Magical Words

Somehow, the vast majority of the people with whom I work did not know that I had written and sold a novel. I don’t really know how they missed it, since I wasn’t what you’d call reticent about the subject. My book comes out next week, and I have signings scheduled, so my husband insisted I make flyers for him to hand out at his work, and for me to hand out to all the teachers and staff here. Which I did yesterday (I used my red sealing wax and my skull & crossbones seal to make them a little extra piratey!) Ever since, I’ve been dealing with thrilled people coming by to congratulate me. This is wonderful, of course. Happy people being happy for me are always an upper. But inevitably, the question comes - “Aren’t you excited?”

Depends on how you define “excited”, I guess. My hands are constantly shaking, I’m not especially interested in food lately, and if I think about it too much I’m afraid I might throw up and run home and hide under my pillow until Christmas.

When this event was over a year away, I talked about it all the time, planned for it, wondered what I’d wear to a signing, dreamed about the call from my publisher telling me I was on the bestseller lists… all that stuff one thinks about. As time went by, I busied myself writing, answering emails, making copy edits and verifying quotes for the proof editors, so the level of excitement remained fairly constant. But as the number of days until release counted down to single digits, my excitement changed to mild panic.

It’ll be all right, of course. Once I’m behind the table, I’ll smile and chat with people and sign books. Until then, I’m keeping a firm grip on the ground with my feet, and taking lots of deep, calming breaths. I have a massage scheduled soon (Diane, take me away!) I’m pretty sure I can avoid throwing up in front of anyone, since I’ve nearly quit eating. But right this minute I’d prefer to be in my closet in the dark, not answering the phone.

Does that count as excited?

Tags: Misty Massey by Misty Massey
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Lots of stuff to say this week. I’m starting a day early offline because of that. Wordy, ain’t I?

My Alter Ego, hereafter referred to as AE, went to a book conference this past weekend. In the new RV which I lovelovelovelove. (Nice queen bed instead of the narrow twins in the old RV, closet space for both of me, Faith and AE, bigger bath with a new, sparkly clean shower, it was wonderful!!! But that is an AE blog, not a magicalwords.net blog.) Slaps hand over mouth.

So, back to the conference. Or, Book Festival, I should say. AE’s fans (a couple hundred showed up and it was standing room only in one panel, which was fun) are very different from Faith’s fans. One question that kept coming up was, “Why use two pen names?” I had to get involved with demographics, selling niches, slotted manuscripts, lists and lines, and all that. I tried to keep it simple, but I could tell that a lot of them didn’t understand. Most think that writers just write stuff and it gets published. The idea of having to change your persona and name to get a book published was foreign to them. But they did understand about not wanting to read across genres.

Most mystery/thriller/women’s fiction fans look down their noses at the fantasy genre. You know, all that *magic stuff* (spoken with a derogatory sneer). Which is fine. I don’t read biographies or biker magazines. Nothing wrong with either, but I have no interest in the genres. Personal taste and all that. But sadly, some readers seem blind to the social commentary, humor, character development and amazing storytelling that takes place on every page of a good fantasy novel, a comment that has been made by my co-bloggers on this list.

I think fantasy writers—and forgive me here, but this is not to include romantic fantasy writers who are all about the romance, natch. Rather, urban and epic fantasy writers—have a keen eye on the changes in society historically, on current affairs, and on personal relationships. I think we/they see things quite clearly, perhaps as much like the sifi writers of old. Asimov. Heinlein. Hubbard (when he wrote fantasy, not created a religion). And Herbert to name just a very few. More recently, we have Benford, Weber, and Bujold, all of whom I read. All were/are deeply involved in and wrote/write about the deeper human truths, amid a world that does not exist, science yet to be invented, planets yet to be discovered. Fantasy writers do the same thing, but with a science of energy that is shaped and powered by the mind of magic users.

When a fantasy character kills some not-human-person, defends territory, suffers because he/she/it is different, that is a commentary on society today. The warrior who lives with survivor’s guilt and the deeper guilt of knowing that he pushed a button and killed thousands of noncombatants, is as real on the page as it is in the heart of the old warrior. The long term effect of kidnap, rape, child abuse on a developing character is likewise painful on the page. The ability and desire to fight and survive, grow and evolve is all social commentary.

I just finished reading Patricia Briggs’ Iron Kissed. It was wonderful. So intense that the last 70 pages or so I read several times, over 4 hours, *very* slowly. I laughed and I cried. Deep, dark, urban fantasy. The character development and dialogue were lovely and the social commentary was silently interwoven through the storyline and character development. Not gonna give spoilers here, but OMG. Grand!

