by Sue London

What's Your Platform?

2012-01-20T17:54:00.001-05:00

During lunch our writing group at work attended the webinar "Getting a Non-Fiction Literary Agent with Carole Sargent" (courtesy of the UVa Alumni Association. She has a similar presentation already archived at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nBlMag_4Iok&feature=youtube_gdata_player

One of the things I've been thinking about is her discussion on having a platform before approaching an agent or publisher. It makes all that blogging and tweeting seem like so less a waste of time! We are just building our platforms!

Now we just need to add speaking engagements, article publication, local radio and tv interviews...

What have you done to build your platform? What audience do you already have?

Publish or Bust

2011-09-05T14:31:00.000-04:00

More than a little inspired by my tweeps like @goblinwriter (Lindsay Buroker) and @shaydenFL (Sean Hayden) I am planning to start self-publishing this Fall. Since my independent streak is easily more than a mile wide this isn't much of a surprise.

First up on the docket will be the novella "The Case of the Curious Ghost," which is currently being published as a serial on The Big Bowl of Morning Serial blog. It's the first case of Hawke and Johnson, Certified Necromantic Mages. Hopefully you will enjoy Theo Hawke and Em Johnson's adventure because quite a few more are planned.

Next up will be my astrology book The Starwatcher's Guide to Fashion. Technically non-fiction but still what some may call "speculative." If nothing else it's a fun ride. A small excerpt:

Chapter One: Why Does My Closet Hate Me?

There you stand again at the doorway staring inside your closet. We treat closets and refrigerators the same way - maybe if we keep looking something good will happen. But today even your favorite jacket leaves you cold. 'Who bought these clothes?' you wonder. You stand there waiting for things to turn in your favor. Almost everybody does it. Why does it happen? In fact, how does it happen?

The truth of the matter is that we are all a bit confused about our personal image. And why shouldn't we be? Think of all the influences that affect your clothing decisions: your parents, your friends, the media, your lover, current fashion, your favorite year, and monetary considerations. Those outside influences generally crowd how you feel about your wardrobe. This book seeks to give you clarity on this issue.

Ultimately your personal image should speak for you before you speak for yourself. It tells who you are and how you want the world to perceive you.

After that I will continue with a mix of short and long fiction with interspersed non-fiction. Thanks in advance for your help on my journey.

:) Sue

Certified Necromantic Mages?

2011-08-15T22:26:00.000-04:00

What kind of trouble can a couple of bored necromantic mages get into? In case you missed it, I'm publishing a story about two Certified Necromantic Mages as a serial over at the "Big Bowl of Morning Serial" blog. We're at the sixth installment and you can start at this link. Thanks for reading!!

Writing Assignment Where No Man Has Gone Before

2011-08-04T09:27:00.000-04:00

June and July flashed by me like one of those crazy high-speed movie collages. But one great thing that came out of the early part of the summer was an invitation to help write a book about one of my favorite subjects: Star Trek. I'm not even sure how I got so lucky (actually I do, it was becoming good Twitter buddies with @ThatNeilGuy who shares my Original Series/Vulcan obsession).

So, over the next year or so there will be a LOT of Star Trek watching, Star Trek reading, and Star Trek writing. It's kind of like being asked to go on vacation forever. If I could just do it all while on a sailboat int the Bahamas my life would be perfect.

Maybe I Did Make a Grave Mistake? Immortal and Vampires

2011-04-27T17:16:00.001-04:00

Hi, Jennifer Graves here, photographer and vampire hunter. Since my chronicler Sue London loved the book Immortal so much I thought I'd check it out. Having been in the supernatural hunting business for almost twenty years I was fascinated by Adam's description of vampires. Honestly, it leaves me feeling a bit guilty. One of the first things he said about vampires was "the percentage of vampires that are also evil killers is about the same as the percentage of normal people who area also evil killers." The first vampire I ever met was one of those evil killers and I haven't really revised my opinion. I guess it would be like an alien landing on Earth and the first person they meet is a psychopath. They would report back that Earth was nice but we need to exterminate all those humans. But the original incident where I met the vampire (you might remember this) has a different context based on one of Adam's recollections:

I remember a long conversation I had once with a vampire named Bordick, some time in the late seventeenth century. He was one of the oldest I’d ever met, meaning we had a good deal in common with one another, because how often does one get to compare two-hundred-year-old war stories with someone else? We got onto the subject of the somewhat unfair public perception of vampires—a perception that was actually worse in the seventeenth century than now. It was Bordick’s theory that people, in overreacting to vampires, tend to create their own monsters. He meant this rather literally.

As he told it, some time around his first century the villagers of a small Latvian hamlet figured out what he was and decided to do something about it. So one afternoon they sealed up the crypt where he was spending his daylight hours. Without elaborating on why they did this—he wasn’t bothering anybody and had restricted his nightly drinking mainly to livestock—he pointed out that this is just about the stupidest thing you can possibly do to a vampire, because they don’t starve to death like people. They just get hungrier.
Hang out with a vampire who drinks a small allotment of blood two or three times a week and you’ll swear there’s hardly any difference between him and your average human. But one who hasn’t drunk in two or three weeks isn’t the best company around. The hungry ones tend to fixate on your neck a lot, which can be very uncomfortable, and it becomes obvious somewhat quickly that they aren’t listening to what you’re saying because they’re too preoccupied listening to your heart pumping. It’s like conversing with somebody who’s wearing a Walkman, only much more disturbing.

According to Bordick, anything longer than thirty days is utter agony. Two months and this constant pain spawns dementia. Longer than that and you’ve got a vampire who is, mentally, entirely too far gone to listen to any sort of reason whatsoever. So after a full calendar year sealed up in that crypt, Bordick was utterly out of his mind.

D is for Darn This is Hard

2011-04-07T13:23:00.000-04:00

This A to Z writing challenge is actually a great illustration of how hard it is to fit writing into my life. But all of the stories tell us that writers have ALWAYS had these problems, right? Stephen King, J.K. Rowling, Snooki - they all had busy schedules (work, being a mom, being crazy) and they had to tuck writing time in around the edges.

Give me your zaniest "...and I was writing..." story in the comments! For me it would have to be while sitting in a hospital waiting room waiting on news of a loved one. At times like that a writing project is both the weight of responsibility AND the solace of escapism into the land of words. I have also written in the car, on the beach, and on a sailboat between snorkles. (Vacationing with me is maybe a bit of a drag. Hmmm...) So where have you been caught writing?

C is for Catching Up

2011-04-07T12:36:00.000-04:00

Ok, so... maybe committing to the A to Z challenge on three blogs was a little crazy. I do find it interesting that my lowest priority seems to be on the one that should be my HIGHEST priority. What does that say about my approach to writing. Also, this blog has the highest hit to comment ratio and for that I would like to say "THANK YOU VERY MUCH, WONDERFUL PEOPLE OF THE BLOGSPHERE!!!" It's very nice to get responses on my creative writing and contemplations about writing.

Thanks for coming by and hope everyone is having a great A to Z Challenge!

B is for Banana Splits

2011-04-02T17:28:00.000-04:00

I'm using the April A to Z Blog Challenge as an opportunity to come up with prompts for flash fiction.

Growing up the best thing that Cassidy shared with her father was banana splits. At least once a month, even the cold months, they would find their way to the local Dip n' Do to share a banana split and talk. Cassidy's conversational skills had advanced from purple ponies to rock bands to philosophy. Her father always peppered the conversation with anecdotes about his students but seemed happy enough to indulge his chatty, excitable daughter. She found that sitting here now, looking across at the empty booth seat, was harder than the funeral.

"Why didn't I let you talk, Papa?" she whispered. There was so much she didn't know, so much she wanted to ask now. She looked down at the ice cream, the little boat set on the table the way it had always been, the chocolate on her side and the vanilla on his, strawberry between the two. She had only managed one bite and the flavors were melting together into a cold creamy soup. Looking at it she realized she didn't know if he had even liked vanilla.

The April A to Z Blog Challenge

2011-04-02T16:05:00.000-04:00

Well, I jumped into the April A to Z blog challenge yesterday without giving a great deal of thought about what approach I would like to use. This is my notification that I'm changing my approach from "about writing" to doing flash fiction. It should be easier on all of us.

Lights! Camera! Action!

2011-04-01T22:00:00.000-04:00

While reading KarenG's post "A is for Action in a work of fiction" is struck me that the old Hollywood phrase "Lights! Camera! Action!" is very good shorthand to remember key elements of compelling fiction.

