pages, those little comic bits wrapped around bubble gum and oatmeal packages. Why do we do this? It's for information, for increasing our chances of doing something better tomorrow, and for entertainment.

Early humans looked to the skies for changes in the weather, they watched migration patterns and the prints of animals. If you didn't 'read' your surroundings the right way, you could die.

Likely the first marks for communication were simple ||| like that to record things like exchanges of skins for flint knives.

Permanent marks were needed for conveying ideas over time. The Rosetta stone in 3 dialects is over 2200 years old and still is readable.

Wax tablets were easier to carry and reusable, so too parchment made from goat or sheep skin, scraped thin as it was reused. Papyrus has been used for 5000 years. While not nearly as durable unless sealed in a moisture/temperature proof place, papyrus was the peak of mobility being lightweight and easy to roll up or fold.

While for eons, only the wealthy and powerful could read and write--or have someone to do it for them. All work was laboriously transcribed by hand. A personal library of a dozen manuscripts was considered unusual.

The dissemination of knowledge for the common folks came by word of mouth. Bards, messengers, and visitors were the news carriers of the day.

In 1455, Johannes Gutenberg used a machine with movable type to print 200 copies of the Bible. He made words available for everyone to read. Written ideas were no longer the province of the rich and the influential.

We can read Chaucer, not easily, but those are the words he wrote, printed in his time, brought by mechanical means to ours. We can watch the changes in how ideas were conveyed from monarchs to philosophers, from Ovid's Metamorphoses explaining how the world was made to Oscar and Hammerstein's musicals. What went before is still here, we can see the world in books, so read.

Character Changes and Growth -- Sept. 06, '08

2008-09-06T13:34:00.004+03:00

In the Odyssey, which spans 20 years, Ulysses driving force is to return home with his beloved Penelope. Tucking the disastrous Trojan war into one corner--to which conflict Ulysses didn't want to join in the first place, but he was tricked. As king of Ithaca, subject to the vow of all for one, he had to back up any war declared by any Greek king. King Agamemnon's brother Menelaus lost honor when Helen ran off with Prince Paris of Troy. Only blood would wash away the dishonor.

Ulysses feigned madness to get out of going to the war. Having yoked a donkey and an ox to his plow, he plowed a field with salt--basically killing anything for further growth for years until the salt left the earth. Palamedes, at Agamemnon's request, figured wily Ulysses was feigning. He placed Telemachus, Ulysses's infant son in the way of the plow. Ulysses stopped and admitted his madness was a ruse. He went to war.

Ulysses' Trojan horse idea ended the decade-long conflict, but getting home took another ten years. Blinding the Cyclops, Polyphemus caused his delay as the Cyclops are sons of Poseidon. The sea god followed his blinded son's request for vengeance and Ulysses came home alone, all his men dead, having lost everything.

Did Ulysses change? He started out not wanting war, he tried everything to avoid it, but when the time came, his ideas changed the course for the Argive victory. He was no coward, but he knew there are other ways of changing things than killing and killing. In that he was right, up to a point.

Ulysses came home nearly naked, scarred, unrecognizable except by his old dog who died at his feet. His old nurse knew him by this. He took his son into his confidence.

Penelope was besieged by suitors who had insisted she take a husband rather than wait on a dead man. His son, still a minor, was treated like a servant and not as his father's heir. Ulysses disguised as an old man by Athena, noted the dishonor of these men to him as a king and to Penelope as their queen.

Penelope had tried to hold them off by weaving a shroud for Ulysses during the day, unraveling the threads at night. This worked until a maidservant betrayed her mistress and the loom was broken, the shroud burnt. Meeting the old man who gave a loving account of Ulysses quest to get home, Penelope made a decision. If any man could bend and string Ulysses' bow, and send an arrow through the eyes of a dozen axe heads, he would be king and have her as his queen, along with all the lands and wealth Ulysses' had.

Penelope had it set it up, she also had all weapons removed from the rooms, then she and her maids and household locked themselves away. The suitors mocked the dead king and each boasted of having his queen. No man had Ulysses' strength and all declared the bow cursed and the task undoable. The old stranger nocked the sting, he sent the shaft true. The noble suitors turned to kill him, Athena's guise fell away. Ulysses paid back the foul deeds and the greedy suitors in blood, returning honor to his home.

Did Ulysses change? All he wanted from the get go was to be with his family. He tried to make peace before the war, he tried not going, he tried faking madness, he followed Agamemnon and did all he could to end the conflict, because he wanted to go home.

Despite the action, the adventures, the angst, that's secondary to Ulysses' motive, his goal, of being with his wife and son. Of course this discounts Ulysses screwing around with women captives, or Circe, or Calypso. Despite these dalliances, Ulysses wanted home above all.

The character changes no matter what--whether we plan on them having a 'duh' moment or a life-shattering epiphany. By the end of the book, they've gone through some medium to heavy duty sh*t and that's been stretched out over days or decades.

A major assh*le can ease off a little or become even worse and out villain the villain. A person with a sunny disposition can fall into stupor or become psychotic with a 'god wants it that way' approach to everything, denying any responsibility for her life. One character can believe something about herself even more so: I'm not lovable becomes why should I try anymore. Or the MC builds shells around herself with each disappointment, and even each victory, as if she didn't deserve what came. By getting harder inside she's stronger for an even more fateful outcome later.

Frodo found an inner strength he didn't know he had.

Little Red Riding Hood--in a lighter version--nearly lost her beloved Granny if the woodcutter hadn't stopped by to chop up the wolf.

Change will happen, that's the nature of change.

How Do You Write a Book?--Sept. 01, '08

2008-08-31T16:38:00.005+03:00

That's a huge question but not that difficult to answer. Number one, you have to want to tell a story. Doesn't matter the genre, or the setting. Number two, you need to keep the audience involved.

You also need to know the basics of grammar and punctuation. Strunk and Whites The Elements of Style is here in a free ebook http://www.bartleby.com/141/

You need to use plotting that carries the drama forward rather than sidetrack with things that don't keep the main idea foremost: Ex: In Alice in Wonderland we follow Alice's adventures. We aren't drawn away by what her sister is doing or what the cat Dinah gets after. Lewis Carrol sticks with Alice and her activities, her thoughts.

You need to know the difference between Show and Tell. Today the emphasis is more on Show 80/20 to Tell

Tell is visual with few details that connect: He was afraid.

Show involves the senses, emotions and thoughts: His knees shook, the blood pounded in his veins, his face went white and a sour taste rose in his throat.

15ish years ago I had a wet cold marvelous afternoon, despite a massive migraine, being a character in a live action role play. That choreographed plot led to me writing a story about it, then adding my friends' characters, then switching to another online RP, then making up more characters and having adventures beyond that.

I'm into the 4th book, editing the 1st and will do the same for 2 & 3 with only my original characters and situations in the series.

It all started with 'what if there's this woman with scales on her left side' then there's how that happened, her family, her upbringing, her friends, her enemies, her loves and hates, what's happening in the larger world, what ties things together, and on and on.

Everyone has a past, a present and a future. No matter the genre here's always more to write about the person, the climate, culture, the civilization, the cuisine. Stories end at some point but the characters have children, friends, enemies, their actions which set another plot going.

So you write, and rewrite, and carry a small notebook with you for ideas, and have one in the toilet, in the living room, by the bed, in the car, because ideas are and do come from everywhere. Just write them down.

To Blog or Not to Blog -- Aug. 26, '08

2008-08-26T22:52:00.004+03:00

This is writing too, doing it for fun, for family news, for sharing recipes, trip suggestions, for offering tips on making quilts, or writing books, or any of thousands of topics--do it with care.

Secret to blogging: write at your comfort level--but do it wisely.

If you don't mind your grammy reading the dishabille details about the night you spent cavorting with the penguins (sobering up the next am to realize you just defrocked several dwarf nuns) go for it!

If you change the names and places to hide the innocent/guilty--that's a good thing. Libel and slander DOES get prosecuted.

If you give your home addy, tel #, school or place of business, and other personal info like bank and credit cards that someone can use to fleece you, you're dumber than a bag of plastic rocks. Or you're a child who doesn't know better and that's VERY dangerous.

There are folks out there who are looking for prey, and that can be with promises of friendship, making money, giving to a worthy cause, etc, -- BE CAREFUL PEOPLE!

PARENTS! Your kids can talk to the world out there and it's not all Carebears and Barney. Kids think a stranger looks scary, talks scary. No, they look like a nice person who shows interest and wants to be your friend, telling you about their kitten or puppy while pulling snippets of information out, grooming the child to be their next target.

You want to give your child independence, you want to keep them safe. For younger children, offer to read their blog and help out with news, for older ones, explain that not everyone is as nice as they seem from words typed on the screen. For your middle and highschool kids--let them know the truth as raw and horrible as the child is mature enough to handle. You want to protect them, you don't want them running out to see 16 year old Bobby from the coast who's a 45 year old pedophile getting his kicks while strangling your child.