Here we go to part two, change of subject, because it is now (for me) the next day, Wednesday. Miz Kim’s debut signing of The Outlaw Demon Wails? Was fab!!!! Whoowhoowhoo! Kim was lovely, elegant, engaging and fun, answering all the questions with aplomb, spending an hour just chatting.

I did not get a book, because the bookstore owner had ordered too few books, and when I left halfway through the signing part, there were only about 9 books left and still maybe 50 people in line. And more coming in. It would have been cruel to take a book and possibly deprive a reader who drove from Pennsylvania to the signing. I read the ARC so I can wait to get the actual hardback, along with Catie’s new book, which I just ordered from my local bookstore. Pooh. I have never been good dealing with delayed gratification. I’m more one of those, *I want it and I want it now,* kinda gal.

Faith Hunter

Tags: Faith Hunter by faithhunter
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My thought process just now: Tuesday! It’s Tuesday! I’m supposed to blog on Tuesdays! What am I going to blog about? Ack! Ack! Ack!

This was followed by, “Duh. HOUSE OF CARDS is out today. Obviously today’s blog is about shameless self-promotion.”

Actually, I really hate that phrase. I think it came into existence because people Aren’t Supposed to make a big fuss about what they do, or something, and so in order to mitigate the horror of being uncouth enough to say, “Hey, I’m a novelist, buy my book,” we’ve assigned it this “shameless” tag that’s supposed to make it funny and therefore okay.

But I think there’s a huge difference between promotion and actual *shameless* promotion. I think a lot of what writers do to “shamelessly” self-promote isn’t especially shameless. We blog. We go to conventions. We create postcards or bookmarks or contests to announce a new book’s publication. We stop at bookstores, check for our books, offer to sign them, try to make friends with booksellers. We talk to people about what we do when we’re asked. None of that’s shameless. It’s making connections. It’s good business.

I’ve *met* people who shamelessly self-promote. The behavior that I’d call actual shameless self-promotion is not stuff I would want associated with me. There’s too much desperation when you literally can’t pass someone at a convention without having them trying to force one of their books down your throat, or when they’re expending so much energy being Personal And Boisterous And Charming that you’re exhausted by their presence. When I was younger and weaker, that kind of thing sometimes earned a pity purchase, but these days I just find a way to avoid people who are doing that.

My friends and family are very good about shamelessly promoting me, but it’s a whole different game to me when someone else is doing it. I will, in fact, shamelessly promote my friends’ books, too, but I get all kick-the-dirt shy when it comes to my own work. A lot of us do. That shameless self-promotion tag is, I think, also supposed to help make us braver so we can try to pitch our work to people.

But right now I’m brushing off the shameless and going straight for the promotion: my sixth CE Murphy novel is on the shelves today. It’s called HOUSE OF CARDS, and it’s the second in the Negotiator Trilogy, a series about Margrit Knight, a NYC lawyer who’s found the perfect man–only he’s a gargoyle, one of five hidden Old Races, and his world is beginning to overtake Margrit’s own…

Excerpts from book one, HEART OF STONE, and HOUSE OF CARDS, book two, are available here and here. The third book in the trilogy will be available in September, so you won’t even have long to wait to finish up the story.

Please go buy my book. : )

Tags: C E Murphy by cemurphy
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Expanding a bit on Misty’s wonderful post the other day, “What Drugs Were You On When You Wrote This?”….

There are lots of attitudes I encounter with respect to the kind of writing I do, ranging from the general snobbery directed at genre novels by writers and readers of so-called Literary Fiction, to the less offensive but equally annoying assumption that I must be writing books for children because what adult in his or her right mind would read such things.  But what bothers me most, what to my mind reveals the greatest ignorance about what fantasy and science fiction writers do, is the equating by some people of speculative fiction with escapism.

Never mind the obvious:  That throughout the history of the novel, some of the most pointed social critiques ever written have been fantastical in nature.  1984, Brave New World, A Connecticut Yankee In King Arthur’s Court, Looking Backward, Moby Dick, most of the work of Nathaniel Hawthorne and Edgar Allen Poe.