Lights! We need to SEE what is happening. Don't explain it to us, SHOW us.
Camera! The story needs to be told from the right perspective. Pick the right things to show from the right angle.
Action! It's all about what happens.

Someone else has probably already made this observation. Feel free to tell me in the comments which book, blogger, cousin has already pointed this out.

A is for Alternate Realities

2011-04-01T19:54:00.000-04:00

My development as a writer was definitely informed by my environment. In particular, the hobbies and interests of my family since as the youngest I was a sponge observing some very headstrong, peculiar, and intriguing people (imagine You Can't Take it With You but in a 70s suburban setting). We are all readers and entertainment hogs for television, movies, and...anything else you can think of that is at least mildly entertaining. Everything from crossword puzzles to Walt Disney World.

As such, my interest in speculative fiction has very deep roots. Dad loves science fiction. Mom loves the fae. And my brother has been a real Bigfoot hunter. Our dinnertime conversation would range into topics such as ghosts, reincarnation, and debates about what the future might hold. So no one was particularly surprised when I started writing science fiction in my teens. While other girls were most likely dreaming about the perfect prom or the perfect wedding, I was contemplating the distant future, other worlds, and the implications of human behavior carried out to its logical extreme.

Granted, those early novels were barely disguised Star Trek and Dune fan fiction, but they set the stage for the type of writing that I would be interested in pursuing for years. And all those dinner conversations set me up with creative alternate realities to pepper my fiction.

Blog post for the April A to Z blogging challenge.

My New Life as a Blogger and Book Reviewer

2011-04-01T13:57:00.001-04:00

Growing up my intention was to be a novelist, screenwriter, and veterinarian. Yes, one of those things is not like the other, but those were my goals. Reality intruded, mostly in the form of parents, but also in the discovery that sick animals are icky (and I'm not all that good at hard science). As for the first two items, writing was given up for a new dream in advertising copywriting and graphic design because business was a "safer" major. Parental pressures continued and advertising was given up for accounting. This is the point in the board game where you've gone back so many spaces you know that you have no hope of winning without a magnificent stroke of luck.

In many ways my magnificent stroke of luck has been the advent of the world wide web. Without it I would still be writing all this stuff, but in notebooks that were tucked into my purse and under the bed. Being able to share my thoughts and creativity online has spurred my own productivity, and being able to learn from and "hang out with" all my online writing friends has been invaluable.

But a funny things happened on the way to the market.

For the longest time I've been receiving free books. Even before setting up this website for my own writing or talking much online about being a writer or what I was reading, somehow my online friends identified me as an avid, enthusiastic reader with whom they wanted to share their work. I was honored but also confused. I wasn't a reviewer and wasn't precisely sure what I should do with these books other than read and enjoy them. Slowly but surely I began to work reviews into my posts on my blog Thoughts That Get Stuck in My Head. And I began to meet more and more writers online.

It struck me that it would be cool to have a forum where we could read interviews with unpublished authors, both to support and validate their dreams and to connect with each other. Then some of my contacts got their first publishing contracts. Then I started making contact with "bigger" names in the industry. Out of all this grew the website Writing Insight where you can discover writers at all stages in their careers.

Then today I rebooted an old idea for an entertaining blog about occult topics called The Arcane Hour, this time being joined by a great list of Contributors. I took the day off from work so that I can finish two articles and an interview with the science fiction living legend Frederick Pohl. It was at this point that I thought, holy mackerels, things sure have changed since I set up Thoughts That Get Stuck in My Head back in 2003 with the slogan "My Virtual Frontier Cabin."

So I guess what I'm trying to say is thank you. Although not having arrived yet at the square on the board labeled "novelist and screenwriter," being a blogger and book reviewer is a heck of a lot closer than accountant. And it's because of your interest, sharing, and caring that I'm here in the first place.

And Then What Happens?

2011-03-14T10:45:00.000-04:00

T-shirt: Practitioner of the world's oldest profession... Storytelling.

As a writer the moment that is most thrilling and dreadful is when a reader says, "And then what happens?" Thrilling because it means they are engaged enough to want to know what happens next. Dreadful because, as Thomas Mann said, "A writer is someone for whom writing is harder than for other people." I don't know about you, but I am definitely a writer of the Mann persuasion in that respect.

Writers are ultimately adventurers. We strike out into unknown territory and leave a trail for others. By exploring the realm of ideas we create and share new insights about people, places, and things. As with most exploration it is in turn exhilarating and exhausting. But we're adventure junkies who enjoy the high of discovery and just can't stop (safer than bungee jumping, I suppose). You want to know "and then what happens?" So do we. We're excited when someone wants to join us on the journey.

As a writer, how do you react to the never-ending question, "And then what happens?" As a reader what have been your favorite answers to "And then what happens?" And which writers have driven you crazy with waiting? Being fans of Glen Cook's Black Company series we were driven crazy with waiting in the 90s.

To Betelgeuse, With Love

2011-03-06T10:57:00.001-05:00

Even though I've read Sherrilyn Kenyon's "The League" series it hadn't occurred to me that Science Fiction Romance was a defined cross-over sub-genre between the two genres. Diane Dooley did a nice write up today about it in her post What the Heck is Science Fiction Romance?

Assuming not all aliens look like Orion slave babes does make me think of the scene is Galaxy Quest where Guy Fleegman is saying, "Oh, that's not right!" Is there some sort of warning on the cover telling me "Beware, alien sex scenes included"? I would hope so.

Have you read any Science Fiction Romance? What do you see as the dividing line (however blurry it may be) between a science fiction book that includes a romantic element and a romance that has a science fiction setting? Many science fiction books have a romantic and/or sex element where I wouldn't classify them as romance in a million years (Stranger in a Strange Land comes to mind). One of the key differences for me is that I consider science fiction to be idea driven (what if?) and romance to be relationship driven (all the way to 'happily ever after'). So that would be the difference between a book about a spaceship (with the human relationships and interactions being used to reveal and explore the idea of space travel) and a book about two lovers on a spaceship (where the ship is used as a setting).

3/15/11 Update:
Check out Lindsay Buroker's interview with Heather Massey of The Galaxy Express about her new book and this genre. Then check out The Galaxy Express!

*Yes, I realize with the blog post title I just did a Science Fiction Romance/Spy Thriller crossover idea. But I totally call that title - now I just need to write the book.

Synopsis Writing (or Keeping Yourself and Your Editor Sane)

2011-02-28T20:02:00.000-05:00

Adri (@smoulderingsea) from Lyrical Press has such a perfect way with words that I had to preserve this for all time:

Synopses are fruit of the devil’s loins. Editors hate reading ‘em as much as you hate writing ‘em. Doesn’t mean you can halfass. #editortips

That said, yes, please include the ending in the synopsis. I don’t want to read 300 pages just to find out you jumped the shark. #editortips

Well, I didn't think that writing a synopis was *THAT* bad. But I know better than to argue with Adri.

For me, whenever I get lost writing my story it's time to go back to the synopsis. If the problem is that I haven't written one yet then it's time to write it. In fact, once I'm serious about writing a longer piece of fiction there are three things I need to have to keep me focused: a short teaser description (the classic elevator sales pitch or "back of the book"), a synopsis, and a chapter by chapter outline.

The teaser makes me remember, "What makes this book pop? What are it's essential elements?" The synopsis keeps clear, "How is this supposed to work? What are the basic elements of my plot?" And the chapter by chapter outline keeps me on the right track (and is also a handy place to keep notes on future scenes that popped into my head).

The good/bad news is that when the work is done I get to revisit all those write-ups because now someone like Adri wants to read them. And invariably along the way of turning an idea into a finished work a lot of things have changed. But they still serve the same function of keeping everything clear.

How do you keep your writing focused? Do you use a synopsis?

(And while we're talking about Adri, in case you missed it, Lyrical Press has a call out right now for Irish-themed novels/novellas. Gather up your shamrocks and try submitting.)

The Case of the Missing Colon

2011-01-22T20:11:00.000-05:00

Do you remember what you were doing when you were 15 years old? For me it included writing this story, which has always been one of my favorites. Check out the page for The Case of the Missing Colon, a noir mystery about punctuation.