If you blog nasty stuff or gossip about work or brag about doing something really stupid on Facebook, Myspace, etc, chances are someone who has influence in your life can and will read it, and decide you are not the person they want as a friend, co-worker, etc. People HAVE gotten fired, expelled and arrested for their confessions.

Different blog sites work for different types of blogs: from personal family and friends news sites that you need a password to read, or public ones that are out there for anyone to look at. many give areas for favorites in music, books, movies, etc, others offer enough room for pictures though if you require more than the standard space you can usually upgrade and buy more.

Again, blog with your good sense.

FanFic--Does It Work for You? Aug. 11, '08

2008-08-11T20:30:00.005+03:00

Some years ago, I did fanfic and had a great time polishing the writerly muscles. You're given names, setting, etc, but what adventures can you have that keeps the original identifiable as such?

I read a whole lot of crap, and a few gems, which is what got me into writing fanfic in the first place. I felt that I could do better than most and as well as the top 5%. I got on a few popular sites, had some great times with fanfic fans. Then I wanted to tell stories with similar but not exact characters. In fanfic those are called ubers: different names, different times.

I always credited the original author/company and posted on free sites. These tales were to be shared with fans, they were not for sale.

A few good fanfic writers do continue stories of popular series and characters. There are hundreds of StarTrek and Star Wars books NOT written by Gene Roddenberry (while he was alive) or by George Lucas, for two examples.

Often with known names who stop their series, the publishing companies will look for writers who can copy that style and continue the adventure of the character, the family, the sweeping saga of a nest of mice. :}

Ghost writer Andrew Neiderman is still doing Flowers In the Attic books. The original author, V.C. Andrews died in '86. Her name still goes on the books, a percentage goes to her heirs, and a bit goes to Mr. Neiderman.

All these 'well-known' books are formulaic and are based on a paradigm of any number of familiar tales that go back as far as stories themselves: Marduk vs Tiamat--god vs dragon, Gilgamesh--the flawed hero, Old Woman and Coyote the Trickster--from American Indian tales, Amaterasu--the Japanese goddess who brought light to the world, etc. The Cat in the Hat is the Trickster all over again :}

Romeo and Juliet is based on a Greek tale from 1500 years before: Pyramis and Thisbe, off from that we have West Side Story.

Boiled down, everything is 'fan fiction' done by those who love what they read. If you are willing to put in the work: change the names, add new drama, put in a new setting, and write a good story, anything can happen.

Work In Progress--WIP, or Not, Aug. 10, '08

2008-08-10T14:47:00.006+03:00

That novel or story feels as limp as an overcooked noodle. You can't always blame the muse. Sometimes it's the how of writing not the what.

Bumps and blocks come and then they DO GO! I had one for 20 months--nasty f**ker, but I kept thinking about my characters, I wrote notes to friends, I did other silly non-WIP stuff, and when I came back--they were there, waiting, ready to rock and roll.

There are times when it's more than BIC (Butt in Chair) and it's possible to identify souces of irritants that AREN'T RELATED (directly) to writing.

Surroundings: Does your writing area look inviting or would it be better off if a mudslide covered it, after a fire, a flood, and a tornado cleans up?

A comfortable chair that gives good support -- with or without arms is essential. So is a table at the right height, big enough to let you have 'props' to make you feel good about yourself: pix of family and pets, small statues of favorite things, rocks from special places, a bit of room off to the side for your tea and a brownie.

I've a mini-bookshelf with 5 dragon-themed knives and 1 sword, a bunch of tiny dragon figurines, 4 teddy bears (okay I'm wierd) rocks and shells from places we've been to: Dead, Red and Med seas, & Masada, a bunch of notebooks, my fav pens which I have to keep the cats from running off with.

Good lighting that focuses on the surface of your work space and doesn't glare, and no reflections of sunlight from a mirror to throw you off.

Your monitor top should be either level or higher than your line of sight. Otherwise your neck and sholders will hurt. Hardcover big old books will work in a pinch until you get something permanant to get that screen up.

NOTE: Makeshift 'raisers' can be unsteady if you don't have a big enough base--and sometimes even if you do. So secure your screen with something solid--baby bungee cords or those heavy leather bootlaces. You, the kids, the pets can knock the screen off and that would piss you off.

When was the last time you had your eyes checked? Seriously? I had trouble seeing the screen 2 years ago. I went from contacts to glasses, and the screen was bearable only if I sat a certain way. I realized I needed reading glasses too! Horrible bow to aging eyes but they stopped bothering me and the screen and I have a much better rapport.

If the mouse you're using alot makes that tendon running from your thumb down to your wrist hurt--look into the 3m mouse: http://store.ergocube.com/3mermous.html

Honest, again it keeps the wrist and hand in a natural position. We've one here that's been lasting 5 years now.

Clean the mouse! That little circle underneath where the ball is pops open and dust, hair, and entire Horton Hears a Who universes live there! A bit of glass cleaner on a cloth will help get the crud off. All that crap gets in the wheels too, a pair of tweezers here can be helpful. A new mousepad that isn't worn helps too.

Closed mice--battery-free like those at www.A4Tech.com -- I've one and I love it--has the mouse pad that plugs into the USB port. The pad is smooth and I clean it and the bottom of the mouse with a bit of glass cleaner every few weeks.

Hurts your wrists to type? RSI--Repetitive Strain Injuries are common to folks who do the same thing over and over, like us writing for hours. Inexpensive solutions: Take a 15 min break every hour, make some tea, water the plants, rub your wrists.

Buy an ergonomic keyboard! Most keys go |||||| .
Draw your hands up from your sides and they NATURALLY turn in like this: ////\\\\.

If you've a laptop that doesn't have an ergonomic keyboard, there are plastic platforms that raise the bottom a bit like so: / 30 degrees or thereabouts. I put two small metal angles like L's at the bottom of my wooden one so the laptop won't slide off. This also raises the screen to be easier on the neck.

I made one of wood scraps in 10 min with a few screws. Been doing good for me.

Don't EVER give up writing!

Winner Doesn't Take All--Pyrrhic Victories, July 29, '08

2008-07-29T21:59:00.006+03:00

Does the main character have to save the world? No, she doesn't, just her part, and that's not always a positive thing.

In the 1st Ikarias novel, Ikarias has help ridding the world of an evil sorceress, but that's after the woman has done some serious damage.

In the 2nd book, Ikarias and friends undo a demon monarch but again there is loss--especially to Ikarias' lover.

In the 3rd of the series, Ikarias wins a war but loses her partner to the daughter of the demon monarch from the previous book.

In #4, so far--Ikarias searches with the sister of her partner-- which sister will die at the end. The partner will have undergone some horrific changes that are probably permanent.

In an early novella I did years ago, the main character sells more than her soul to get the bad guy, which she does. Then she finds out the cost at the end and she's left searching for that which she NEVER would have given up--had she known.

Having a dichotomy is good--it's real, no matter the genre. No one really wins 100% in anything without a secret or overt cost--or both.

The detective finds the serial killer but that is AFTER the body count is way too high. The scientist finds the cure for X, but again, X has killed so many while the scientist was researching, experimenting, etc. that it's a often a pyrrhic victory.

That little term relates to Pyrrhus, a second cousin of Alexander the Great. Pyrrhus fought Rome as Rome was growing mightier with each passing day. He won, but often with staggering losses.

You may have unplugged the fan but the sh*t still hits it :}

Zinger Lines July 8, 2008

2008-07-08T01:23:00.004+03:00

*Got the baby back. My Toshiba laptop had a furked up video/screen wire. Fixed that and I'm up and rolling. I'm also paranoid about saving stuff ASAP. Now back to writing stuff.*

There's a line here and there in novels and shorts that just bring the whole story home. Some folks call it an eyeball kick, I call it a zinger line. The tone can be wry, blase, terrifying, regretful, funny, bitter, any number of deliveries.

Examples come to mind:
Shakespeare's Othello-- Act 5 just before he kills Desdemona:
"Put out the light, then put out the light."

This is the whole play, the motive, the passion. Everything Othello is, is about loving too much, beyond the ability to reason, up to and including destroying what he loves most. The light of reason, the light of love, the light of any day he will live through will be utterly obliterated.

Mark Twain's short story, Eve's Diary--
Adam speaks at Eve's grave: "Wherever she was, there was Eden."

Again, that is all that mattered to Adam. Not losing Paradise and being chastized by God, or seeing the horror of one son killing the other, but that partner who stood by him, she was everything.