The fact is that fantasy and science fiction are not escapist.  Rather, stories and novels written in these genres allow us to look at our world through lenses that are both unique and edifying.  They present worlds that, while sometimes alien and exotic, continue to grapple with the same social, cultural, moral, and political issues that we struggle with in our own world.  They offer glimpses of our possible futures, or tantalizing alternatives to our known past.  Read Neil Gaiman’s wondrous and strange takes on mythology, or George Martin’s interpretation of medieval intrigue and warfare, or Guy Gavriel Kay’s richly textured recreations of ancient European and Mediterrainean societies, and you cannot help but come away with a greater understanding of our own history and belief systems.  Read the work of Stephen R. Donaldson, or Nicola Griffith, or dozens of other writers whose books merit mention here, and you will find yourself reflecting on the human condition in ways that you’d never considered before.

As a writer of fantasy, I don’t attempt to give my readers a means of escape.  Instead, I hope to make them think in new ways about issues relating to ecology, technology, race and prejudice, gender and ethnic identity.  I have a project in the works that focuses on drug addiction.  By creating a world in which the archetypes are different and the familiar stereotypes don’t exist, I hope to offer my readers a fresh perspective on matters.  Remove the discussion of race from the emotionally charged terms of the American race debate, for instance, and perhaps people will finally find a way past old biases and hostilities.  Introduce magic to the dichotomy between technology and pastoral ways of life, and maybe the choices we face as a society will come into focus in a new way.

Do our books entertain?  I should hope so.  Do they present us with imagery and characters and settings that stretch the imagination?  Absolutely.  But to assume that this is all they do, is to see in speculative fiction far less than is actually there.  This isn’t escapism.  This is life.

Today’s music:  Joe Beck

Tags: David B. Coe by DavidBCoe
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Slight mix-up this week with the blogging days, and so I didn’t get to post earlier in the week.  Hence, a Friday post…

People often ask me what I believe to be the hardest part of writing.  The glib, noncommittal response I usually give is that there are as many answers to this as there are writers.  Some of us struggle with worldbuilding, but are great with character.  Some of us hate to write a first draft, but excel at editing and revising, while others are just the opposite.  Some of us have great ideas but have trouble applying butt to chair and getting them written.  Writing is hard in so many ways that picking just one would probably give the wrong impression.

But for me, the most difficult part of any book, any story, sometimes even any chapter, is the beginning.  The opening words of a book can set the tone for the entire work.  The first chapter creates momentum for the narrative.  The introduction of the main character goes a long way toward determining whether or not he or she will capture the imagination of the reader.  There’s a lot riding on the beginning pages of a novel, and I find that I struggle to make them just right.  In any given book, I’ll probably spend more time writing chapter one than I will writing the four chapters that follow.

There’s a second reason for this, as well.  For me, writing is an exercise in inertia.  Inertia, for those of you who don’t know, is not simply a lack of impetus, though that’s how it’s commonly used.  Rather inertia describes a physical law whereby objects at rest remain at rest, and objects in motion remain in motion until some external force is applied to change this.  For me as a writer, this means that it takes me a while to get started on a project, but once a book is underway it maintains its own momentum.  My first chapter is all about applying that external force to impel an object at rest (my book) into motion.  My job in writing the subsequent chapters is much easier, because my book is already in motion.  Inertia, which was my enemy at the outset, becomes my ally.

I’m thinking about this right now, because I’m starting a new book.  Actually, I’m on the verge of starting two books that I’m going to try to write simultaneously.  (I’ve never done such a thing before, but that’s a topic for future posts.)  The one I started yesterday is the second in a series of stand-alone contemporary fantasy/mysteries.  I had actually written the first chapter nearly a year ago.  But then, for several reasons, I had to set the book aside.  Any momentum I’d built in writing that first chapter has long since dissipated, leaving me, once more, with a book at rest.  Add to that the fact that the first chapter isn’t written from the point of view of my lead character, and I now find myself, for all intents and purposes, starting a book.

And, naturally, I’m finding it very difficult to get going.  So, to my writer friends out there, any of the rest of you struggle with the beginning of a book or story?  Do you have techniques or exercises that you use to get past these struggles?

 Today’s music:  Darol Anger and Mike Marshall (Chiaroscuro)

Tags: David B. Coe by DavidBCoe
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Long ago, when I was a shy newbie writer with only a few short stories under my belt, I took the plunge and joined a writing critique group.  At the time, we were composed of two retired gentlemen who wrote westerns and science fiction, one teenaged poet, one published mystery novelist and me.  The first story I shared was a horror tale, about a death metal band with sinister intentions toward a young college student.  I read the requisite five pages, and waited for the group to comment.  The western writer laid my pages down, looked at me and said, “What drugs were you on when you wrote this?”