Maybe I'll Use Adverbs... Quietly

2010-08-16T14:21:00.003-04:00

All of the Critics Agreed

2010-08-14T23:03:00.000-04:00

All of the critics loved it because it didn't have what they hated. None of those pesky adverbs, split infinitives, extraneous punctuation marks, misused phrases, bad spelling, or any other bad habits writers are prone to perpetrate.

It was a perfect blank page.

Another Day, Another Dollar

2010-08-13T07:00:00.010-04:00

Dim light started to creep into the warehouse. It had snuck down the alleyway when no one was looking, and now it gave the inside of the metal building a soft gray glow, lighting the dust in the air. The day was hot already, sticky and still. Inside the building was little escape from the heat. Forms were strewn about the place, half hidden in the mess. One form slept leaning against a crate, head on her chest and arm resting lightly across the automatic in her lap. A shock of pale yellow hair covered her forehead. A booted foot came out of the darkness and nudged her thigh persistently.

"Wake up, Frankie."

One startling blue eye opened and glared up into the darkness. "What do you want, Merc?"

The form knelt next to her, black eyes narrowed in the dark face. Long black, curly hair was pulled back, accenting the angularity of his features. He wore black leather, as usual. "There's something going on today down at the Company. I want to check it out. I want you to go with me."

She sighed and leaned back. "I was out all night. Get somebody else."

"The is nobody else for me. You know that, Frankie," his smile made him look like a cobra.

"I'm not going out to the Company during the day. Get over it."

He cupped her chin in his palm. "Come on, Frankie."

She knocked his hand away with the stock of her gun. "Don't touch me."

"Come with me. I’ll make it worth your while.”

Frankie regarded him with a skeptical look. “How are you going to do that?”

His eyes shifted to look at the other forms in the dim light. “Let’s talk outside.”

Crystal Vision

2010-08-10T07:00:00.016-04:00

The sun rose slowly and majestically over the mountains with the regal bearing of an aging Opera House diva. Warm bands of russet and orange stretched out over the peaks, wrapping the back country in early morning finery. Crystal tipped up her straight-backed wooden chair and hooked her slippered feet on the bottom porch slat. She drank in the sunrise with a slight smile on her face and both hands wrapped around a large mug of tea.

It had taken five years, but this finally felt like home. The tall, scrubby pine trees. The curious wildlife. The brutal winters and languid summers. She finally had a home and was finally starting to heal. Something had begun to bloom in her heart that she was suspicious might be hope but it was too soon to tell. More summer mornings spent absorbing the nature that surrounded her, perhaps another long winter spent in quiet reflection. Then she would know.

Her mind flitted through stray thoughts and settled on one she didn’t like. The police officer that had called last week. She so rarely got phone calls anymore from anyone other than the general store that she hadn't thought anything of picking it up rather than screening it through her answering machine. And it had been an officer. She had known that he would be trouble from the first word he had spoken.

Do You Ever...?

2010-08-06T07:00:00.021-04:00

“Are you one of the fortunate kind, alone but not lonely?”

Jessie tapped her thumb on her knee in time to the music as she drove through the night. The window was open and a hot prairie breeze blew her hair into tangles, but her mind was already on the town ahead. The hunt and the feasting. She had let the hunger grow too strong again.

She knew that others of her kind grew to hate the dark or found the solitary existence too desolate. They sought relief in depraved societies of their own creation. She had seen bright, garish lights in an underground city filled with cows who willingly gave away what should rightly be hunted on dark streets or in fragrant, damp forests.

She wasn’t ashamed of what she was. She didn’t resist it. But her two strongest desires were ultimately at odds. The need for solitude. The need to feed. What drove her away from the cities always, inexorably, brought her back. People. An enchanting, intoxicating smorgasbord of people.

Soon she would be in Broken Bow. And she would feed.

"Do You Ever...?" was a Lyric Challenge ficlet originally published at 01:22AM on Sunday, October 28, 2007. Thanks to the ficlet memorial I was able to find it again. Memorial story link. The lyric is from “Alone But Not Lonely” by Mary Ann Redmond (Album: Here I Am). I picked the song randomly but think it worked well. Had only listened 40 seconds in when I picked the lyric and wrote up the Ficlet, so was surprised when I went back to listen to the rest of the song and caught the line “Which one are you tonight? Do you change with the morning light?” How perfect for a little vampire story.

Sue Was Comic Booked!

2010-08-02T08:08:00.000-04:00

Did you hear? I was interviewed by ComicBooked.com! Check out A (Not So) Silent Interview with Sue London wherein it is revealed what Superhero I'm married to.

Wedding Jitters

2010-07-30T07:00:00.004-04:00

Leisha affixed the boutonniere to her eldest son’s jacket while he fidgeted nervously and looked pale. “Does that look right?” she called over her shoulder to her huband, hoping that some conversation would help to calm them all down.

“I can’t tell if you don’t get your fat butt out of the way.”

The corner of Leisha’s mouth quirked. She and Larry were definitely a case of East meets West. Boston and Houston in their case. “Let’s not discuss my avoirdupois, shall we?”

“Heck, girl, you had much more of it when we got married and I woulda needed a cowcatcher to haul you over the threshold.”

Leisha gave him her best quelling look, which just made him grin wider.

Austin, their youngest, came tearing into the room with lapels and cuffs flapping.

Leisha raised an amused brow. “Our darling arrives, in medias res, as it were, to tell us what?”

“Great-grandpa is in your office. He says he’s looking for his gramophone!”

Larry sighed. “Aw, hell. He break anything yet?”

“Not yet. What’s a gramophone?”

"Wedding Jitters" was a ficlet for the Stovohobo Challenge originally published at 12:47AM on Sunday, October 28, 2007. Thanks to the ficlet memorial I was able to find it again. Memorial story link.

Blog Hop, Baby, Blog Hop!

2010-07-26T17:57:00.003-04:00

Hey there! Welcome to one of the stops on the Life Fantastic blog hop! Check out Tessa's blog post for the full description of the hop. While you're here feel free to check out some of my fiction. There are short pieces tagged with Fantasy and there are samples from longer works up on the tabs like Dark Waters (an upcoming Merfolk tale).

The Rules:

Add yourself to the list if you think you fit the topic of the week
Get the code and post it on your blog. This is essential - if you don't, people won't be able to hop on from there. That's just plain rude and a major annoyance. It will also land you on many people's blacklist of blogs-never-to-visit-again.
If you like, do a post on your blog introducing yourself to your visitors.
Each list will be up for a week or so...or at least it will be accessible for that long.

This week's theme:

The Life Fantastic

Do you write fantasy stories/novels (any subgenre welcome)?

Do you read/review fantasy books?

Maybe you create fantasy art?

Join the list and meet other like-minded creatures of the web!
(this week's linky list features a thumbnail picture of you)

What a Doll

2010-07-23T07:00:00.001-04:00

Lara dropped a stack of papers on her boss’s desk and quirked her blonde eyebrow at him. “Gotten any further on the Cobs case yet, Mr. Michaels?” Her voice sounded like satin sheets and champagne on a dark night.

Jack Michaels mumbled something and held up a finger while scratching notes in his journal. Without looking up he said, “Hey, Doll, how about a drink?”

Lara was already setting the tumblers down. “Way ahead of you, Michaels.” She poured the Scotch and settled on the edge of his desk while she took a sip. He gave her a wry smile.

Lara Hanegan had walked into his office last year and asked for the job of secretary. He had explained that he couldn’t afford one and she had said he didn’t need to pay her. It had taken a month for him to get past her blonde bombshell looks and figure out why she wanted to work for a down on his luck gumshoe. What she hid behind that high society veneer was a mind and instincts sharper than any cops. And he was the only one who had ever given her the chance to use them.

"What a Doll" was a ficlet originally published at 12:17AM on Sunday, October 28, 2007 as part of the Gumshoe Challenge. Thanks to the ficlet memorial I was able to find it again. Memorial story link.

The Best Part of Waking Up...

2010-07-18T00:25:00.004-04:00

Excerpt from "A Grave Mistake" for the Blogfest of Death (mwahahahahahahaha).

