In praise of competency

I've always had a good imagination. This gave my parents and school psychologist a turn when I told them "the monsters are my friends!" (I was ahead of my time. Nowadays monsters are all the rage among little kids).

When I write, I get to make my imagination real, after a fashion. Not flesh-and-blood real, but living an existence in my pages. My monsters are now preternatural beings and people with special powers, but others can now see them.

I've always had a great vocabulary as well. In fifth grade, I used the word "flabbergasted" to describe my reaction to a classmate. When my sister protested my use of fancy words, my mother pointed out the value of the right word: "I was surprised when my classmate gave me a present. I was flabbergasted when he dropped his drawers in front of me." Obviously, I got my love of vocabulary from my mother.

What I didn't have, as a beginning writer, was competence. Things I thought were stylistic quirks were taking people out of the story, and I didn't recognize that. I could have found out if I'd sent my manuscripts to a developmental editor, but I didn't know I needed to. I thought a utilitarian query letter would work. I didn't utilize beta-readers, because I didn't think I needed those either.

I had ideas, I had imagination. I had the drive to be published. What I didn't have is competence in the skills needed to make the story understandable and engaging.

I'm working on those with the help of developmental editors and beta readers and diversity editors and publishing coaches. I'm learning from them and incorporating it into my work. This gives me competence -- enough, I hope, that I will get published.

My cultural sensitivity lesson

Because Prodigies' main character is multiracial and I am from dominant white culture, I decided to get a diversity edit done. I asked the director of our diversity, equity, and inclusion office on campus to give me a read.

Justin Mallett is doing an excellent job with the diversity edit on Prodigies . So far (and he's not done yet), he's pointed out a lot of mistakes. A lot. As a progressive/social democrat who believes myself to be "woke", I expected to find a couple mistakes, easily fixable. 

I have some choices of how to react:

1. Decide Mr. Mallett is being overly sensitive
2. Deny, repeating to myself, "I can't be a bigot. I have Native American ancestry!"
3. Berate myself for not being more culturally sensitive
4. Accept the gift of awareness I've been given and make the corrections

I'm going to choose #4. We're allowed to make mistakes when interacting with other cultures, just as we accidentally offend people we know. But if we learn that an action offends someone and dismiss their concerns, we are saying that they do not matter. If we decide they have a problem because they don't see things our way, we have become a bigot. If we believe the entire group they represent has an oversensitivity problem, we show prejudice. 

Bigotry and prejudice don't require hanging nooses or segregation. All they require is to see others, their culture, and their needs as inferior, and that starts with the unwillingness to listen. It starts with words.

I will be glad to correct the less culturally sensitive parts of my work.

Winter's Nap

I would just as soon sleep all winter.

I would have made a fine early agrarian -- farm manically all summer, hibernate all winter. In a cave wouldn't be bad as long as it was warm and comfortable -- ok, fine, I'd have a hay mattress on the floor, infested by fleas and lice. I guess I'll stop my romanticizing here.

It's hard for me to get out of bed in the winter. My husband's laughing at this because I'm always up and out of bed before he is, at 5:00 AM every morning. Honestly, though, it's HARD to get out of bed. I keep hoping to be snowed out of work even though they shoveled all the snow from Sunday's blizzard.

The world is no longer that simple as to follow the rhythms of the year. Academia, my home, follows a rhythm, which is why I love it. But winter is still worktime, and I fight the need to be cozy every day to go to work.

Christmas break will be here in two and a half weeks; I think I'll make it till then.

I'm back

Sorry I went missing for so long -- I was doing some heavy reading through Apocalypse and editing it -- it probably needs another edit. I was very focused.

Also, we had a blizzard here Sunday, and that plus the snow day that followed got me off my writing.

I have to go back to work today (I think) but it was nice to have Thanksgiving break as a writing retreat!

What now?

Note: This was written Friday late afternoon.

I'm done. What now?

I finished the second read-through of Whose Hearts are Mountains this afternoon and even wrote a query letter, even though it's still in need of a developmental edit. I've spent time in the hot tub and am waiting for a dinner that I suspect will be wonderful.