He wasn’t the last person to ask that question, either.  I’ve had coworkers, friends and relatives who couldn’t wrap their minds around the idea that a nice girl like me wanted to immerse herself in a world of things that couldn’t exist.  Surely that was for children, that kind of thinking.

What about those of us who are still children at heart?  No matter how old I grow, I can’t help hoping that I’ll turn a corner and find myself face to face with the Sidhe.  I watch the woods along the interstate when we’re travelling, certain that Robin Hood and his merry band will suddenly appear and take me on an adventure.   I build sand castles at the beach every year, on the off-chance that one might spring to full-size when I’m finished.  Real life is there all the time, every day when I open my eyes.  I don’t want to read about what I see around me, but about the layer underneath, the hidden mysteries that glitter at the corners of my vision.

When I started writing my own stories, that same desire remained, fueled by the possibility that I was, at last, crafting the magic myself.  Those early stories were clumsy and hollow, but with time, I’ve become adept at choosing the right words, lining them up in the right order, and making something special appear out of thin air.  The Sidhe are over there behind that bookcase.  Robin Hood is outside the window, peeking in at me.

No drugs, sir.  It was just me learning how to make my own magic.

Tags: Misty Massey by Misty Massey
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The astute amongst you may have noticed that I missed last Wednesday’s blog, making record time for utterly failing to participate. But I have a good excuse: I smashed the holy living crap out of my fingers, and really just wasn’t thinking about blogging. Or writing at all. It’s been a week now (my hand looks much less dramatic, but I’m still typing very, very slowly), and in that time I’ve written about 400 words. That kind of blows the giant word count goal I’d discussed for February when I last posted.

And this is one of the things that you pretty much have to deal with as a writer. Things go wrong. Things totally outside your control go wrong. It’s terribly frustrating, and most of the time all you can really do is wait to get over the trauma, whether it’s physical like this is or emotional (I lost a month of writing when our dog died) and then try like the devil to make up for lost time.

I think one of the smartest things you can do when you’ve hit a Trauma Wall is to be kind to yourself. A friend of mine’s mother died recently, and some days he’s been able to write, and others the world’s been too overwhelming. He’s accustomed to writing quickly, and right now, even on the good days, he isn’t writing as fast as he’s used to. But as a little more time passes, he’s finding his feet again, and very often that’s what needs to be done. Pushing and pushing and pushing isn’t always the best response, and that is *not* easy for me to accept or comprehend.

So I’ve spent the better part of the last week trying not to overdo it. It’s my nature to overdo things (which I might talk about next week), but this sprain is not going to be made better by trying to type too much. If I actually *let it heal* I will be able to make up for lost time, but if I push it too far right now I’m only going to extend the period of time in which I am damaged, which does me no good at *all*. Intellectually, I know this. Emotionally? BAH! I should be able to have both hands broken and a lobotomy and be able to do my job! Bah! Hah! I am mighty! Fear me! AHAHAHAHAHAH ow stupid fingers wah okay i was wrong i will be good*

I really hope I’ll be back next week with no physical trauma and the better part of another 20K under my belt by the time I get to my Wednesday post, but if not, I hope I’m not dumb enough to hurt myself again in the trying.

*This was dramatic only, I did not really hurt myself : )

Tags: C E Murphy by cemurphy
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What? You thought I’d get it all done in *one* post????

I have new info! I was the first ever interviewee on a new site. Here is the link!

http://digitalsidhe.com/writing/

Faith

Tags: Faith Hunter by faithhunter
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The first few paragraphs are posted on my three private blogs. Man. I have three other blogs… I gotta cut down. Anyway, after that, it’s all new, with a few things just for us writers…. 

This is a rant. Well, not in the sense that normal people have rants, with hair-pulling, cursing, maybe throwing things. No. This is a quiet rant. With all the angst coming out my fingers, draining out of my body, like a deep, cleansing, yoga breath, or that first lack-of-strain breath you get when you finish a hard hike and are standing on the top of a hill, the king of the world (or at least king of the hill.)

Why am I ranting softly? Because I am still so full of tension at the horrid weekend I just finished, that if I ranted loudly, I’d just multiply the tension. And the weekend is over. Tension should start draining away because the past is behind me. Yeah. Right.

Reason for rant? Other than the weekend at the lab, where I work to get benefits? Which writers over a certain age don’t have access to for less than the cost of an arm or leg, or both, because we are money losers to insurance companies. (Another rant, already posted on the group blog.)