   The body, the creature, began to make a soft keening sound. Its movements became more pronounced and deliberate. Jennifer Graves hurried to load film into her camera again. She snapped the film door shut and the head turned as though looking in their direction. Dr. Harker pushed her to start moving around the examining table and towards the door, grabbing a scalpel from a nearby tray. The creature sat up with jerking, tortured movements, slowly turning its ugly charred head from side to side, tracking them.
   Footsteps came from the hallway. "Hey, Graves, I brought you some coffee." The creature’s head turned towards the sound of the voice as Emerson came through the door. The guard stopped cold.
   "What in the hell is that?"
   The creature slid to the floor in a low, feral crouch. Its head was still moving, scenting, listening. Emerson dropped the paper coffee cups and reached for his gun.
   To Jennifer that moment seemed to last forever. Everything slowed down, like the time she had slid her Jeep off the road. Long after Emerson let them go, the cups fell and hit the tiles. Coffee splashed out onto the white and black squares, onto Emerson’s pant leg and shiny shoe. One cup of black and one cup with sugar and cream, just the way she liked it. The sound of the gun holster unsnapping popped like a shot in the silence. Emerson’s arm came up and aimed as the creature leaped towards him. Jennifer heard two shots. Then the creature had clasped Emerson close and buried its head at his neck. Jennifer heard the guard’s gurgled cry as his gun slipped from his fingers. Harker sprinted forward with his scalpel and slashed at the creature. One burned arm grabbed his lab coat and tossed him away like a rag toy, slamming him into the far wall. Jennifer started snapping pictures again. The creature's body healed from charred to bright pink splotches before her eyes.
   Jennifer heard the soft squeak of tennis shoes in the hallway. Eric. Why hadn’t she ever noticed the different sounds that shoes make before? Jennifer tried to say something, to yell, to scream, but nothing came out. She looked down at her camera. She needed to load film again. Eric turned the corner of the door, nearly running into Mike Emerson’s back.
   "Christ," he yelled, and launched back against the opposite side of the hallway. The creature released Emerson and the guard's body slumped to the ground. Eric cringed. The creature was breathing heavily and staring out at the assistant with it’s back to Jennifer. She tried to shake off the numbness that she felt and looked around. A metal tray was near her, filled with medical instruments. She grabbed it and flung it as hard as she could at the creature, the tray rebounding with a clang and the instruments streaming down on the floor like metallic rain. The healing head turned to look at her over a shoulder. Dark eyes, black as the midnight outside, stared at her. The face was covered in thick red blood, running in gorey rivulets down to drip from its chin. The creature turned more fully toward Jennifer and she could see the blood running down its naked torso. Its movements had become more fluid, graceful. One hand reached out towards her as though asking for a dance and the eyes….the eyes.
   Jennifer felt a hand pushing her backwards as Harker lunged in front of her again. "No," he said loudly. He held an old wooden cross by a leather thong. The creature hissed at him and looked back at the assistant.
   Jennifer started forward, "Eric!" Harker grabbed her arm and kept the cross aloft in front of them. The creature hissed again and spread its arms out. The body dissolved into a white mist and dissipated as though nothing had been there at all. Jennifer looked down at the floor. Emerson’s blood ran together with coffee across the patterned tiles. Eric stepped gingerly around Emerson and looked nervously around the room. Harker put the cross around his neck and dropped to his knees to check the security guard. The doctor’s expression confirmed what they all knew had to be true. Emerson was dead. And the creature was gone.

Yellow

2010-07-16T22:17:00.001-04:00

Her keening sob settled into a watery, bleary dullness. She couldn’t feel anything. She wasn’t sure if it was spiritual death or a kind of peace. Her eyes were drawn back to the bedroom. That warm, yellow bedroom. Harry’s unabashed favorite color.

“Really? You want to paint the bedroom...” Rita peered at the tiny print below the color, “Duckling?”

Standing behind her, he wrapped his arms around her waist and lowered his chin to her shoulder. “That way, when it’s all cold and dark and nasty outside we can be snug and warm in the sunshine. It can be spring any day of the year in our bedroom.”

That had been her Harry. His brother had nicknamed him Sunny Side Up. Never unrealistic, never saintly by any means, but always with an aptitude for finding the bright side. Or making one. He had given her that so many times when she had needed it.

She let out a deep breath, stood up, and pulled a dress from the crowded rod. Soft yellow with pale spring flowers. Why observe his death when she could love his life?

"Yellow" was a ficlet originally published at 11:52PM on Saturday, October 27, 2007. Thanks to the ficlet memorial I was able to find it again. Memorial story link.

Time to Type a Little Faster

2010-06-26T00:11:00.001-04:00

"If my doctor told me I had only six minutes to live, I wouldn't brood. I'd type a little faster." ~Isaac Asimov

When I was a teenager one of my obsessions was getting my fiction written because who knew how much time I would have to write it? Somehow that energy was lost, or at least diverted, as I did things like go to college and get a job. Since then I've been dragging partially written manuscripts behind me like Marley with his chains.

Now don't worry, I haven't received some dire news of impending disaster. But it has occurred to me that simple math indicates I'm much closer to my eventual demise than when I was thirteen (and furiously scribbling to complete that Dune rip-off I was so attached to at the time). That NOW might be a good time to reinvigorate the panic that fueled me in those years.

But how do you rediscover a sense of urgency?

It is certainly a bit disconcerting that time flies by now. Earlier today my sister and I commiserated that three years used to take forever (1987 to 1990) and now it feels like yesterday (2007 to 2010). But that truth (or perception) doesn't make me panic so much as sink into a sense of ennui, which certainly doesn't help with a burning need to complete stories.

Don't get me wrong, I still know how to panic but it's mostly confined to things like due dates at work and that turns out to be counter-productive to caring about things like writing. It leads to settling deep into the couch and watching hours of television.

But even though I've not been as productive (to this point) as Asimov, my reaction to thinking there would be a limit on my time to write would be the same. It would strip away all the other b.s. and focus me on the flame that burns within. The need to create, to express, to communicate, to influence through the power of words.

So yes, it's definitely time to tend the fire and type a little faster. How about you?

This was a "Find a Quote About Writing that Inspires You" exercise. While I chose the topic of a sense of urgency to write (and a beloved sci-fi author), Jen "The Amazing" Stayrook chose characters to write for her post Why "Real" Characters Matter More Than Anything Else in Writing. Go check it out.

Five Question Friday: The Play at Home Version

2010-06-11T15:07:00.000-04:00

Aaron Polson interviewed me for Five Question Friday last month, but turns out he CHANGES the questions each time he does them. Although very cool it makes me want to play along with the home version. So here goes.

1. If your books could only have single color covers, what color would it be?

Wow, that's a hard question. But after mulling it over for quite awhile I'd have to say white.

White...is not a mere absence of colour; it is a shining and affirmative thing, as fierce as red, as definite as black...God paints in many colours; but He never paints so gorgeously, I had almost said so gaudily, as when He paints in white. - G. K. Chesterton

2. Pick a character from anything you've written. Who is it, and what are his/her top five movies?

Well, guess I'd better pick a character who is on Earth, contemporary, and might actually go to movies. That knocks the list down quite a bit.

Jennifer Graves, crime scene photographer (A Grave Mistake).

Se7en
L.A. Confidential
Duck Soup
Psycho
Being John Malkovich

For the record, Jennifer is a lot weirder than I am. No, seriously, like....creepy weird.

3. If aliens landed in front of you and, in exchange for anything you desire, offered you any job on their planet, what would you choose?

Ok, so let me get the criteria straight. I can have anything I want, but I have to go to their planet and take the job of my choice. Well, first I'd better pick something I can take with me. Second, I need to know a little bit about their planet. But that's ok, I'll make it up.

4. What three things are always in your refrigerator?

This is a scary thing to think about. Lessee....

Filtered water
Grape Jelly
Horseradish

Assumed you were looking for the truth, no matter how ugly that truth might be.

5. Is the book always better than the movie?

I'm pretty firmly in the camp of "the book is better than the movie." If the author is a real hack and by some miracle of grace they get good screenwriters, actors, director, etc. then the movie will probably be better. And then the author will probably hate it. *cough cough cough Sahara cough cough* "She seemed to float above the ghostly evening mist like a menacing beast rising from the primeval ooze"? Seriously, Clive? Talk about purple prose.

"Virtuality" Teaser

2010-05-27T16:19:00.001-04:00

The year is 2027 and interactive virtual reality - Virtuality - has come out of the testing labs and is ready for public release. It is actually the merging of neuro and computer sciences and once you’re ‘plugged in’, your body rests while your mind receives all of its input from a computer. You can feel, taste, touch, see, and smell whatever has been programmed.