Christopher Marlowe's Doctor Faustus:
Lucifer offers Dr. F. some of the most beautiful women in history, Helen of Troy shows up and he remarks: "The face that launched a thousand ships." Though the Dr. forgets that the destruction over 20 years left scars to the present day.

Charles Dickens' A Tale of Two Cities:
"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times" can certainly apply today when we have amazing technology and horrific genocide.

Not all lines will resonate the same with everyone. Sometimes they're at the beginning of a work or scattered inside or at the end.

Some of my fav lines from my works:

--'the stars picked holes in the night'. I like because it's not describing friendly twinkling stars like sequins. It's not a romantic or meditative sky. It's pulling off scabs, or sticking pins into flies.

--'None of your business what I kept my third eye on.' Says the woman who's more than she seems. She watches, she acts only when she needs to being gentle and nurturing to a friend while allowing others to dispose of a danger in a messy manner.

--'I like to take care of my birthday suit. It's the only one I have.' Is a blatant falsehood, but no other character knows it. For the speaker it's an inside joke, one only the reader will get.

What are your zinger lines?

Save It Immediately Dammit! June 22, 2008

2008-06-22T01:22:00.008+03:00

I'm slogging away on the 4 + year old emachine laptop since my 1 year old Toshiba laptop decided to give me a blank stare the other day. I'm pretty sure it's the video card since the bugger goes from black to dark grey as if it's trying to show but can't. Good news it pooped out 2 days before the warranty was up so I'm sort of saved.

This emachine is prone to over heating--which I find out AFTER I buy it--which is why I bought a new laptop. Everything has a weakness. One of mine is chocolate but that's another blog :}

SAVE what is typed immediately! Silly me, I worked on little stuff here and there thinking no problem and then I can't see a damned thing. I've 3 pages edited on a work for a friend, some flash fiction pieces, photos I haven't copied over--get the picture? No, me neither! ARGH!

I'm usually anal retentive about saving anything new I've done, added, etc, but I forgot, got lazy, didn't think it would happen to me, fill in the blank. *sniff*

There's oodles of places and gadgets to keep your sanity from being pulled out with your hair when something like this happens. Check out the list:

Email: I send my recent stuff to my gmail account, I can retrieve it and it's fairly safe. Gmail is free, over 7 gigs now, and will hold quite a lot. I think Yahoo and AOL are hefty too.

CD/DVD, R & RW: these are pretty cheap from 700 MB to 8 gig in bundles of 10-50 at about 10c each and with the rewrite if you wipe it you can reuse it. Copying over same-name files is simply drag and drop.

USB drive/memory stick/disk-on-key: whatever you call it it's that thumb-sized doohickey that can hold up to 12 gig or so at about 10-20$ per gig. I had the unfortunate experience of getting a bad SanDisk that had some damned virus that created numerous folders with 000000000 as the name, filled with 50+ more files of the same name. Deleting them didn't work, using antiviruses didn't work, it was a flaw in the hardware chip and not something that I could fix--or trust so now I have a Verbatim and an Apus.

External harddrive: 40 gig for about $80 here, (converting shekels to dollars), can be used with any computer, doesn't take up much room at 2" wide x 6" deep x 8" high.

I'm hoping the repair folks don't have to wipe my memory to fix my baby.

Describe the Perfect...June 16 2008

2008-06-16T11:23:00.008+03:00

Perfect what? Argh! First off, there's no such thing but we CAN describe something to the best of our knowledge or imagination!

Quick exercise to jump start the muse: food--last or current meal.

I'm having breakfast. I've mixed two packages of Instant Quaker Oats--and yes, they do have them here in Israel. One's peaches and cream, the other is blueberries and cream. Now I could wax on about the ingredients as a list and how food companies save money: they often use cheaper apples cut, colored, and flavored to substitute for other more expensive fruits, or I could just do taste as I know real blueberries and peaches:

The oatmeal is very warm, not hot enough to burn but to explode through the mouth with the alternating bumpy and smooth texture. The blueberries taste come in small bursts stronger than the peach that sneaks in with a subtle stubbornness. The oatmeal flakes are the quiet homogenous background, happy to soak up the brown sugar I added.

I'm drinking a pint of Lipton Yellow Label tea, based on orange & black peko tea leaves. I've added sweetened condensed milk for a creamier texture, and two sweetners. This I like almost scalding to feel each swallow drop down my throat into my stomach. The tea leaves have a flicker of sharpness in their scent. The thick milk spreads out to fill and change the color of the tea from sable to a pale sepia.

Almost done with the oatmeal. The heavier brown sugar has sunk to the bottom of the bowl making the last spoonfuls extra sweet. Does this do anything more than promise the next bowl will be just as enjoyable?

This is a comfort food breakfast.

Hope you enjoyed it as much as I did.

Fear of Writing May 19 2008

2008-05-19T10:45:00.004+03:00

Yeah, you think as writers we'd be well over that little phobia by now. Nah, it still sneaks in like a cramp from an okay looking piece of fruit that ended up being not quite ripe but we weren't going to waste it and toss it after one bite.

Natalie Goldberg is one of my inspirational writing mentors. I never met her. I have read a number of her books: Writing Down the Bones, Wild Mind, Thunder and Lightning, and Long Quiet Highway several times each. I do that to keep reminding myself that someone else has gone through this, I'm not alone.

Every word is a step. You walk a mile, 5280 feet gives 2112 steps, about 30 inches apart for my stride.

Teams play a football game on TV that lasts 3 hours, but up to that time they have practiced for hours every day 6 days a week for months.

You can run but it took months to learn to crawl, then to walk, and then to decide where to run, for how long, and to what purpose.

Why should writing be any different? Our works don't come full blown like Athena dressed and ready to kick ass--I wish! Words grow, they follow the sun and close up at night. Or they stay still during the day and spread out like night-blooming jasmine. They have a pace and depending on what you feed them--they will keep growing, in unexpected directions sometimes but that's okay too.

Don't be afraid. As Natalie Goldberg says, give yourself permission to write the worst crap in the world.

Even the words you don't use will lead to the ones you do. Call them fertilizer, call them maintenance activities, call them warm-ups for the finale, they aren't wasted.

Stab the Bastard! May 10, 2008

2008-05-10T17:20:00.008+03:00

Or to be a tad less flamboyant: Bad Guy--BG, hurts Main Character--MC, but how?

Okay, lets take it from the top:

1. stabbed with what:
knife, pencil, sword, ice pick, toasting fork, etc.
A thin blade--like a stiletto or rapier will leave a smaller wound though deep, a scimitar leaves a wide one, broken glass from a bottle can slice and dice like a scalpel.

Which era is the MC in, what type of weapon is the BG likely to use?

2. MC stabbed where:
A: clean area--chest with heart, lungs, liver
B: dirty area--stomach, intestines, bladder, kidneys--any perforations here and waste matter gets out for a secondary infection
C: head--face, eyes, cheeks, neck
D: limbs--clipping the femoral artery inside the thigh--as thick as your thumb, and you'll bleed out in 2-3 minutes.

How long does the fight last? Quick means a fast chest stab may hit a rib and deflect worse injury. Prolonged means the BG can strike multiple times and do serious damage.

How proficient is the BG? Is s/he a pro? Drunk? On drugs? In a rage?

What about the MC? Knows self-defense? Carries a weapon too? Knows of the impending attack? Is clueless?

How does the fight play out? Both standing, one stands and one sits, BG dives from a roof onto MC below, BG cuts from under the basement stairs across MC's Achilles' tendon?

What's the MC wearing--depends on personal taste, weather, social class, job, etc. A heavy coat can take longer to stab through. Add an inner pocket with something to deflect or slow a blade and your MC is lucky.

Size and shape of BG to MC matters as well: a small person attacking a larger one would have less force.

Unconsciousness can come from the impact of a fall after an assault, or a choke hold from behind while being stabbed. If the MC goes unconscious from a bleedout, survival isn't assured.

If the victim is not quite human--werebeast, alien, etc, the organs could regenerate faster or even be missing, in different places, etc.

Yes, miracles do happen, but keep it real or the reader will wish that all the characters kick off ASAP and quit wasting time.

The Power of Words Saturday, Nov. 24, 2007

2007-11-24T19:30:00.004+02:00

I'm not talking abracadabra, but effective communication.

Free speech has been replaced by responsible speech: You don't yell 'FIRE' in a crowded place, nor should you call out a simple greeting to your friend John in the airport, 'HI JACK!'

Ripped from the headlines, as many crime/detective etc. shows and books claim, many unthinking (to be charitable) and deliberately cruel examples show up all the time.

How many times do perpetrators say to the victims or witnesses, 'Tell anyone and I'll kill them, then I'll come after you.' Messages of retribution are left in the guise of body parts or dead pets.