This rant is because I lost my address book. I started a new address book in 2006. And I have known for ages that I need to get it keyed into my PC, in case I lose it. One of the many thing I need to do and yet there is no time for it. And now I have lost it. Not the time, but the address book.

I *know* I saw it Friday. I know I moved it from my desk on Friday. I know I took it with me to the mother-in-law’s doctor appointment. What happened to it after that? I do not know. Why? Because it isn’t in one of my books on the PC. Yeah, that’s right. If it’s in a book I can always find it. I can pull up every single book and scan for anything I want. But my own life is far less organized. It isn’t written in stone, on paper, or even on bytes, making my own life a jumbled uncertainty.

All this to answer the question posted to my email by Melanie – how do you keep track of the spider web of minutia you need when you build a world and a character’s life? All the logical trail of necessities that have to fit together to make the world work out, well… logically.

Every writer will use a different method, but for me it works out like this:

Each series has a master folder. For the series about Thorn St. Croix, it is titled MAGE. In that folder are other folders, one per book, giving me BloodRing, Seraphs, Host. Not in a book folder, but simply listed under the MAGE folder, are files for things I will use for every book in the series, and I will give you a listing of some to give you an idea what I am talking about: WorldTimeline, BookOfWorkings, AngelsDictionary, Stones, BookOfEnoch, HinduProphecies, Scripture, BirdAnatomy, EmbassyInfo, MoonNames, SeraphicHierarchy, Einstein, Swords, Vocabulary, ThingsToWorkOut, ProblemsPointedOutByFans, and a dozen others. I can find anything I need instantly.

As to the things that occur to me in the middle of the night or when I am working out other problems? For things that wake me up from a good sleep, I have a lighted pad and pen by the bed (which I honestly haven’t used in the last 6 books but used to use all the time) and lots of color-coded sticky notes, which I stick all over the desk as I work. These are things that have to be dealt with fairly quickly, like within the next work week. If it a long-term organizational need, it gets a file on the PC.

I back up every changed file daily. Yep, daily. And I burn a disc of the entire BOOK folder every 6 months. My writing life is very well organized. But my real life? No organization to it at all. So, what do I do about the lost address book? I ask my hubby. *Hey, will you please help me? I can’t find my address book!*

And in the time it took to finish this blog, he has found it. And my stress is halved… I thank God for this man I married… Last night he gave me a foot massage. Today, he helped me get stress free. Well, stress freer.

Faith

Tags: Faith Hunter by faithhunter
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I hate Valentine’s Day with a passion beyond understanding.

In my opinion, it’s a made-up holiday designed to make unmarried/unattached adults feel bad about their unattached state and to prop up the card industry suffering from the post-Christmas slump. I apologize if this is your favorite day of the year, if you and your honey wait breathlessly for this day to shout your shared adoration from the rooftops. You see, I taught in a preschool for over ten years, where once a year I had to spend about nine hours with 20 to 25 children whose parents had proved their undying lurve by feeding their precious darlings chocolate chip pancakes garnished with candy hearts for breakfast, then sending two pounds of bagged candy and several dozen cupcakes topped with 4″ icing to share with their friends at school. (No, I couldn’t just throw away the cupcakes…four year olds have pretty sophisticated communication skills, especially when those expected cupcakes don’t show up.) So by the time I got home, all I wanted was a cup of peppermint tea and silence.

But despite my intense dislike of the day, it actually lent itself to a thought for this blog (as Faith has pointed out, writers have a unique skill of tying disparate subjects together.) So here’s your writing exercise for today…what holidays would you like to create for your fiction? What are the rules? The expectations? The history? (If you’ve already created one you’d like to share, that’s cool, too.)

I’ve been thinking about an end-of-summer celebration. My novels take place in a tropical archipelago which suffers the onslaught of storms every summer. The holiday would move, being celebrated on the day the wind finally changes and signals the end of the storm seasons. Observances in the larger cities would be feasts and dancing in the main streets. Out away from the cities, the dancing would be more religious in nature, resembling the zar dancing of certain Middle Eastern cultures. All the dances would involve spiral patterns, matching the behavior of the storms themselves, with people on the sidelines throwing water at the dancers. The dancing would go on until the sun rose the next day, at which point the revellers would straggle to the highest point in their city to greet the clear sky.

There would be no heart-shaped candy involved. *smile*

Tags: Misty Massey by Misty Massey
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