But part of me is like, "What do I do now?"

I get really focused when I'm writing and editing. And during a writing retreat, I'm more focused than usual because I'm in a calming place where there's just enough background noise to keep me from being distracted by silence. Lied Lodge, with its vaulting stone and wood greatroom, fits the function of retreat superbly.

But what now? Dinner, followed by part 2 of a slow-motion Harry Potter marathon, then home tomorrow before the snow hits. We're supposed to get lots of snow, which means we'll get barely three inches and I'll be going back to work on Monday.

Also, I know the answer to "what now?":

1. Get Prodigies back from the diversity edit, fix things, and query it to young adult agents with the shiny new query letter
2. Send Whose Hearts are Mountains to my dev editor
3. Look over Apocalypse a couple times before sending it to a dev edit
4. Sit on Voyageurs for a while before sending it on a dev edit
5. Try to figure out what's wrong with The Kringle Conspiracy
6. Write another book. There's at least two I could write right now.

That's enough work for three years, I think. 

Escape from Black Friday

Normally on the day after Thanksgiving, Richard and I go to a mall for Black Friday. Not to shop, but to watch people. People are generally not at their best when grabbing bargain deals, but there is still enough quirk to make people-watching fun.

Not this year. Lied Lodge (Arbor Day Lodge) is such a soothing combination of wood and stone and fireplace and comfy rocking chairs and plenty of coffee that I'm settled in here for another day of writing retreat. I might get through the second edit on Whose Hearts are Mountains to send it to dev edit (I'm pretty sure I'm sending it to dev edit first.)

We're cutting the visit a day short because Sunday is bringing a snowstorm to the area that might bring as much as 8 inches of snow. I'm hoping for a snow day Monday.

Peace to my readers.

Thanksgiving writing retreat -- and a dilemma

I am well on my way through day 2 of my second edit of Whose Hearts are Mountains (while waiting for Thanksgiving buffet at 11) and I'm left with a dilemma.

Do I send Voyageurs to my developmental editor first, or do I send Whose Hearts are Mountains?

The arguments in favor of Voyageurs:

• It's older than Whose Hearts are Mountains
• It's a romance novel, and I think it could get published as such
• It really deserves a dev edit

The arguments in favor of Whose Hearts are Mountains:

• It's fresher and might be a better novel because of what I've learned
• It's not romance (I think it's contemporary fantasy) and I don't become pigeon-holed as a romance writer
• It also deserves a dev edit
• It's part of an established series (which hasn't been published yet)

(*anguished scream*) I hate to decide!

For all of you who celebrate US Thanksgiving, Happy Thanksgiving! For those of you who do not, my best wishes and support to you.

Writing retreat time

I'm off to Nebraska City (a two-hour car ride from here) to Lied Lodge for a couple days of writing retreat. It will be challenging -- I'm reviewing the beginning of Whose Hearts are Mountains, struck by how I could do the whole reveal of the US's collapse better. And while I'm at it, how I could improve the flashbacks at the beginning, and ...

Yes, it's a really rough draft. But there's something there worth salvaging.

For all my US friends, Happy Thanksgiving! For my readers overseas, find something to celebrate!

Miles to Go

Whose Hearts are Mountains is a mess.

As well it should be. After all, it's a first draft. In the rush to get ideas on the page, things are going to be garbled. For example, I gave one object two different names, and two different characters shared the same name. There were a hundred subtle or less subtle things I corrected on the first pass.

And I'm not done yet. I now have to do a leisurely pass through for things like language (currently not the most poetic) and character (some of my secondary characters need development) and descriptions (too much telling, not enough showing) and that's going to take a while.

Luckily I'm taking a writing retreat over Thanksgiving...

First Snow

To the snow.
To those who have gone before us.
To a warm house.
To work, which warms our house.
To our friends, and to our pets.
To our family, near and far.
To laughter, may we have it in abundance.
To the snow.

-- First Snow, 11/18/18, Maryville MO

One of those sex scenes (warning: no sex. I'm a wimp.)