Talk shows are notorious for pitting neighbor vs. neighbor, or exploiting internecine family agnst for ratings. Murders have occurred, notably after the Jenny Jones show of a few years ago in which a man was brought on as the object of affection by a secret admirer--another man--to his shock. The reaction some time later came as a gunshot from the one loved to the one he had no interest in whatsoever. Recently, another revelation on a makeover show had the shamed and humiliated recipient killing herself.

A new Megan's law is trying to stop cyber-bullying but it doesn't work retroactively. In 2006, a 13 year old girl named Megan was on medication for manic-depression. She had a falling out with a girlfriend down the street whom she'd known for years. The mother of the friend went on line acting as a teen boy 'Josh', saying nice things for weeks then slamming Megan saying 'the world would be better off if she was dead.' Less than an hour after that text message, Megan had indeed killed herself. The world is not better off.

Is this woman who pretended to be Josh guilty of murder? Or merely an accessory? Deliberately causing emotional damage knowing the unstable nature of the recipient--is this a crime or an 'unfortunate series of events'. The communication was effective. The message was clear.

Words do indeed have power.

Critiques and Rejections August 25, 2007

2007-08-25T13:11:00.008+03:00

Writers, like everyone else, need approval and pats, and we also need good critics--ones who will point out the flaws as well as the diamonds.

Writing scares me because I need to do it, and if I'm not doing it, I'm thinking of doing it. Isn't that the definition of obsession or addiction? Then I'm in good company with millions of others.

Writing scares others because it is isolating, it's retreating into your world, whether the sky is green and the sand red, or you're doing a technical manual on how to use Vista (which I abhor but that's a rant for another site).

I've been with Critters, a critiquing group for f/h/sf for nearly a decade. I cringe whenever I put something up, then I see the dreck--that's old-fashioned Yiddish for crap/refuse/garbage (as an American living in Israel I do understand that)--from others. I see seeds of roses in them that a great story can be built around. I have seeds too.

We're all trying to get better at our craft, we flinch when someone reads and hates it, or worse when they don't want to read it at all. I know I've done crap but it's also nourishing seeds for another time.

When a fellow writer or editor rejects us, who are they really rejecting? Muses willing, it's the writing that needs the improvement. If they reject you, the writing isn't and has never been the issue, no matter what the other person says. Losing a friendship over it is hard, they lash out at your literary children and we as the penning parents defend our offspring. That's on the top, the underlying issue is different. Often it's jealousy that they like your writing better, or they think they're doing 'serious' writing and you with the fantasy are just copying a genre. What someone says negatively needs a hardlook: do I mix tenses, lack continuity, ramble on? If so, I need to go in and fix it. If the person doesn't like me, f--k 'em.

All writing is valid, no matter if it's the daily journal no one sees or the blog thousands read. We're reaching out to communicate, to entertain, to inform, to soothe, to touch, and hope the reader gets our message.

The writer must be his/her first and best audience. Do it for love and hope someone else loves it enough to pay for it. Find a support person or 3 who listen and feedback, and you support them in their love of photography or gardening or whatever.

Call them and say: 'send me good vibes, I'm going to submerge myself in my book for 2 hours and write'. Call them back after and thank them. Letting someone know not only gives you the push, it gives you a place to start from and a place to end without guilt.

We write for many reasons, and we can not write for as many more.

When I need a push and or validation, I turn to writers I trust and read Natalie Goldberg's books: Writing Down the Bones, Wild Mind, Thunder and Lightning, Long Quiet Highway. I read Julia Cameron's Walking in This World, Vein of Gold, The Right to Write.

I may still be writing dreck, but I am writing. Fertilizer is never wasted.

The Naming of Names May 27, 2007

2007-08-25T00:40:00.001+03:00

Ikarias Book 4 official name: 'Labyrinth's Edge', up to 3 chapters 5K+ word count.

How do names for books get chosen? What makes a good name?

My books are a series: 'Ikarias, Tales from the Worlds of the Half-Dragon'. That describes a name, that there's several things going on, that it encompasses more than one geographical area, and what my main character is.

For series name, it's longish, but the most important character is first so asking for the 'latest Ikarias novel' (wishing really hard that happens soon! lol) is easy. The name may be difficult to pronounce. Some people will think of Icarus, the flyboy, Daedelus' rash son, but that's one story, roughly 2000 years old so the competition isn't new.

What about secondary titles? Since the first is long, keeping the rest to two words is important. The shorter the name the easier it is for people to remember, also, puns, slang, assonance (vowel repetition), and alliteration (consonant repetition) help people to recall. Think 'Centaur Isle'-pun, 'How Stella Got her Groove Back' -slang, 'Angela's Ashes'-assonance, 'Pride and Prejudice'-alliteration.

In Ikarias Book 1: 'Sorceress' Game' describes what is going on: A 15 going on 5000 year old sorceress plays with the lives of Ikarias and her friends.

Ikarias Book 2: 'Soul Teind' focuses on what the debt of a soul is for, who has it, why the young woman Cephira who pays it is threatened, where it is paid, to whom, and how she copes with the bargain made in exchange for her life and that of her sisters. Ikarias and friends come to the rescue.

Ikarias Book 3: 'Balanced Scales' is Ikarias' search to bring her two halves into synch. She tries to find justice for who/what she is when drastic changes take over. Balanced also refers to her frame of mind, and of course scales are what dragons and Half-Dragons have. Scales are also associated with justice.

Coming up to 'Labyrinth's Edge', Ikarias Book 4. The edge does not mean the end, or the beginning, it's a place where one must leave in order to escape.

This brings us back to Daedalus who was the architect of the greatest and most deadly labyrinth. The name comes from the duo-headed axe with curves edges, labrys, Ikarias' favorite weapon. Pasiphae, the wife of Minos, the king of Crete was cursed to fall in love with a bull. This bull had been a gift from the sea god, Poseidon, to Minos. Minos was to sacrifice the bull to Poseidon, but he didn't. The bull was huge, it was without blemish. Minos didn't want to slay and burn the magnificent animal. You do not disobey a god. In revenge upon Minos, of course the god hit on his wife--gods prefer the anguish of suffering by a family member of the prime offender rather than smack the one who did the wrong. Gods are like that.

Pasiphae fell madly in love with the bull. This was before anyone knew of DNA so the laws of genetic matching didn't exist. He impregnated her, no one knows whether the bull brought her flowers and dinner first, if he did bring a bouquet he probably ate it.

Minos himself was the son of the god Zeus who in bull-shape seduced and boffed Europa. Hera found out and turned Europa into a cow pestered by flies. (Again the god doesn't punish the instigator. Zeus was notorious for skirt-chasing. Poor Hera had to be satisfied with making the damsels' lives a living hell. She wasn't too kind to her step-children either, as if children are cursed for the sins of their parents.) Europa swam across the sea landing far from Hera's wrath and the name of the place stuck. She gave birth there though I'm not sure in which form.

When Pasiphae gave birth, her son was bull from the head or waist up. Unable or unwilling to kill this monster, and certainly in no mood to coddle it, King Minos had the world's leading architect design a place where the bull-boy grew up to be a bull-man, the Minotaur, away from any contact. Meat or criminals were thrown in the labyrinth to feed him, until the war with Athens.

Androgeus was Minos' son, all human, a sterling fellow who visited Athens and King Aegeus. Androgeus and other young men went hunting for a dangerous bull. (Any one see a theme developing here? ) The bull killed him. Mad with grief, Minos invaded Athens and agreed to spare the city only if seven maidens and seven youths came to him every nine years. They were put into the labyrinth where the minotaur found them and ate them.

Theseus, visiting Athens, offered to take the place of one youth and kill the bull beast that was eating the best of the Athenian population. Aegeus made him promise when he sailed back, if the sails were white--victory that the minotaur was dead, or black for failure, as they were on the sorrowful voyage out.

Ariadne was the daughter of Minos and Pasiphae. Seeing Theseus, she fell in love and gave him a string to maneuver through the labyrinth to safety. He came upon the sleeping minotaur and beat him to death with his fists.

Scratching head--if this bull beast was so fearsome how could a mere man kill it with his bare hands? That's where stretching the fictional tale gets thin enough to read through.

Taking Ariadne and the thirteen other teens, Theseus sailed for home. Ariadne was abandoned on the isle of Naxos where the god Dionysus ruled. He's not only the god of wine but the god of beasts. Perhaps Ariadne felt guilty at having been the instrument of her half-brother's death. Exuberant with escape and freedom, Theseus forgot to change the black sails to white. Seeing the dark sails, in grief, Aegeus threw himself from the cliffs into the sea now bearing his name, the Aegean.

Like fate, labyrinths have many edges. The edges are often the most dangerous place to be.

Publish or Perish--Literary Children May 18, 2007

2007-08-25T00:38:00.000+03:00

That's a well-known chestnut for the world of academia: you either make a place with the two-dimensional effort of writing an article/argument/thesis et. al. on paper or you are invisible to the rest of the world.

