A Slap

So these last few weeks have been a great growth time for my writing. I have revised two out of my four novels (Whose Hearts are Mountains and Prodigies) to give more of a development of character at the beginning instead of barreling into the plot immediately. I am working on a third, Apocalypse for the same, and the fourth, Gaia's Hands, is going to require a lot of work, especially now that I know it's a romance novel. 

And I would never have known to do this without rejections from agents sending me to developmental editors and beta readers and books about writing. I haven't been revising just to pay my dues; I really feel like I have a better product because of it. 

My mother once told me it took two people to paint a picture: the artist and the person who slaps the artist when they're done. At this point, I feel like I need a slap. I need someone to read something and tell me if I'm done. 

And then, in my next set of queries, what if I don't get accepted by an agent? What's next? I have really no idea to be honest. I suspect it will feel like a slap in the face.

Monday Morning

Photo by Nathan Lemon on Unsplash

Monday morning, which seems a lot like every other day in this pandemic -- I have two cats at my workstation (the corner of the loveseat in the living room), and I'm drinking coffee.

Today is work (the ordinary type where I have to grade final exams for classes) and work (the writing type where I look at what I've written and what it needs). I've done fixes on Whose Hearts are Mountains and Prodigies, and it's time to apply it to Apocalypse.

You see, now I know what my problem is. I started right into the action and didn't give the story its moments to develop characters and scene.  I hope I'm doing it right this time.

Progress (I think)

I think I'm through the edit of Prodigies -- it's going to my in-house reader now. The edit was about two things -- emotions and plotting. I hope I have those in a better place.

I guess Prodigies will go out on my next querying round, and I'm hoping the beginning now brings agents in. They should get to know the main character now. 

Now, I'm afraid, it's time to go back to Gaia's Hands. I would rather prune very prickly roses than go back to Gaia's Hands, to be truthful. That book needs so much help, being the first one I wrote. It needs replotting and characterization and dilemmas and ... I still don't know if I want to start it from scratch.

I do worry because I haven't had an idea for a new book for a while (but Whose Hearts are Mountains wasn't that long ago, either). On the other hands, I want the existing works to be sharp, sparkly, and compelling. I hope I get closer to that.

An excerpt from Whose Hearts are Mountains (Literary work)

I decided to sleep for the night in a rest stop just outside of Adair, in the former state of Iowa; a place where a giant white monolith stood outside the entrance to an old rest stop. I could see very little; my headlights didn’t cut through the deep night enough.  

I should have known someone else would find the rest stop as a shelter. I spied two such individuals at the Adair rest stop, revealed by the flicker of my headlights — a dark man with long greying hair and a wizard’s beard, and a paler man with hair tucked back in a rasta cap. The two sat on the ground in front of the door. Behind them, I noted the expansive blond brick building with its glass panels in the front, and a dull glow in a back room. I didn’t doubt that the windows would be revealed to be damaged and dusty in the morning.

I considered that, in the post-wars era, the men sitting by the entrance were not truly homeless. They landed on their feet, founded a camp, and called it home.

I pulled up to where they sat and rolled down the window. “May I stay here for the night? I can sleep in my truck.”

“Sure, ma’am. Martha should be back shortly, so you don’t feel scared with just us two men.” I didn’t expect such a considerate offer on the road.

“No, that’s okay, I’ll pull my truck over here — “

“You ain’t sleeping in that truck, are you?” The unkempt white man, who wore socks as gloves on his hands, shook his fist at me. He spoke in an oddly flat voice, and he struggled with eye contact.

“Well, actually, yes, I was going to.” I could recline the seat back and stretch out a little — 

“No, we got a nice warm building. You’re staying,” the black man decided. “Martha will be back soon to be your chaperone. Would be nice if you gave us something to help with supper. ”

I didn’t trust him. I couldn’t. Was this another trap? I searched my mind for something to forestall my spending the night with them. Would they rob me? Assault me? “I have nothing to trade — “

The black man chuckled. “You got stories. Might as well get to know you better,” he said, extending his hand. “I’m George.”

“And I’m Pagan,” the other man said, not offering his hand.

I looked them over in the headlights’ glow. They looked harmless. Famous last words, I realized. On the other hand, I would probably have a good chance against them with my gold-filled backpack, which probably weighed 20 or 30 pounds.  And I was very hungry.

A Moment of Gratitude (Personal Development)

This is a picture of my husband.

Something happened to me yesterday that I couldn't imagine ever happening -- a couple of friends offered to beta-read my latest novel!

This is big, for reasons most writers will recognize. Our  own families generally don't read our books, much less our friends.  The fact that my friends are actually beta-reading my works amazes me,

I don't worry about these friends being unable to critique fairly, because they know I need this to grow in my writing. And one's a Creative Writing grad, one a professor, another a grad in (I believe) psychology. A good mix. 

So pardon me if my feet don't touch the ground today!

Ode to Developmental Edits (Writing Tools)

I just finished making corrections from the developmental edit of Whose Hearts are Mountains, so I've been thinking of all the reasons I'm glad someone told me to find a developmental editor:

Because "good enough" is not good enough
If you think about it, a developmental edit is a brutal thing to put your book and your psyche to. You pay good money (averaging about $800-1200 from my research) to have someone tear apart the novel you've spent months or years bringing into existence. You have to read over all those comments and it's frustrating.