At that point I had heard too many horrible things: the deaths of several Travellers, Harold’s motives, Ian’s impending death. I started crying, horrible sobs. Ian gathered me into his arms as he murmured in my ear: “My dear Kat, all we can do is be and find meaning in the moment.”

I hiccuped trying to stop the tears. I wondered what he meant.

“I want to stretch this moment into timelessness. With you,” Ian breathed.

That I understood. It was a Traveller phrase, “stretching time”. There were few ways that Travellers could escape time, and sex was one of them.

“Yes,” I barely managed to speak. “I would like that very much.”

He took my hand and led me to my bedroom, and I remembered that he had been tutored under Berkeley, so he would know the layout of the house. I struggled to determine what year that would be. Then he backed me against the wall and kissed me, and math didn’t seem so urgent.

When we backed off from each other, panting, we stared at each other. “Are you going to back off again? It’s okay if you — “

“No, I want this.” And I dropped to my knees before him and began to undo his pants.

“No,” Ian said, squatting before me. “Not like that.”

“That’s the only way I know how to do it,” I sniffed. “If you don’t want to …”

Ian put his arms around me. “You’re no longer the girl who lived on the street. You have a say in this. You have a right to joy. The only thing is,” he sighed, “I have no idea how to do this.”

“You’re a virgin,” I guessed.

“I haven’t had much time to date,” he shrugged. “But it puts me at a disadvantage. What would you like me to do?”

I thought of what my Johns never did, things I’d only read about. “I want us to take our time and kiss a lot. And touch a lot. I don’t want things to be over right away.

“Let’s see what we can do about that,” Ian smiled. “I have a good imagination…”

As he laid me on the floor and slid on top of me, I had to agree.

Four Sex Scenes

I've finished the latest edit on Voyageurs, and it's ready to go into dev edit as soon as I do one more thing.

Write four sex scenes.

After all, it's a romance novel, or at least a soft SF novel with romantic elements. There are four places in the novel where they're having sex, but I don't go into detail. I suspect that romance publishers will need sex scenes.

I'm terrified.

I have nothing against sex -- in fact, you can think of me as sex-positive. But I have seen so many bad sex scenes in my writing time that I fear that sex can't be written well. There's over-the-top tentacle sex . There's overwrought adjective sex, where the men and the orgasms are bigger than life. There's contractual obligation sex scenes and there's tab A- slot B clinically detailed sex scenes.

I don't want to write any of these. I want to write something emotionally fulfilling, heavy on relation and light on mechanics. I don't know if I know how to do that.

If you hear me screaming today, know it's because I have to write four sex scenes.

Interrogating the villain -- Harold from Voyageurs

Harold strolls up to me while I'm sitting at my computer typing. I feel his presence before he speaks, and I look up.

"Harold Martin," he says, shaking my hand and sitting down across from me. "But you can call me King." His air is self-deprecating arrogance, as if the arrogance was a put-on, but I can feel the tentacles of the con reaching out for me.

"Hello, Harold," I respond firmly. "What can I do for you?"

"I have a favor to ask," he said smoothly. "No -- hear me out."

I sat there, waited for the pitch.

"You're writing this book, right? The one where people keep messing up my arm?" He gave me a knife-sharp smile. "There's no reason you couldn't let me win, right?"

"Well, except for the fact your goal is the obliteration of humanity, no." I paused, curious. "Why do you want to obliterate humanity?"

"I want to be best at something. To do something nobody else has done." His eyes glittered, and I understood at that moment that the suave exterior contained an evil insanity.

I spoke carefully, knowing that I sat across from a madman. "Why do you have to be the best?"

"My brother was always the best. My father said I wasn't manly enough, and he did anything he could to make me more manly. It worked -- I became what my father wanted. Still it wasn't enough; my brother got all the compliments. I finally found a way to deal with both my father and brother, who disappeared in 2003. Families go missing all the time." He smiled, and this time it was a genuine smile that reached his eyes.

I felt my muscles crawl, and I counted the steps to the exit.

A bout of depression

I'm sorry -- I have been gone for most of a week.

A week is not long enough for people to wonder what happened to me -- perhaps I was playing catch-up on my grading (I was), or dealing with student projects (I was), or editing my book (I was).