The leader in the Virtuality movement is George Day, a genius programmer credited with taking it to its current level of sophistication. He formed a team of scientists from around the world to create the most realistic experience possible, driven by the fact that in real life he is immobile and wracked with pain. But the world is still recovering from the Information Wars and politicians are becoming uncomfortable with the vweb being an unregulated industry.

While George is facing Congressional inquiries that he thinks they are the worst thing that can happen to his world, Virtuality users start dying, and a review of their programs proves that they were murdered. Now George has to stop the murderous hacker who devised a way to travel and kill on the byways of Virtuality while keeping the World Congress from pulling the plug on the only reality he can live in.

Read Chapter One.

"Dark Waters" Teaser

2010-05-14T19:31:00.004-04:00

Cassidy Lynch startled the world by turning her back on a life of glamor to dive for artifacts in the Caribbean. But after her father's death she was driven to prove his theories had been right so that his legacy wouldn't suffer the ridicule that he had endured while living.

Kian "Kee" Murphy left the world behind long ago. For the last thirty years he has been a resistance fighter in the ever-increasing friction between humans and the Darkworld. Just as the stakes are going up and his kind are considering coming out of the shadows he discovers Cass. And he's not going to give her up, come hell or high water.

"Star Crossed" Teaser

2010-05-02T23:49:00.004-04:00

Chicago attorney Vivian Devonshire excels at counseling her business clients on how to avoid risks but after advising one client against a merger she finds out that the risks are all hers. First the overbearing cousin of a merger client shows up to review her work and dog her steps. Then the death threats start. Meanwhile, her kooky friend Leigh has been warning her about ominous transits in her star chart.

Nick Carradine isn’t sure what this legal ice queen has done to scotch his cousin Pete’s merger, but he’s determined to find out because that’s what you do for family. Except the more he goes through Vivian’s papers the more convinced he is that she was right, and that Pete’s version of “family” has a long, dark history in Chi-town. When he gets the message that he needs to back off or see his own company destroyed he has to choose between saving the place he built from scratch and protecting this intriguing woman who’s determined to do the right thing.

Read the first chapter.

Here Sidhe Comes

2010-04-30T07:00:00.002-04:00

The Rock Rag
(Cover Article)
by Sue London

This interviewer had a chance to sit down with the rock band “Sidhe Walks In Beauty” before the kick-off of the North American tour for their album “Unseelie Court”. In case you’ve been living under a mushroom cap while this British sensation has taken off, Sidhe is pronounced “Shee” and is the Gaelic word for fey or fairy.

I met the three guy, one girl band at New York’s swank Casablanca Hotel. Leanan looked amazing in a little flowing blue number, while the boys Pooka, Spriggan and Boggie were all decked out in black grunge finery. The first thing I asked was, of course, “Why Sidhe?”

Spriggan replied, “Why the [expletive] do you [expletive] think, you [expletive]? We’re [expletive] fey!”

Leanan broke in with her usual charm, “And the band name is a reference to a Lord Byron poem. Since Byron is a personal friend it seemed like a nice tribute.” (When I mentioned that Byron had been dead for some time the band reassured me that he was in fact enjoying time with some friends at a fairie ring in Northern Ireland where time passes slowly and was in quite good health.)

Pooka, who had been glowering at me, spoke up. “We looked at those rock bands tearing up their hotel rooms, luring young people away from their homes to follow them, having sex with everyone within five feet of them, and we thought, what a rip-off! We’ve been acting like that for thousands of years and now some mortal brats are going to come along and make money at it? [Expletive]!”

Of course, over the years there has been the odd fairy to gain popularity in entertainment. Bryan Ferry, the son of a dryad, was a 1980s pop sensation and right now Tina Fey, a nymph, is quite successful.

When I asked her about this, Leanan mused, “Tina has done a good job of toning down her natural allure even though you can see it shine through by accident from time to time. There is a real pressure as a sidhe where you wonder if you can make it without your glamour – if you can just succeed on your own hard work.”

Well, it’s certain that this great band is making it on their own hard work. Check out Sidhe Walks in Beauty coming soon to a town near you!

Blood Will Tell

2010-04-23T17:28:00.008-04:00

   It’s in the blood, they say. Landel blood. This obsessive drive towards perfection, with fourteen generations supported by patrons and moving ever closer to the ultimate masterpiece. That was how I came to be here, hunched over my workbench with sweat beading at my brow and running in rivulets down my back. I was now the last of the Landel line. A puny female of average countenance and the most sought after weaponsmith in all the Provinces of Beleir T’an on the eve of the Tenth War.

   Throughout the last thousand years the dark mage Isthair and his unholy minions have ravaged our people and lands. The mystics say that the approaching turn of the millennium bodes ill, that as Ithsair came upon us at the beginning of this millennium, so his power will grow in the beginning of the next. That soon he will have no need to retreat into his lair for a hundred years between wars. Mystics, with their ragged soiled clothes and bedazzled eyes clutching talismans as they wander our streets call doom down upon us all. And who can say nay? Who can look upon our broken filthy streets, look at our dirty starving children, and not think that the end approaches? Who among us would not almost welcome death, an end to our worthless toil of wars and eking out an existence in the bare scrub of land still protected from the warlock’s hellfire? So what is left to the people of the Provinces besides a life of going to war with empty bellies?

   At one time the Provinces flourished. Before Ithsair, before wars and plagues and city burnings, there were rich farmlands stretching farther than the eye could see, clear flowing rivers and streams unpolluted by the grime and blood of war. Walking through my city Verlan you can see a shadow of that former age. Look here at a crafted arch that bespeaks wealth and artistry. Look there at a finely laid section of road, created when work was a source of pride and not something that had to be rushed because the worker was needed for strengthening the walls.

   The mystics rave that if Ithsair chose, he could pluck the sun from the sky and leave us in eternal darkness. That on certain nights he pulls the moon from her path and wears her as a ring on his finger. It could be the ravening of mad men or the sad foretelling of our destiny. But I can tell you what is known. That Ithsair is stirring from his slumber. Thus for the last hundred years my family has worked to create swords of such superior craftsmanship that many say they are charmed. Tonight I am preparing my last sword before battle. The huge blood ruby set in the pommel glows with its own inner light and when I touch the blade I can feel the steel writhe with life under my thumb. The balance, which feels so light in my own palm, will seem to a warrior as light and natural as a reed dancing in the wind. This sword is my best work and I could no more give my life to my Province if I died on the battlefield. The exhaustion that steals upon me reminds me why I am the last. The flame of inspiration which had burned brighter and brighter in our family has left only myself as its last bright flicker. With that thought I lower myself to the stone floor and lay my head on the bench near the sword. My fingers curl possessively on the handle as I take a few hours rest before I present the sword to Lord Braenall and he takes it to the battlefield.

   I awaken to the sound of scuffing feet. My eyes open, but I cannot see. I move my arms to wipe my face but I cannot seem to touch my own skin. It is an odd sensation to move my arms, like trying to fight rushing water.

   “There is the wee lass,” I hear Alain, the castellan, say. “She’s worked herself into a slumber.”

   “So long as she’s finished the sword.” That was the voice of Braenall, the young and snide lord that had decreed a Landel sword as being the only one worthy of his carrying into battle. Suddenly I feel myself grasped fully about the waist and I’m being bodily moved. I hear a scraping sound and once I have light to see I shudder. My first sight is my own face, composed in sleep with dark lashes swept down on my cheeks and red tendrils of hair loose, and I am being lifted up and away from myself. I try to reach my arms out again towards myself and feel that strange resistence. I see Alain kneel next to my body.

   “Come now, love, wake up.” He shakes my shoulder and my my body slumps down towards the floor. Alain acts quickly to check my breath and my pulse. He sits back on his heels and shakes his head.

   “The Landel curse has claimed her,” he announces.

   “That is… unfortunate,” Braenall says. “Prepare a burial for her in my family grounds. A stone must mark that this is the last of the Landel line.”

   “Aye, milord.”

   I try to see Braenall but cannot see above his thigh. I feel strangely disoriented and cannot move my head. Not wanting to see myself on the floor anymore I begin to look around the room at my tools. How I long to touch them. I feel myself shifting again, then I am eye to eye with Braenall. But he is looking over my gaze.

   “The weight is good and the blade is true,” Braenall is saying. “The balance seems a bit off, though. It almost feels like the blade is fighting me.”

   With that I feel myself swept through the air, dancing a figure eight. And with it I must accept the impossible. That somehow I have not put only my talent into this sword, but myself as well.