I've had a short tale accepted for the Sept '08 issue of Aoife's Kiss, one of several hard copy/ezines part of http://samsdotpublishing.com/aoife/main.htm. My 6th publishing credit.

'Sin Twister' came as a gift from the Muse in complete opposite of what I had planned. Which is why it's better. It's not the tale of revenge and hate I'd planned--that's too easy, but a tale of redemption by increments. I wrote it in 3 days, it's short and one of the best things I've ever done.

I still need to get Ikarias 1, to a publisher. 25 querys to lit agents have gone over 2 months with maybe 12 'no thanks' and as many non-answers. In this case no news means no interest. Agents have far too many queries to respond with even a form letter. I do think it's rude but I also understand time constraints.

http://agentinthemiddle.blogspot.com/ is by an agent describing her full day/life and the crap she endures because writers don't follow simple rules.

I've 3500 words started on book 4 of Ikarias, either titled 'Keramin Heights' or 'Demons' Dreams'. Titles are tricky. Make them out of whole cloth with no reference: those who've read the previous books will know of Keramin Heights but those who don't will think of heights as mountains and maybe Keramin as a name. This will be a darker book. 'Demons' Dreams' can cover a lot of ground with alliteration, the darkness of several characters, the darkness discussions and delved into depravity, the demonic activities, etc.

Back to the title: if publishers see credits they know someone wants/wanted you, making you more attractive to them. The more credits, the more you're visible with your efforts, showing off your literary children like a proud parent should. If you don't act and feel like they're worth it, no one else will give a shite, as the British say.

You have to love them, and in return the world may just want more.

Publishing credits to date:

*'Sin Twister' to be in the ezine: Aoife's Kiss, Fall '08 as P. Lord
*'Jura the Wanderer' --Tavern Tales Anthology by ComStar Media, Nov. '05 as H. Winterthorne
*'Suits' -- ezine: ATSOISE, Oct. '04 as H. Winterthorne
*'Blind Boys of Bogen's Run' -- ezine: Nocturnal Ooze, Oct. '04 as P. Lord
*'Strains of Wagner' --ezine: Twilight Times, May '03 as P. Lord
*'I'm The Last One' -- literary magazine: Gotta Write Network, Fall '92 as P. Lord

Bad Publishers March 25, 2007

2007-08-25T00:36:00.000+03:00

ComStar Media is out of my life, except for the first Jura story stuck in Tavern Tales anthology. (The whole is full of typos per a friend with a discerning eye for copy-editing but apparently they don't have one at CSM either).

Eighteen months was the contract time for 'Ikarias, Tales from the Worlds of the Half-Dragon, Book 1: The Sorceress' Game'. Despite reassurances of interest that's all I received, reassurances. There were no edits, nothing. I wrote emails which took weeks to get replies, tel. calls were picked up by an anonymous machine and not returned. Took CSM 9 months to do a company update. The October '06 sales report came out as a notice 5 months later in their yahoo site that there hadn't been enough sales on the Tavern Tales anthology. The contract for a second anthology never materialized though I'd sent my signed copy back 3 months ago. I pointed out typos on their website--ALWAYS A BAD SIGN WHEN THERE ARE TYPOS ON A PUBLISHING WEB SITE! Run do not walk in the opposite direction if you see that.

18 months is industry standard. Yes, there were problems with distributors, the owner's health, etc, yes it's a family-owned company, small and new, and there's the rub.

New means they're beginners.
Small means they pay after the book gets published--no advance.
New means they have a shoestring budget.
Small means if things don't get off the ground they just don't get anywhere.
If they also do games, and CSM does, then literary efforts will come second to pandering to the gamers.

The publisher-editor is also a writer, I have no problem with that. The fact that the publishing business had to come second or third after she needed to get a 'real' job to support the publishing business speaks volumes. I still needed to wait until the contract time was legally up to get out--that incident was a few months into the contract. I kept hoping, kept asking 'Are you interested?' 'What about the story sent for the sci-fi anthology?' 'How about an artist?' 'Should I edit now and send you the revised shorter version to fit the budget?' I was willing to do anything I could at my end but my end wasn't the issue.

On the good side, the time wasn't wasted. I have become a better writer. I have three complete novels in a series to offer someone who is reliable--a stronger case to present to prospective agents/publishers. It's been a learning experience. It's been frustrating, disappointing, and pissed me off as well.

Lies, Lies, Tell Me Sweet Little Lies December 25, 2006

2007-08-25T00:32:00.000+03:00

According to the clock here in Israel, it's past Christmas by a few minutes, a week to New Years, several days past Yule--the real end of the year if you're going to be accurate. Shortest day, longest night, that sort of end of the year...

Who gets to decide which is true?

What is truth? You can lie to your characters, you can have your characters lie to themselves and to each other factually, provocatively, or without meaning too, just like in life.

What makes the truth? Is it perception or is it something more emotional, more visceral?

There was an actual geographical event causing the collapse of Sodom aka (Bab edh-Dhra) and Gomorrah. Then someone says a deity did the destruction, and that's backed up by some writing for this event that occurred 4000 years ago to an establishment with maybe 1000 people, a city by those times' standards.

The tectonic plates don't lie, well, they do, on top of each other like dinnerware and if the shelf support drops on one side you'll need to buy a new set and eat off of paper plates till then. The Dead Sea area, within a donkey's ride of Sodom, had a 160+ feet change in elevation on that day.

To primitive peoples that's a major catastrophe, they may have had minor temblors, then the big one hit. Lot and company left before that but Mrs Lot looked back and was turned to a pillar of salt.

Aside from the fact that people have salt in them but don't become pillars is that line, 'literary license'? Third parties point to Mrs Lot's assumed guilty pleasures and regrets in leaving them. Isn't that blaming the victim?

Happens all the time. No one blames Lot for being a whoremonger and incipient child-abuser for offering his two virgin daughters to two men visiting him whom he knew were angels.

That poses the questions, A: Why would angels have need of sex? B: Would they have sex with children? If so, they're no angels. C: If Lot offered the children--is it a custom of the place he was following? D: If it was custom then he is as guilty as the rest of the Sodomites for their licentiousness. E: If it wasn't a custom then he is more guilty of the sacrifice of his precious daughters to rape by strangers. F: It's a lie, falsehood, fiction, and artistic license to explain away the 'difference' between 'good' Lot and 'evil' Sodom dwellers who wanted to see these men and speak to them. New guys in town can be trouble, they can be scouts for an invading army, have signs of illness that could infect everyone else, be provocateurs sowing dissent and causing trouble among people. It's not an unlikely scenario.

Does this make sense? No, no one said it had to, BUT, it does make for interesting reading doesn't it? And discussions on theology, ethics, boundaries 'good' parents should follow, etc.

What if Lot was making money off his girls? Whores get better pay than shepherds. What if the girls were promiscuous teenagers and, asked "Hey Dad, let's f--k the new guys to welcome them into the town?" Or it was something Lot did all the time and they were used to being abused? What if they were in love with local boys and had to 'service' Dad's old buddies for a welcome? What if Mrs Lot had to do the same?

Why did she look back? She'd found a way out, she was going to leave with her daughters and start a new life away from Daddy Dearest when he said 'pack it in we're out of here'--and her chance is gone. She's doomed to watch the endless parade of male visitors in another location say 'hello' up close and personal with her underage daughters and there is no escape but death.

The old term for salt is also used for vapor. Lot's wife wasn't turned to sodium chloride, she went pouf by the actions of an angry planet. Lot and his daughters took refuge in a cave and, we're told, the girls, 'thinking it was the end of the world lay with their father to regenerate the world'. Or per usual with child abuse cases in which Dad gives his daughters' bodies to his buddies, the daughters have sexual relations with their dad, again, still.

What's true? What's real? What's fact? What makes good reading?

Are We There Yet? December 06, 2006

2007-08-25T00:29:00.001+03:00

Ikarias 3 is finished. Close to 92K. I need to go over it, tighten things up, edit and nitpick, and get beta readers to help me see what works, what doesn't.

God is in the details, and the Devil is in the details. That's how we get drawn in: not to the whole game but to that one shot that makes the game memorable, not to the mass and riot of color in the florist's shop but to those three exotic, alien, bird of paradise flowers with orange petals and the little violet tongues tasting the air.

Here's an exercise that's fun--and that's what this must be, fun, else why do it? Tape a movie you've never seen before, color, b&w, doesn't matter. It's best if you don't know it--pick a genre you don't usually watch. Alternately, rent a video you've never seen. Mute the TV or the comp with your DVD player, go fast forward and stop where there's 2-4 people. No sound, that's important.