I was also falling into depression.

The medications are not perfect -- some need to be adjusted or even replaced after a while. Stress or tragedy can kick someone into depression, and some medical conditions such as vitamin deficiencies or low thyroid can cause or exacerbate depression.

In depression, my survival mechanism is to just keep pushing myself to go to work and get things done. It's a good survival mechanism, because it keeps me from digging myself deeper. I may do nothing but sleep when I get home, but I get my work done. It preserves my identity.

I'm on my way back up, and I will be writing again in this space. Glad to be back.

The best use of my time

I have decided to quit NaNo this year. Not because I can't finish it, but because I don't need to finish it. I have serious editing to do on everything I write because a bad habit of mine has been pointed out to me (telling rather than showing). My past dev editor didn't pick these problems up, but the current publishing editor (who missed the problems in my query materials) did. Go figure.

I need to learn to deal with these myself because I don't know if I can afford another dev edit on the same document. I need to get better, and someday I might be good enough to publish.

I'm scared I'll never be good enough to publish, but if I can't find the problems in my writing, I know I'll never be good enough to. Becoming Kringle can wait -- the best use of my time right now is re-editing.

One week down on NaNo ...

At the end of the first week of NaNo, I've written 16,000 words or an average of 2000 words a day, split halfway between Becoming Kringle and Whose Hearts are Mountains. I'll be honest -- writing lately has been challenging, with a lot of self-doubt after working with one of the publishing editors I tried. This week has been vindicating.

(A hint from case management class to editors of various types: You have to talk about the strengths as well as the failures of a client's work, not for flattery or reassurance, but to remind the client that the manuscript is worth the work being put into it.)

I've finished Whose Hearts are Mountains -- by "finished", I mean "written a very rough draft that has plot holes you could probably drive a truck through, and desperately needs an edit or two." I remember when I arrogantly thought my drafts weren't rough and so I sent them out. Writing has been a humbling exercise.

From here on out, all of my words are going to Becoming Kringle. I think this will be more of a challenge, in fact a huge challenge, because I have the barest of outlines to go by.  On the other hand, with yesterday's snow, it's beginning to feel a lot like Christmas.

Day 7 NaNo -- one week of writing

I've finished 14,000 words so far (2000 words average; I like to round things up) and I'm still going. If I have any NaNo readers out there, how are you doing? Post in comments.

I'm nearing the finish line with Whose Hearts are Mountains, which as you recall is a book I started 30 years ago while sleeping through a kidney infection. The thought that it might be done (not done-done, because it needs a fierce edit or two) floors me.

Then it will be back to Becoming Kringle for the rest of my words. I am going to try to stick to the NaNo credo: Write first edit later.

Day 6 NaNo -- still chugging

I can't wait to write again today.

This is what NaNo does to people, I hear -- somehow writing without self-censoring (which is necessary to get 1,667 words a day in) -- makes your connection to your words and your characters and your plots flow. 

By the end of this, I should have Whose Hearts are Mountains' rough draft finished, and probably 30,000 words on Becoming Kringle, which I will finish in December as the bells jingle along. 

Off to write. Sorry this is so short, but maybe I'll drop an excerpt of Whose Hearts are Mountains tomorrow.

Oh, yes -- up to 12,000 words as of this morning. 

The Beauty of NaNo

Last night, I hit the 10,000 words mark -- twenty percent of the novel is done! No, not really -- first of all, there's the fact that I'm writing between two novels. Second, 50,000 words is not the optimal length of a novel.

But it's a big, round number, and that's the idea. Not even NaNo pretends that you'll have a publishable final product at the end of November. But you'll have something to start with, or something that you keep to yourself and say, "I wrote this!"

Progress as it stands -- I can see the finish line of Whose Hearts are Mountains, knowing that I have a lot of work to do afterward. Richard has restored some of the stuff I took out in the edit of Gaia's Hands and emphasized things I need to emphasize. He has lots of work to go. It's nice to think that that novel can be salvaged.