This is an entry in the Life Fantastic Blog Hop.
Quick link: http://tinyurl.com/landelblood

The Writer's MeMe

2009-12-30T00:01:00.000-05:00

Picked this up from Liana Brooks. I'm Neutral Good, Liana, but I still don't feel guilty stealing this.

What’s the last thing you wrote?
A supernatural romance novella called Dark Waters about some angry merfolk going to war over the overfishing and polluting of the oceans.

Was it any good?
How can you ask me that? I'm a writer. One second I think it's genius and the next I think it's crap.

What’s the first thing you ever wrote that you still have?
Hmmm. It would take some digging but I still have a short story about horses that I wrote in second grade. I looooooove me some horse fiction.

Write poetry?
Not often, and then only 'doggerel verse' because it entertains me. I'm related to some honest-to-God poets (published, etc.) so it's possible there is an overexposure issue involved here.

Angsty poetry?
Once in a blue moon. So I guess maybe I'm due come New Year's Eve...

Favorite genre of writing?
Speculative fiction. Space ships, creatures of the night, talking swords - love it all.

Most fun character you ever wrote?
Fun for you or fun for me? The crowd favorite is probably Captain Dave Paris, the brilliant but irresponsible leader of the Strange Crew.

Most annoying character you ever wrote?
Mark the Markanian. But he was written to be the most annoying creature in the galaxy.

How often do you get writer’s block?
All. The. Time.

How do you fix it?
Just write something because, as the saying goes, you can fix a crappy page. You can't fix a blank page.

Write fan fiction?
Used to, specifically Star Trek. Threatened to write some Colbert Fan Fiction on my personal blog and am still the #2 Google hit for that search term (used to be #1). Since about 25% of the hits on my blog are for "Ghost Hunters fan fiction" I suppose I should get around to writing some (all I've done is question why anyone would want to read any of it). To me fanfic is harmless entertainment.

Do you type or write by hand?
Mostly type these days, but probably do more longhand than most. I keep notebooks everywhere and might just write up a plot outline or end up writing out pages of scenes and dialog because the notebook was handy when I had the idea. Seriously. Notebooks. Everywhere.

Do you save everything you write?
Yes. I save lots of other things, too.

Do you ever go back to an old idea long after you abandoned it?
Yes. Nothing is ever dead. Although some things are undead.

What’s your favorite thing that you’ve written?
The start (first three chapters) to a story about an invalid who creates a virtual reality so that he gets a chance to live before he dies. (Virtuality)

What’s everyone else’s favorite thing that you’ve written?
Probably the USS Bob short stories (aforementioned Star Trek fanfic). They're funny. But people usually like whatever I've got in the hopper. The only complaints are if I haven't finished something.

What’s your favorite setting for your characters?
That sounds like a good question, but it isn't. Depends on the characters, depends on the needs of the story. Hell, depends on my mood. I'm comfortable in the future, in the past, in distant galaxies, in the city, in the country. Whatever. Dark Waters primarily takes place on small boats and in the open ocean. Virtuality includes a scene where the air is Jell-O (the programmers need some way to entertain themselves). So my favorite setting is the one that reveals the characters.

What’s one genre you have never written, and probably never will?
Probably mystery. I love mystery, grew up on Agatha Christie, have an addiction to Michael Connelly's novels, and pretty much soak up all the written and televised mystery and crime fiction I can find. But I just don't think I can write it worth a flip. Otherwise I wouldn't rule anything out.

How many writing projects are you working on right now?
Five primary, but plenty of other stuff in the hopper.

Do you want to write for a living?
As Newt would say, "Affirmative."

Have you ever written something for a magazine or newspaper?
Written? Yes. Been published? Ohhhh... no. Haven't submitted anything in about twenty years though, so it's time to try again.

Have you ever won an award for your writing?
Nope! Is that required?

Ever written something in script or play format?
Yes, I love screenwriting and playwriting. I'm as happy with a script or play as I am with prose. Don't know why, have always been that way. I blame Oscar Wilde.

What are your five favorite words?
1. Curious
2. Lyrical
3. Avant-garde
4. Novel
5. Sweet

(Subject to change at any moment.)

What character that you’ve written most resembles yourself?
Huh. Well, I've got to be in there somewhere... I would say that all the characters have various aspects. Usually I see thematic similarities rather than a specific resemblence. Oh, duh. One of the characters in the USS Bob stories is based on a teen me. Sort of. That's where I got the Commander part of my name. So, uh, that one. Commander Sue London, First Officer, Science Officer and All Around Fun Chick. Wrote that character before I realized that most science would go right over my head.

Where do you get ideas for your other characters?
They spring from my head fully formed, like Venus.

Do you ever write based on your dreams?
Sometimes. If anything I write ever disturbs you then I probably dreamed it first. My subconscious is much creepier and more violent than my waking thoughts.

Do you favor happy endings, sad endings, or cliff-hangers?
Wow, interesting question. I want the best ending for the story (yes, it depends!), but I'm usually drawn to happy ending stories. But one of the examples I used here, Virtuality? That's totally a sad ending. So yeah, it depends.

Are you concerned with spelling and grammar as you write?
Always, but that doesn't mean it helps.

Does music help you write?
Yes, much more often than it used to. I've started building playlists for different projects and that helps me to switch gears and focus.

Quote something you’ve written. The first thing to pop into your mind.
“I like my scars. They give me a sense of personal history.” ~ Kyzar, The Far Side of Utopia

Thank You

2009-11-26T20:15:00.000-05:00

Thanksgiving seems like a great time to thank you, the reader, for stopping by and checking out what's posted here. Bless you.

Day Two!

2009-11-15T00:35:00.000-05:00

One thing I've now learned is what a s.l.o.w. writer that I am. We went to a writers workshop today and last night my husband sat down and cranked out about 4,000 words. I have just now managed to wobble over 3,400 on my race to 50,000. Yes, that's right, I've only now crossed the second hurdle. The one I should have been jumping on November 2nd.

Irony? He doesn't really care about being a writer. And before you ask, yes. It was a good 4,000 words.

Yea! Day One!

2009-11-09T22:23:00.000-05:00

To get ready for NaNoWriMo I faithfully calculated how many words were necessary to write each day in order to arrive at 50,000 by the end of the month. It's about 1,700. Having finally hit that number it is, by logic, only my first day in NaNoWriMo. Its like starting on a walk and having to say, "No, really, we're going up THAT mountain?"

Oh boy...

NaNoWriMo: Day 1

2009-11-02T07:46:00.001-05:00

Off to a blazing start with two paragraphs. About one tenth of the target words for the day. November is going to a long month. Will need to request time off from work...

Once More Into the Breach, My Friends: NaNoWriMo 2009

2009-10-22T12:15:00.000-04:00

Not particularly well known for finishing writing projects, I have a similar track record with NaNoWriMo. I sign up, I write a few pages, I say, "eh, whatever" and never move forward.

THIS YEAR WILL BE DIFFERENT!

I proclaim to you, my friends, that this year I will write the freaking 50,000 words. I've started plotting and will do the outline soon.

Keep me honest.

Score Another One for Art

2009-09-28T07:34:00.001-04:00

Remember when I said that although I'm a better writer than artist I've earned more money with art? Last week I volunteered to do face painting at a small (tiny) local carnival and everyone went ga-ga. There were many recommendations that I work the kids party circuit and try to get into fairs. Having checked out the competition online I would say that I'm around the middle of the pack in quality and could definitely improve with practice. The best part was that it was loads of fun. I only did cheek art and probably spent about five to ten minutes on each one. The idea that I could get paid for that entertains me.

The Reading (Writing?) Rainbow

2009-09-27T17:43:00.002-04:00

Reading Justine Larbalestier's post Damned if You Do, Damned if You Don't I have to say... wow. Really? In case you don't feel like clicking on the link, the basic point of the essay is that writers perhaps could/should include more ethnic diversity in their writing but if/when they try to do so they are likely to encounter a response from someone of that ethnic background who thinks they didn't get it right.

I'm not here to say that JL is right or wrong. My only feedback for anyone worried about this topic is - develop a more diverse group of friends and then you will accidentally write diversity. Because at heart all writers always write what they know, and trying to do something else will just make you sound forced. If you don't already have friends of color and varying sexual orientations then, seriously, get out more.