Look at them: Where are they? What's the time period? Roughly? Who are they? Do they look rich or poor? What are they doing? How are they dressed? What's the surroundings like? Outside? Inside? What do their expressions tell us?

Example: An old woman sits in a rocker with a cat in her lap. She wears a long black dress as if she's in mourning. A cameo rests at the high neck, off center. She's tall, you can see that even as she sits. Her pale grey hair is wound about her head in an old fashioned way that looks European. Her cream stockings are thick and pulled tight, her feet are tucked into sensible black shoes. The rocker's arms are pale, the varnish worn from years of sitting. The old woman's eyes are open, they're opaque, echoing the wooden arms. She smiles but it's not a kind smile.

The tabby cat's hissing at someone to the left. He's not agitated enough to jump from the lap of his owner. Her hand rests on his hips and he could run if he wanted to.

Behind her, the wallpaper has a Victorian look of pale flowers, slightly yellowed but not peeling.

To the right, her hand on the old woman's shoulder is a woman, younger by at least forty years. They might be related, or at least friends. She looks stern, concerned. Her features are aristocratic: high cheekbones, plucked eyebrows, lipstick applied with art. She's dressed stylish but almost as severe as the old lady, in a dark suit with a single strand of pearls.

The above is details, but not heart.

Making up a story with both catches the reader. I'll taking the old lady's line, her thoughts:

Emma stroked old Mr Tabbs. He hissed at Steven, he never liked that boy even when he was a kit. Steven, known as Stevie then, tried to take the young tom on a ride in his Arrow wagon down Thompson Street. He got all scratched up and blamed Mr. Tabbs for him whanging the wagon into the old maple at the corner lot where the old Foster house used to be. Mr. Tabbs hated the boy ever since then. He didn't get hurt, except for his dignity, and for a cat, that's unforgivable.

Steven's looking for his share of Emmet's will. Looking to take Cassie's share too, though she's been more kin to me than my own blood. Adopted don't mean nothing when she's been here through Emmet's cancer and my failing eyes. Maybe my walking's not as spry, nor my joints as limber, but my mind is sharper than that boy'll ever know.

Where was he when Emmet called for him as the damned thing was eating him up like a wolf tearing at a lamb? Drinking, whoring, gambling, spending his life as a wastrel. Emmet took him out of jail so many times it was a joke. Dignity, my family's dignity lost to a bad seed. He's not getting the money, oh no.

Now the reader wants to know more.

To the Bitter End December 02, 2006

2007-08-25T00:27:00.005+03:00

Up to 88K on Ikarias 3, Balanced Scales. Wrapping up the third of the series is kind of a disenchantment, a loss. I know how it turns out, I've ideas for the 4th in the series, it's like the E ticket ride is over... this adventure, this year-long trek with old friends and new enemies is almost at an end. I will see them again but we'll all be older, a little more chary, a bit rougher and less shiny.

Writers make characters, and they, in turn, influence the writer. Ask any author and they will defend their literary children, no matter if they're good, evil, dull-witted, ugly, pathetic, psychotic, or even non-human, i.e. the old homestead that factors in a flashback, or the little town that sets the pace for the book, or that bite of pecan pie and a quarter cup of hazelnut coffee that waits for someone who's not coming back.

Characters do things I didn't plan on, they have a life and mind and heart of their own. 'They're just fiction, fantasy, not real, in your mind' people say, but then, am I not the creation of a greater mind? What am I doing this for? Me first, it's something I need to do, it's what I do.

The idea of knowing a writer is glamorous, the reality isn't. They have imaginary friends most of the non-writers have dropped by the time they enter puberty. Writers have other worlds that often prove vastly preferable to the real one.

Writers do need to balance their time. Most of us have other jobs we do so we have the luxury of doing what we love in the intersticies of our day. Only the top 1% of published writers can do that and live from it alone. The rest of us need to cook, clean, take care of the important people in our lives, get an oil change for the car, shop for groceries, change the litterbox, get a haircut, sleep.

The siren song of stories needing to be told, creeps back. We're tied to the mast, straining for more while those around us put their back into the oars, stuff wax in their ears, and pull us away.

We may never hear again, but we do remember, and we will write them down.

Drama? Say What? October 02, 2006

2007-08-25T00:26:00.001+03:00

Chasing through the tunnel, the enemy somewhere, sensing without seeing... there!

Wrapping around the monster, struggling as they tear into each other. Tired but unable to give up, he gets a burst of energy and the foe collapses.

That could be two fighters in a darkened city or a white blood cell in a vein going after a virus.

Keeping some things unknown either to yourself, to the audience, or to other characters in the tale creates drama. Tension between characters is drama--one wants one thing, another wants something different or the same thing at another time, or no action at all.

It's all about asking questions and asking more questions. The eternal 'what ifs' that drives the character drives the reader too.

James Michener has a tendency to start his books from the first amoeba struggling in the primordial stew: ala Hawaii, Alaska, Chesapeake, Iberia, then he tells of the epic struggle of mountain chains and river meanderings.

By the time some caveman is sucking his finger from cutting himself with a flint knife it's like--with the geological upheavals and titanic storms, what difference can one little Neanderthal make?

Michener's a good storyteller but he's formulaic. I stopped reading his stuff in my teens because it was always the same beginning and end: Let there be light, separating the waters from the earth, ooze becomes sentient, a two-legged pre-man bops another and climbs the evolutionary ladder. A bunch of character sketches later, cities and civilizations rise and fall, then today we have a thriving metropolis and the chosen family struggling with itself and the world to stay in one peace.

Of course as the trite saying goes, one person can make a difference--but we need to add the influence of others who base their actions on ones who came before, the vagaries of weather, catastrophic epidemics, the ability of those in power to force change into the wrong hands/wrong hearts.

Drama keeps us going, the struggle for everything or anything can be the pull for the audience to keep coming back.

The old Perils of Pauline had early movie goers more interested in the serials than in the features.

Keep the reader asking, 'What's going to happen next' means that they care, and that's what keeps the writer going.

The Hateful But Necessary Character August 20, 2006

2007-08-25T00:24:00.002+03:00

Sometimes you've just gotta have it, or him, or her, the character you dread to write because the person is such an idiot/bastard/unredeemable pustule of misogynist actions and motives that makes your skin crawl, your stomach roil, and your soul cringe.

Then the old chestnut--if there wasn't evil what would good do--pops its questionable tendrils out and you need to deal with that pile of used kitty litter.

Making a likable or interesting evil doer is easy, give them a 3D background, a well-rounded life, habits, quirks. Hannibal Lector is a fascinating example of this--an erudite, well-mannered gentleman of leisure who likes fava beans and a nice Chianti with his kidney, freshly taken from an unwilling donor. I can't abide tongue so I don't care whose organ meats are on the menu. Err on my part, I do like pate and liver with onion and bacon, so on with the show...

Premise: an evil woman uses mutilated children as beggars to bring in money from passersby. This is nothing new, still happens in the poorer countries with too many mouths to feed and too little money where your favorite sports shoe manufacturer pays 12 cents a day for the workers to spread toxic glue and sew up those $200 sneakers hawked by that multi-million dollar hoopster, but hey, everyone is entitled to make a buck.

If the child isn't fit to work or would do better as a prostitute, that's their strength. Even their own would pay more pennies to a begging child with stumps than one hale and whole. It's the ugly truth of the world.

I abhor child abuse, animal abuse, elder abuse. Which is done by all layers of educational/socio-economic areas.

What tells us of this unpleasant subject? That we retch thinking of doing it so it's easier not to write it? Are we doing it for shock value? See above, that's easily done. Are we doing it to show the evils the world can do, see above again. Is it to advance another character, one who must witness it or be a part of the chain of hellish events in order to move on to the next level?

Perhaps.

How does the writer face that 'icky' part and get through it? Does writing about the evil make you the same? Does it anesthetize you to the proliferation of foul acts, or educate you? Do you face something inside that resonates and that you must overcome? Can you understand or rationalize the bad guy's actions? Does it serve the purpose in the scheme of that novel?

We're way beyond the 'you must know the subject' to write about it. No one needs to be a medieval trooper to use a crossbow. Research and finding references can do the job, little details like getting a splinter from the stock and your bunkmate likes to pick his teeth with a quarrel tip do more for authenticity than the exact measurements.

Face the demons, write through what makes you want to puke. Even if you never use it, it's a growth of your writerly soul. Nothing is wasted.

Keep It Precious July 13, 2006

2007-08-25T00:23:00.002+03:00

To quote a Melissa Etheridge song...

What books are keepers? What books pass through you like junk food: tastes good but no sustance, nothing to show for it but a memory?

I just finished Natalie Goldberg's 'Long Quiet Highway', aka 'Waking Up In America'. She's simply amazing. The first book I ever read of hers was 'Writing Down the Bones', a writer's way of expressing how she wrote and why--simply for love.