I'm still waiting for the other publishing editor to come up with edits of the first 50 pages of Prodigies. I am beginning to wonder about her -- she couldn't find anything wrong with my query letter, whereas the other publishing editor helped me improve my query letter in ways even I could see. I would work with one of these people again -- not so the other one.

I'm beginning to feel like a writer again. That's what NaNo does for me.

Day 5 NaNo -- and a big surprise

Something strange happened on the way to my NaNo count yesterday. I started becoming interested in writing on Whose Hearts are Mountains again. I don't know how it happened, but I looked at it yesterday after getting my word count yesterday, and I started writing.

NaNo is surprisingly lenient about this -- they say you have to write 50,000 words, and they count writing exercises (word sprints) toward this. I suspect I'm legal writing on two books during this time, and if not, I'll just have to shrug and say "I'd rather ride this wave of success".

I'm discovering that Whose Hearts are Mountains is going to be shorter than I'd thought at probably 75,000 words. That's 4500 words more. It's probably long enough, and it will get a little longer when I come back and add in some descriptive stuff and other editing. But I'm writing more than 20 words a day on it. Yay NaNo!

I'm still writing on Becoming Kringle, and I will probably work more on it as we approach the
In other developments, Richard is editing my problem child (now our problem child), Gaia's Hands.
The Gaia stories overlap with Apocalypse and Reclaiming the Balance, but deal more with humans. So we're co-authoring, and wondering if we should have both our names (I vote yes) or the combined pseudonym Lauren Richards (his vote yes).

So I'm re-energized for writing, and anticipate that December is going to be an editing, rather than a writing month.

More NaNo --Day 4

I've been doing something different this year for NaNo -- I'm not trying to push myself too hard, because I'm afraid I will burn out. I'm writing 1667 words a day, which is the minimum it takes to win NaNo in 30 days. (Ok, I might write more today because it's only noon but...)

My favorite searches so far on Google: tall slim male body measurements, cool summer seasonal color palette, cool summer seasonal color palette reds, silver grey, cool winter color palette, bright winter, fops, Father Christmas.

I continue pretty much flying by the seat of my pants, and frankly, it's fun!

Day 2 Summary NaNo

Yesterday, I got to write some villains. Two twenty-somethings in Paris with an eye to the main chance, as they say in England. There are no jewels to heist (if indeed Alex is a jewel thief like he told Clarice) and pickpocketing isn’t lucrative. So why not blackmail?

Clarice knows of a philanthropy that seems, to her, like it’s got something to hide. And she and Alex need to come yup with a project quick, before Alex explodes. So why not Yes Virginia, an organization supposedly there to support Christmas charities?

Day 1 Summary NaNoWriMo: Time for Pantsing

I wrote my first 2000 words yesterday, flying my way through the first chapter. The good news is that the writing was easy. The bad news is that, if i go through my outline at this rate, I will be done in 16,000 words, which is 34,000 words short of a win.

It might be time to start pantsing.

To explain (and review for my longer-time readers), there are three modes of writing:

• Planning, which means writing with a meticulous outline; 
• Pantsing, which means flying by the seat of your pants;
• Plantsing, which is somewhere in-between.

I think I've said in these pages before that I'm a plantser, which for me means having an outline with enough leeway to fill in the blanks. But it's not working this time -- perhaps I didn't put in enough of an outline, or I wasn't as sure about the action. So I will be pantsing a bit.

What encourages me is that the more I write, the more the layers of the characters reveal themselves to me. These characters need to be complex, because the story will demand that my characters grow and develop -- and become the spirit of Christmas.

First 100 words of Becoming Kringle

Sunshine Walton wondered what kind of mess she’d gotten herself into.

She sat in a dimly lit, sparsely furnished office. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the flash of red neon against the dark outside through broken shutters. And Santa Claus sat across from her, behind a battered desk.

“My name is Jack Moore,” the avuncular man said, shaking her hand with a twinkle in his eye. “But folks call me Santa Jack.”

“Really,” Sunshine murmured, kicking herself mentally at the veiled sarcasm of her words. Not appropriate for a job interview.

Santa Jack, her prospective employer, merely raised his eyebrows and chuckled.