That's not to say that you can't write a character from a wildly different background than your own. But it's a good bet that if you decided to write about oh, say, a kid from northern Russia when you're from northern Virginia (USA), that you would spend a good deal of time researching that background and you would come to love that character. Love in the sense of opening your soul to blend with the information from your research and having it become part of you. Then your character will be pure and you will know it. You will know that you didn't set out to offend anyone (should they get offended), you just told the story that your young hero whispered to you.

My favorite quote from the comments is Karen David's stance that a character's race is "just a strand in their identity." That's just the thing, you see. A strand. Inherent in the design of the cloth. That's what my diverse friends are like. How about yours?

Today's Thought

2009-09-06T15:02:00.001-04:00

My enthusiasm has been ground to a fine powder that, when mixed with my tears of despair, is used to caulk the crumbling foundation of our management structure.

Any Excuse

2009-08-21T15:22:00.003-04:00

I was going over some of my old performance justifications (that's where I write up how I think I did for the year at work) and they demonstrate that I will use any opportunity for a creative writing exercise. This is an excerpt of what I had to say the year I took over a new team:

A metaphor I would use was that I thought I was going to sail a boat. I prepared to sail a boat - studied my sheets, knew my port from my starboard, knew my spring from my neap tides. I was all ready; even though I knew that part of the challenge was that I would be going into the situation blindfolded. Then I got there and it turned out we weren’t sailing. Blindfolded, I wasn’t quite sure what I had gotten myself into. We were definitely still on land, I could hear a lot of animals around (and it was a little smelly), and the place where I was perched was a bit precarious. I figured out that this wasn’t a sailboat that I could captain, but where was I? Up on a cow pony and we were out herding in the rough country. Well, dang, I know how to do this (maybe not well, but I know the basics). So once I got that figured out everything started to go a lot smoother. I stopped shouting “Cast off!” at the cattle, stopped demanding that the cowboys hoist a mainsheet… basically stopped acting like an inappropriate idiot.

Capitalizing on Talents

2009-08-02T21:31:00.001-04:00

If you were to ask me I would say that I was a better writer than artist. But it occurred to me today that of the two it has only been art where I've made real cashy money. Part of it may be that because I don't perceive myself as a real artist I am willing to use what small (really, I mean small) talent I have in whatever capacity it serves me. I've mostly done contract craft and textile work. It's not like I've made a LOT of money from art - certainly I've made much, much more selling my soul to The Man - but I've at least made some.

I find that interesting.

It's arguable that I get money from The Man for my writing (all those white papers...), but I think that we can all agree that business reports are to writing what bathroom stall doodles are to art. Can't we? I hope we can agree to that.

I have other talents. Many of them unknown to me until I accidentally tried them out. Some I make money from and others I don't.

What do you consider to be your talents? Do you use them in your work? Do you make money from them? Are you averse to making money from your greatest talents?

(Cross-posted from TTGSiMH because this is my, uh, writing blog...)

So That's What I've Been Doing Wrong

2006-12-03T23:36:00.002-05:00

Way back when, in 2002 or so, I pulled out a lot of my writing. Scribbles and scraps, notebooks and looseleaf, printouts and typed pages. (Yes, I've written long enough to have typed pages.) I decided I was going to get SERIOUS. (Well, at least as serious as I ever planned to be. I aspire, in my own words, to be a hack.) I joined the SFF online writers group, put up a fiction website and eventually this blog. I got good feedback, participated in the process, and then I just sort of... stopped.

For me writing is the dream that won't die. My holy grail. Sometimes it seems like the harder I try to focus on it the more difficult it becomes. Then I try to ignore it and little signs and arrows pop up.

While following a backlink on my main blog for a silly post about a nerd test, I found a blog called BlogSchmog to poke around in. Lo and behold, he had recently posted on creativity. It was a summation of advice on creativity from Gaping Void that he had separated into The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly. From the very first point under The Good I felt like I had pulled a big, flopping carp in my boat and I was saying, "Hey, doesn't this fish look familiar?"
3. Put the hours in.
Oh yeah. Right. I was supposed to do that.

So why didn't I?

I'm sure I have all sorts of good excuses. Gotta pay the mortgage. Gotta take care of the pets. Gotta... Gotta... Gotta... I've read from some of my favorite writers that they actually hate writing but, as the saying goes, they love having written. When they have the time they also hide behind a list of gottas to keep from having to sit down at the computer and actually PRODUCE something. (We can't all be Scott Adams and Nora Roberts who keep to their regimented schedules like they were earning merit badges.)

But excuses aren't reasons. Somehow those other writers do find a way to settle down and produce something. They find their motivation.

Sir Alexander Dane: You're just going to have to figure out what it wants. What is its motivation?
Jason Nesmith: It's a rock monster. It doesn't have motivation.
Sir Alexander Dane: See, that's your problem, Jason. You were never serious about the craft.

Of course all of this got me thinking: how can I find my motivation? I recently took the Clifton StrengthsFinder (a nice little write-up of the strengths is at the bottom of this page) which I think illuminates two points for me.

First, we can't all be Scott and Nora (they are probably blessed with a deep rut in the Focus talent) nor should we try to be. I am not blessed with Focus in my top five talents and I would be highly surprised if it made the talent list at all. I think that it is a non-talent which means when I'm pressed to use that approach it morphs into a horrible, ugly weakness. It doesn't matter how much you try to "teach" me to Focus, I just don't get it. Not over the long haul. This is particularly amusing since a good bit of my job requires giving Focus to my organization. Things go along swimmingly until I get distracted. For me Focus is not natural. It is not easy. It requires energy and drains me. Why do I do it? Because someone has to. And my second rated strength is Responsibility. I was the 12-year-old who said to her parents "Someone has to be the adult around here." My catchphrase is, "I'll take care of it."

Second, I need to focus on own my strengths. Obviously, based on the above discussion I would be a much more prolific writer if I had a contract to fulfill or depended on writing to pay the mortgage. This sort of motivation has served me well in "having a job" but certainly doesn't make for rushing off into the unknown.

No solutions, I'm just thinking for now. But I've got to find a way to put the hours in.

Use the Force...

2005-05-23T13:57:00.002-04:00

I wish that I liked Orson Scott Card more, really I do. He's a darling of the sci-fi/fantasy genre. I've read some of his books, and even really liked a few of them. My particular favorite was Hart's Hope, and I read all of the Alvin Maker series. (Don't get too excited about the commitment because if they put stories on the back of my corn flakes I would read all of those, too.) I even have his autograph from when he came to our Virginia Festival of the Book. He was an entertaining speaker. But I've never been able to make it past a few pages of Ender's Game. There is a vague but insistent arrogance running under the voice of his work that irritates me.

On my first reading I found that voice very present in his essay "No Faith in This Force", a review of the religious implications of Lucas' films, "Revenge of the Sith" in particular.

Many had obviously memorized all the howlingly bad lines. They began laughing out loud just before the line was said, and applauded at the wretched “emotional” moments in the movie.

But then, walking out of the theater, they fiercely defended the movie against anyone who dared to speak against it. It might be badly written, but it’s their badly written movie.

Thanks, Orson. We love you, too. If we just replace 'movie' with 'book' then you have defined how I feel about all of your Ender's Game fans. There, how does that feel?

He does make some points about moral relativism, but he doesn't follow up with any clear logical or ethical arguments about it. Mostly he seems to be questioning why people (real people) call themselves Jedi. On their Census form, for instance. In conclusion he says:

So if a religion is known to be fictional, trains its exclusive practitioners to be killing machines, and doesn’t actually work in the real world, why do people call themselves Jedi?

Well, gosh. Could it be... no, let me think. Yes, it's true.....

Because we're BIG OLD GEEKS! It makes us laugh! We are entertained! In a time where there are so many disappointments with organized religion it is a way of poking fun! Are there seriously disturbed people who take it more seriously than they should? NO DOUBT! That's true about anything! There are just as many nutball Christians as there are role players or Jedis or Department Store Santas. Every group has it's nuts.

The only positive thing I have to say about Mr. Card's essay is that it is a also a bit of a poke at Scientology. "It’s one thing to put your faith in a religion founded by a real person who claimed divine revelation, but it’s something else entirely to have, as the scripture of your religion, a storyline that you know was made up by a very nonprophetic human being." Take that, Tom Cruise.

Oh, and remind me to claim divine revelation later this week. I'll pencil it in. I didn't realize that I just had to claim divine revelation to be taken seriously as a religious leader. That is different from artistic inspiration how? Wait, no, don't confuse me with the facts.