Ms Goldberg is a zen student, she's also a prolific writer doing it for herself first and for the rest of the world later--that's what every writer needs to do--whether you're Stephen King, Robin Cook, Anne Rice, Tom Clancy, JK Rowling, etc--they write first for themselves, they are their #1 readers, their sole and most important audience. Selling and making $ is a happy coincidence, first they had to commit themselves to the word.

I love the way Ms Goldberg writes, she's so honest, so open its like seeing her soul, not only does she tell of triumphs but of failures, of misconceptions, of her petty thoughts and her glorious ones.

Ms Goldberg does timed writings, alone or with a friend or group, any subject: toes, toast, time, tweed, name it and set your pen to paper and go. That's all, it's that simple. No--I feel crappy--write through the crap. The weather's too nice to be inside--go out with pen and norebook then. I'm hungry or sleepy--you name it, she's known the excuses and blown past them because that's all they are--just stray thoughts trying to slow her down.

Ms Goldberg says sitting zen was like that too--no matter the weather in sub-artic winter Minnesota, no matter her falling apart marriage with her husband, no matter the agnst and the doubts, she just sat, just breathed.

If you love something, what would you do? Save it for 'sometime'? Or do it until you dropped? Aside from destructive habits and over-indulgence in sex, food, drugs, alcohol, self-pity, wining, etc, there are things you can do that you love.

Don't wait for 'someday'. Time is the most precious commodity we have. Everything else can be replaced but this minute, this second, this moment--it's ours, no one elses. You going to spend your time in empty tasks, meaningless banter, with boring media? Or are you going for your passion, going to take out that camera, those brushes, those dancing shoes, that pen and paper, and do what is in your heart and soul?

Books that stay with me:
Ms Goldberg's: Writing Down the Bones, Long Quiet Highway, Thunder and Lightning;
Julia Cameron's: The Right to Write, The Way of the Artist, Walking in this World, The Vein of Gold;
Patricia Lynn Reilly's: Imagine a Woman In Love with Herself; Ursula K LeGuin: Always Coming Home;
Mary Staton: From the Legend of Beil;
Sherri S. Tepper: Beauty;
William Morris: The Water of the Wondrous Isles;
Lillian Hellman: Pentimento;
Ted Andrews: Animal Speak.

The web and free ebooks give us tremendous opportunities to expand our personal libriaries. http://etext.library.adelaide.edu.au/

See what wonders lie ahead, and enjoy!

Bang, Bang, You're Dead: Killing off Characters July 10, 2006

2007-08-25T00:22:00.002+03:00

Actually, the character you've painstakingly made into a 3D person with feelings, pet peeves, favorite pastimes, and an aversion to brussels sprouts needs to die.

Why do writers need to kill characters?

A: art imitates life, everything dies so does 'Little Nell'. One of Dickens most beloved characters had such a huge following on both sides of the Atlantic, people would wait on the wharves in New York for the ships to come from London with the next installment. What happened to 'Little Nell' Americans screamed to the Brits who'd known for 6 weeks that alas, 'Little Nell' was no more. Oh the weeping and gnashing of teeth!

B: the author needs to move on. When Arthur Conan Doyle dumped Sherlock Holmes over the falls the hue and cry of his fans forced Doyle to have the detective reappear, having foiled Moriarity once again.

C: the plot is stronger for the death of such and so. In Harry Potter book 6, 'HP & the Half-Blood Prince' JK Rowlings killed Dumbledore! Gawd, I hated that! Harry's main support, aside from his friends who have less powers than Harry, as well as being his mentor and grandfather figure is murdered. How will Harry make it through book 7, the final installment? Will JKR kill him off to the stop any fanfic that would and has come out inc. parodies and such, of the boy wizard? Killing main characters forces the remaining ones to adapt to the loss and move on.

D: Killing likable ones gives the main character the impetus to act in a way they wouldn't if that character lived or was merely lost.

E: Killing bad ones to solve the issue is cheating unless it's done with panache. Don't forget, 'the evil men do lives on after them' because they always have followers, progeny, evil wannabe's, and rabid pets. And let's not forget sequels as the chance to kill the bad guy again!

Unblocked, Cover Crocks, and Mentoring July 04, 2006

2007-08-25T00:20:00.001+03:00

To hell with the artist! I've my own damned pix and I know what I want!

Ever notice all those lookalike fantasy covers? Same collection of mightily-thewed heroes and generously bosomed heroines and dragons and gryffons and basilisks, oh my, (my apologies to Frank Baum.) Don't writers realize if they don't describe their characters well enough, all the artists in the world can't do the characters justice. Same for doing the protagonists and antagonists done in such detail that there's no room for the reader to say--hey, that's not what the person looks like to my mind but now that I see them I can't get that out of my mind.

What do the covers say? Here's a scene from the book: Odyn and Frya have just smote the beastie and have several other beasties sneaking up on them, stay tuned! Gee that looks just like the book next to it with Thar and Thyn smoting even bigger beasties etc ad nauseum.

Yes, there are many excellent illustrators out there and my fav dragon master Cabral Ciruelo is awesome, so is Rowena Morrill, naming 2 giants among many. Again, alone on a gallery wall, they're outstanding, packed among dozens of similar though lesser lights, you lose the impact of the cover.

On to Ikarias book 3, Balanced Scales is up to 41K. I have the mystery solved as to how to get our heroine out of the gladiatorial ring. Snubbing the Empress is a mistake, Malakite takes her revenge by having the #2 ranked fighter do a job for her, resulting in Ikarias doing the unforgivable--killing a fellow gladiator outside the sands. Sentenced to death by mantichore, our heroine has a few surprises in store.

http://www.writingshow.com/ has my mentoring interview with Paula B., out of my superwriter persona as mild-mannered Pam Lord with my mentee Tiff Lodoen for Little Owl via the Absynthe Muse site.

All you published writers out there--think about being a mentor. It's easy, it's fun, and you'll be putting credits in the Universal bean jar, which will come back to you in spades. Your Muses will thank you too.

Teasers January 14, 2006

2007-08-25T00:19:00.000+03:00

The Empress Malakite is demanding more time, and her nemesis--Devestyn, daughter of Ravager will also get more pages. Does Devestyn do this for revenge against the Half-Dragon, or is there more to it, proving that she's better than her defunct mater, working with a 'higher class' of victim, using each against the other for a third victory? Who is Malakite's true father? Who killed her mother? How will Ikarias escape the life of a gladiator?

Stay tuned!

Ah yes, the artist was a loss, she did not keep in touch and was unreliable so a second choice is up. Hopefully he can protray my Ikarias as she would like.

Trust the Characters August 30, 2005

2007-08-25T00:18:00.001+03:00

I have thirty handwritten pages and more in my head but will they come out? No. Why not? Can't decide on the beginning... Have a secondary character waiting on #1 or have #1 start? When in doubt: Ask the character! After all, it's their book. I'm just chronicling the adventures, the angst, the passions, the catastrophes. The writer needs to trust the characters. Often they know more than the author gives them credit for, especially since it's the third book and they've done a fine job in 1 & 2.

Everything is open to change. Nothing is set in stone, and if it is, the chisel can plane across and smooth the slate. What if no one likes it? I've heard from several who want more, they can't be the only ones who like the writing. (They're not even family so they don't have to be nice!)

Keep writing, keep track of who's doing what to whom and things can move if they have to, that's the way 1 and 2 were done. It works! Buzzduck! (eh hun? lol)

Art, Desire, Belief! August 17, 2005

2007-08-25T00:16:00.001+03:00

WHOOHOO! The artist that I've been trying to get for Ikarias book 1 has contacted me! She was on vacation, that's why she didn't answer her email for so long. She says she has time to do the cover. Now it's what price and how long. I believe in my book, I believe in LB as an artist. Forgive me for not giving her name or site yet because I don't want pressure from outside sources on her. Once she says yes, and CSM agrees to her price, we're ON!

I am confident in LB to the point of contributing a few hundred $ to the cover art for the 1st book. Ikarias is my baby, part of my heart and soul, my pain, my joy.

I didn't have the tattoo of 'desire' done 18 months ago just for fun. It was for the desire to write well, to love what I do, to find others with whom to share it, to find a publisher, to do more.

Course it peeled and looks like swiss cheese so can I say: my desire is flawed? Whose isn't?

Also desire for O, always and forever. She makes so much possible for me.

Writing Vignettes August 14, 2005

2007-08-25T00:15:00.002+03:00

I keep dropping vignettes and slices of conversations into the notebook for Ikarias 3, Balanced Scales. Up to 6k+.

Should I bring in the Centaucorns? B'sylla? Maybe bring her in for book 4.

For suspense, time limits can help, note the popularity of the TV show '24' when every season is based on 1 hour in the 24. Can't say I'm terribly fond of the Sutherland boy. I think his father is a much more accomplished actor.