Mostly, though, I just hope that Kevin Smith (aka Silent Bob) writes a retort. Wise in the ways of the Force, he is.

Sidhe Walks In Beauty

2005-05-02T00:06:00.002-04:00

The Rock Rag, November 2003
Cover Article "Here Sidhe Comes"

by Colin Graham

This interviewer had a chance to sit down with the rock band “Sidhe Walks In Beauty” before the kick-off of the North American tour for their album “Unseelie Court”. In case you’ve been living under a mushroom cap while this British sensation has taken off, Sidhe is pronounced “Shee” and is the Gaelic word for fey or fairy.

I met the three guy, one girl band at New York’s swank Casablanca Hotel. Leanan looked amazing in a little flowing blue number, while the boys Pooka, Spriggan and Boggie were all decked out in black grunge finery. The first thing I asked was, of course, “Why Sidhe?”

Spriggan replied, “Why the [expletive] do you [expletive] think, you [expletive]? We’re [expletive] fey!”

Leanan broke in with her usual charm, “And the band name is a reference to a Lord Byron poem. Since Byron is a personal friend it seemed like a nice tribute.” (When I mentioned that Byron had been dead for some time the band reassured me that he was in fact enjoying time with some friends at a fairie ring in Northern Ireland where time passes slowly and was in quite good health.)

Pooka, who had been glowering at me, spoke up. “We looked at those rock bands tearing up their hotel rooms, luring young people away from their homes to follow them, having sex with everyone within five feet of them, and we thought, what a rip-off! We’ve been acting like that for thousands of years and now some mortal brats are going to come along and make money at it? [Expletive]!”

Of course, over the years there has been the odd fairy to gain popularity in entertainment. Bryan Ferry, the son of a dryad, was a 1980s pop sensation and right now Tina Fey, a nymph, does the news on Saturday Night Live.

When I asked her about this, Leanan mused, “Tina has done a good job of toning down her natural allure. There is a real pressure as a sidhe where you wonder if you can make it without your glamour – if you can just succeed on your own hard work.”

Well, it’s certain that this great band is making it on their own hard work. Check out Sidhe Walks in Beauty coming soon to a town near you!

No One Ever Told Me...

2005-04-28T20:49:00.001-04:00

No one ever told me that science fiction writing was easy. No one except me, of course, and I always go out of my way to prove myself wrong. Two years ago I decided that writing was my chosen profession. All I had to do, after all, was sit in a chair and write, two things I was champion at. I convinced my unwary step-sister to join me in the pursuit of the published word... and the firm squelching of our delusions. It would only take a year, I said benignly, to write our first novel. "A year?" wailed my co-writer. "But, I wanted a sports car next month!" Her enthusiasm and expectations for writing we a bit colored, shall we say.

But, undaunted determination drove us toward our goal. We would have that novel written within a year. Fighting against enormous odds - daily writer's block, our unparalleled talent at finding something better to do, our misunderstanding of literature - we strove for the one thing that really mattered: the money. No snippy artist's integrity here, we were on the scent of monetary gain.

Into the fourth rewrite of the eighth chapter we were seized with a sudden realization. We didn't know how to get "the book" published. With some joy we dashed from our typing room - what once had been known as 'the study' was now considered a chamber of horrors - and ran pell-mell to the library. We pored through books and books (and books) about writing. We begged the librarian to let us stay all night. Not to read, we said, but so that we wouldn't have to stare our typewriter in the face (or the keyboard) again. Our librarian thereafter regarded us as a sort of oddity.

Before that novel was finished, the constant strain was telling on us. We couldn't hold a level gaze against any book. We shielded our eyes from the friendly dictionary and thesaurus. We were ashamed of our ineptitude. We somewhat wished that an alien from one of our plots would come alive and kidnap us, taking us away from the Land of Constant Typing. Our perfectionism made us agonizingly rewrite the chapters "just one more time." We were exhausted, yes, but we could not stop.

I will have to say that in those two years our style has improved considerably (our typing definitely has). Our technique has soared to formerly unknown levels. Grudgingly, I admit that writing can be satisfying. The pay isn't in dollars and cents alone. One word to the amateur, though. If you are thinking of becoming a writer because it won't be a strenuous job ("hey, I think I'll write me somthing and make a few thou"), then think again. You would be better off becoming a marathon runner.

(c) Sue London, 1985

Jot Doggerel Verse With Alacrity

2005-04-01T21:57:00.002-05:00

I've been going through my old files which are full of writing crud, including this little piece of doggerel verse. The tempo is fun, but I think the counts are off. I'm sure my brother the English Lit/Poetry guy would freak out. But I like it. Since I was probably 14 when I wrote it I feel like I can cut myself a break....

Astrology

Astrological considerations are many, I can see,
After delving into the depths of this banality.
Whether you were born in the year of the dragon or the rat,
The year of the this or the year of the that.

Where you were born and where you live now,
Your exact time of birth at your former locale.
The positions of the stars and the moon and the sun.
Was there a lunar eclipse? At what time was it done?

The transits of planets between each of your houses,
And the years that typify horses and mouses.
The sign that was at the horizon at birth,
Can somehow affect your overall girth.

And that sign that was setting can also apply,
If you can chart its location far up in the sky.
There's also the lunar affect to be counted,
And various other things as yet to be mounted.

The position of Pluto in its aspect to Saturn,
Trined with Neptune in a peculiar pattern,
Favorable with both Jupiter and Mars,
Though Venus does not quite agree with your stars.

And Mercury is having his quibbles too,
Although his degrees from your sun are really quite few.
This all has a stake in your business relations,
How you treat your best friend, and the family vacations.

And there are also career points as yet to be mentioned,
As your sign could be clumsy although well intentioned.
And you have to decide if your sun or your moon,
Or your ascending sign is your true self illumined.

As all of this has some part in the plan,
Of the stars and their pulls on the creature called man.

8/28/10: This is now an entry in the Poetic License Blog Hop.

Steps I've Taken

2005-03-15T22:38:00.001-05:00

I'm approximately half-way through the three years Mark Twain extolls we should try writing to see if it takes (or if chopping wood is what we're meant for).

In the fall of 2003 I pulled together a lot of the writing I had and put it online. I joined the science fiction/fantasy club for a year. I had been on their email list for years and remain on it today. It was fun to review others' writing and have my own reviewed for awhile. But something inside of me insisted that it wasn't my path.

This year I've been working on a tv series with a co-writer so I signed up for IMDBPro and some other screenwriting sites such as Trigger Street. On the fiction/non-fiction side I got the 2005 Writer's Handbook to see what I might be able to place.

Script Buddy

2005-02-26T17:42:00.001-05:00

I found a cool scriptwriter's tool called Script Buddy. The simple version is also FREE!!!! The co-writer and I are working on some script ideas and it makes it very simple to share info between us and make updates.

Read the January Romance Online Writing Workshop Editor's Choice Story!

2004-01-09T15:21:00.006-05:00

Death Unearthed (check out the first chapter here)
Romantic Thriller, Chapter One, Draft

The Review
The Editors' Choice is chosen from recent submissions that show a
lot of potential or otherwise earn the admiration of our Resident
Editor. One submission per month will receive a detailed review,
meant to be educational for others as well as the author.

DEATH UNEARTHED, Chapter 1, by Sue London

Smooth, polished writing and an engaging heroine pulled me right into this funny, charming first chapter. There were a great many things that I liked about this submission, most notably the strong, clearly established voice of the heroine and the many delicious little comic touches... As far as style is concerned, I really have nothing to criticize. The writing flows, smooth and professional. The dialogue is crisp and natural, and dialogue attribution is beautifully unobtrusive. The author has chosen to write this story in the first person, and I think her choice works well. A light-hearted mystery/romance with an urban, chick-lit feel to it is ideal for first person narration, and I enjoy being inside Casey's head; she's smart, funny and interesting. The author has done a large part of the work already by creating such a likeable heroine.

However, the author should push Casey harder. If there is a problem with this chapter, it is a lack of dramatic tension. Granted, the tone is light, despite the gravity of Casey's colleague's murder, but even so, the arc of the story must put Casey to the test and force her to change and grow, and the first chapter must present the tensions that must be resolved in the book, great and small. I think it falls short of this goal. The tensions resolve too quickly, too easily, and the story sags because of it.

I am curious to see where this goes. My compliments, and good luck.

--Shannon McKenna, author of STANDING IN THE SHADOWS