On one hand I want to get to the editing of Sorceress' Game, Ikarias 1, asap, and dreading it. How much will they want to change my voice? I know J's good. She didn't twist 'Jura the Wanderer' for Tavern Tales, just made things clearer. The old 'forest for the trees' was never so real as in doing a novel.

Maybe I should start working up a concordance or site map. That would be fun too.

Pandora's Hope August 05, 2005

2007-08-25T00:14:00.002+03:00

ComStar received Pandora's Hope, (thanks to my O who helped me revise and choose a better title). Hopefully they'll want it for their sf anthology.

What's it about? Frogs in space... that's different isn't it? I changed the POV to be from the captain, a human woman named Cass to the eldest froggie, Vici, who's about ready to leave the hatch tanks. Frogs are intelligent and intuitive space-farers. They grow to the size of a child of 12 and have eidetic memories. Vici's like a 15 year old girl even though she's much smarter.

Conflict starts with hints of those who don't want frogs as space partners. Keeping with the 'Greek myth' theme, I use the Trojan horse gambit to bring the horror home. I hope they like it at CSM. I think it's different yet it has the 'us vs them' eternal war...

Redid Balanced Scales beginning, Cephira is lost, Ikarias comes home wounded and ill, then the story is told. This takes the plot from what to how and why. Now it feels right.

RUSH! July 30, 2005

2007-08-25T00:13:00.001+03:00

I want to get a tale into the SF anthology with ComStar and I have 3 days to do it! Bye!

POV, What's Right? July 28, 2005

2007-08-25T00:12:00.001+03:00

Rather than accept the first POV (point of view) that comes to mind take another tack and try one not so obvious. I should listen to my own advice. I do multiple POV's because all my main characters have something to say or think that having an omniscient POV wouldn't carry. First person is difficult and limiting, not most publishers' first choice for listening to a story.

Ex: I awake to the sound of the alarm and smack the clock to the floor. I hate leaving the warm body murmuring half-asleep next to me, but one not so warm awaits in the morgue. Ana will rise after I leave, teasing me now with the blanket slipping off her thigh. She knows it takes more than the promise of sharing very good times to postpone a bad case. I appreciate the offer, life and love is preferable to cold still death. I leave her with a kiss on the small of her back where the fine hairs brush invisible against my lips.

I did prelim looksee yesterday, today Det. Lt. Kerry Grasier will watch the autopsy proper. She's a good cop, twelve years on the force, made Detective three years ago. She always brings me cappuchino and cinnamon crullers when she needs to know who did what when where and how.

Immediate voice knows only what happens to her/him and her/his past.

Limiting, but it is immediate, so choose carefully.

The Secret to Writing Is.... July 27, 2005

2007-08-25T00:10:00.001+03:00

Be honest. The characters may lie, but the writing cannot. The scene may be deceptive but the context must be real. Even if the character is dreaming or psychotic or hallucinating, it must be real. Don't think of purple cows. See? Everyone thinks of purple cows until the next image or sense is alerted. What next?

A purple cow smells of grapes. The cowpat drops with a splat like shredded gummy eggplant, fried and lost in the back of the fridge growing a sauce of furry violet mold rich and sickly sweet like prunes decaying.

Got sight, smell, taste, touch and sound there. Talk about your purple prose, but I forgive me, it's an illustration.

Highland cattle watch from the rocky hillsides in Scotland, their shaggy coats the color of cinnamon and nutmeg. They're wilder than their two-tone American cousins. Those black and white coats even adorn computer boxes but the Highland cattle disdain advertising. They wait for winter, cropping the short sour grass, ignoring the purple heather.

Now purple is in the backrow, a sidebar, a decorative touch.

What's another secret of writing? Read what you like and what you don't like. Why? Because there are different ways of looking at the elephant, as the Indian fable goes.

Six blind men come upon an elephant, each touches a different part. The man at the leg says the elephant is like a tree. The one touching the trunk says the elephant is like a snake. The one holding the tail says the elephant is like a rope. The one at the side says the elephant is like a house. The one touching the ear says the elephant is like a fan. The last pricking his finger on the tusk says the elephant is like a spear. They are all right as far as each goes, but the elephant is much more.

Writing is giving more than what meets the eye or hand.

Feed the Writer's Imagination! July 26, 2005

2007-08-25T00:02:00.001+03:00

Went up north for a day to Rosh Hanikra (northern Israel) where the sea has carved out the limestone cliffs. The water rushes in clinging to the rocks and drops off. Brown/grey flint is imbedded in the ecru walls making them look like chocolate chip ice cream. Have the ice-cave/crystal home of the dragons figured out for the end of book 3 of Ikarias.

Everything feeds the writer!

That is thanks to the @$#%#$ migraine that damn near crippled me all day. You'd think something would work. Nada, codeine barely takes the edge off so I'm in 5% less pain. All I can do is hide in my head and work on the stories. The Empress hides a secret too... Or is the secret hiding her?

Plots within plots...

Muses & Song of Amergin July 23, 2005

2007-08-24T23:59:00.001+03:00

Mnemnosyne is the Goddess of Memory. She had 9 daughters, the Muses:

Calliope--epic poetry...(There once was a young man from Bangkok...)
Clio--history...(How long was the 100 Years War?)
Erato--lyric poetry and mime...(First word, sounds like...)
Euterpe--lyric poetry and music...(99 bottles of beer on the wall.)Melpomene--tragedy...(She swoons: I broke a nail!)
Polymnia--sacred song and oratory...(Yada yada yada...)
Terpsichore--dancing and chorals...(Ta-ra-ra BOOM de-ay!)
Thalia--comedy and pastoral poetry...(Where men are men and sheep are nervous.)
Urania--astronomy...(you were born under the sign of the yapping mouth.)

I jest but with serious intent, acknowledging them keeps the stories coming. Ask many writers and they'll tell you--the stories are there, they just act as scribes putting down that which already exists. We know there's a greater Mind that holds everything. We're blessed to tap into that and take what we want from the abundance.

Storytelling IS the oldest profession, forget the joke re: prostitution. Stories were used to explain the world and the unknowns, to call the spirits for good hunting and bless the newborns, to send the dead away with love and promises that they would not be forgotten.

The storytellers were the shaman of the tribe, some were healers, some just had the gift of memory to hold all the myths and customs and pass them down so that nothing would be lost.

Over 3500 years ago the Song of Amergin still resonates. I won't pretend I know what it means but it's strong, it's real and alive, it's full of mystery and promise.

I am a stag: of seven tines,
I am a flood: across a plain,
I am a wind: on a deep lake,
I am a tear: the Sun lets fall,
I am a hawk: above the cliff,
I am a thorn: beneath the nail,
I am a wonder: among flowers,
I am a wizard: who but I
Sets the cool head aflame with smoke?

I am a spear: that roars for blood,
I am a salmon: in a pool,
I am a lure: from paradise,
I am a hill: where poets walk,
I am a boar: ruthless and red,
I am a breaker: threatening doom,
I am a tide: that drags to death,
I am an infant: who but I
Peeps from the unhewn dolmen, arch?

I am the womb: of every holt,
I am the blaze: on every hill,
I am the queen: of every hive,
I am the shield: for every head,
I am the tomb: of every hope.

Writing Is Hard to Do July 22, 2005

2007-08-24T23:58:00.001+03:00

Why is the 3rd book so hard to do? I've got 4K words on the comp--and probably another 4-6k longhand. I know what's going in and where, chronology, plotting, major characters, they're all there. It's as if it's already written, thank the muses, but not visible. I still need to do the grunt work.

Most voice recognition programs are dreck. You need to train them to your speech mannerisms and individual dialect, then go back and edit what they don't get so you might as well type in everything since there's no time savings. To think I got a D in typing class, lol. Ah well, that was in the pre-Cobol/Fortran days when computers were the size of walk-in closets.

Great old sci-fi story: The computers around the world were finally hooked together and running. One old scientist realized that was a VERY BAD idea and tried to unplug the master comp called Colossus. He was zapped by lightning from the mainframe.

One scientist said, "Oh God!"

Second scientist in despair, "There is no God."

The computer answers: "There is, now."

Ref. Colossus, the Forbin Project.

Being Published?! July 21, 2005

2007-08-24T23:55:00.001+03:00

It's a done deal, I mailed the contract back that I received on July18th and the first book, Ikarias, Tales From the Worlds of the Half-Dragon, Sorceress' Game is that much close to being real.

I'm going to be published! I'm not too famous not to have to empty out the litterbox, lol. First things first, keep up with writing the 3rd and 4th books, tidy up the 2nd, and work on the website. I need to find out more about marketing and promotion, and a cover artist, and keeping my head while all about are losing theirs...