Still, I do it and I swear by it. Why? Because my "good enough" isn't good enough for publishing. Few people's are, even after second or third draft. Writers need a pair of fresh eyes; furthermore, we need someone with literary skills to examine our word choice, to make sure our meaning comes out in our words.

Why can't I just proofread extra good?
First of all, if you didn't notice the grammatical error in the previous sentence, you probably need skilled help. More importantly, proofreading is not the same as developmental editing. Proofreading picks up grammatical and punctuation errors,and the person who does this is a proofreader or line editor. Developmental editing gets into the conveyance of your ideas itself -- whether a sentence or paragraph is clear, whether your passage's moods make sense, whether your characters are portrayed realistically and readably.

Why can't I just use beta readers?
Beta readers are very good at letting you know what the average reader will think or do. Some beta readers -- the ones with some creative writing skills -- might pick up on some unclear sentences or sentences that don't sparkle.  But they're reading for enjoyment, not for discernment, and usually not in a higher literary sense.

How to find a developmental editor

• Ask around. If you have writing friends, they have likely dealt with developmental editors, and have had good and bad experiences. If your sample of writing friends is small, ask on Twitter, a writing forum, or NaNoWriMo. Ask for their feedback in direct message, because they're more likely to be honest that way. Don't be surprised if a couple developmental editors find you that way.
• Comparison shop. Ask the developmental editors questions. Rates, of course, are important. Turnaround time is important.
• Understand their style -- you can have them read and respond to a short excerpt of your writing. A developmental editor should push you but be constructive in their criticism.
• A very important point -- make sure you sign a contract before proceeding. Read it well before signing so you understand what your rights are. 

A developmental editor is someone you should consider having on your team. If you can't afford one, at least find a beta reader who has a lot of literary skills. The idea is to create the most compelling version of your hard work.

If any readers use developmental editors, share your stories with me via email: lleachie@gmail.com

A Glimpse at my Novels (Literary Works)

Are you curious about what I've written?

I casually mention in this blog that I've written five novels and am working on getting an agent and getting published. I very seldom talk about what I've written. So here's a list of my novels with synopses.

I will cover the ones that exist in the same universe first, in chronological order.

Gaia's Hands

The odd couple of Jeanne Beaumont, biologist, and Josh Young, writer, follow a threat to Jeanne's livelihood and a path of their own awakening talents. After calling forth a miracle at the collective Barn Swallows' Dance, they must fight the conspirators who would destroy it -- and possibly their lives. 

Apocalypse

Laurel Smith, a woman without a past, works as a laborer at the ecocollective Barn Swallows’ Dance, unaware of her part in a 6000-year-old myth. Adam Lee is an immortal Archetype who holds the patterns which allow Han Chinese men to survive. He’s been sent on a mission to help Laurel find her legacy and bring her memories back.

An army assembles to kill Laurel to collect on a millennia-long vendetta. Laurel's memory loss isn't an accident, though, and three dangerous Archetypes more ancient than even Adam are determined to keep her in the dark. If Adam and Laurel can't collect enough allies to stop the approaching army, they will build an army to wipe out all women on Earth, and with them, all future generations of humans.

Prodigies

Grace Silverstein, an eighteen-year-old viola prodigy, flies to Poland to participate in an international assembly of prodigies. However, her hosts have hidden their plans to coerce the prodigies under a flimsy mask of hospitality. Grace’s new friend and fellow prodigy Ichirou can influence people’s emotions with his computer graphics, and they figure out that his talent is what their hosts want to capture. Grace smuggles him out of the country with the help of his chaperone and her mysterious accomplice, but their escape has not gone unnoticed.

Back in the US and under pursuit, Grace discovers her own talent of manipulating emotions through her beloved music. The chase continues as both foreign agents and Homeland Security close in on Grace and her compatriots, who uncover a terrorist plot by the prodigy organization. Grace can keep herself and her friends safe if she never reveals her gift but exposing her talent could save many more lives. Making the right decision while avoiding capture may be the hardest thing Grace has ever done—and could have long-lasting effects on the entire world.

Whose Hearts are Mountains

In Whose Hearts are Mountains, Annie Smith escapes the smoking ruins of her university and heals in a remote Canadian town, where she hears stories about a fair folk who help humans and then disappear. These tales resonate with the stories her mother told her as a child, and she seizes the opportunity to research the spread of these tales – until she comes home to find that the United States has crumbled under sectarian turmoil.

Annie chases the stories through a drastically changed landscape, and begins to experience unsettling dreams and strange phenomena. The stories lead to an oasis in the middle of the desert and a people who present mysteries. Pieces click together, and Annie finds out that her identity is tied in with the tales and with a frightening act of terrorism that only they can stop.

This next one is not in the same universe as the others:

Voyageurs

Ian Akimoto, Traveller, jumps through time from the environmental catastrophe called the Chaos to 2015 Kansas City to help Kat Pleskovich, time-jumping daredevil, solve the mystery of who wants to kill her mentor.  Soon their own lives are in danger as they piece together clues involving everything from time physics and falsified records to multiple Kats and gruesome deaths in Kat’s daredevil game Voyageurs. 

Their search reveals that a rogue time traveller broke the timeline at crucial points with a goal of winning Voyageurs with the greatest stunt of all – destroying humanity. Kat and Ian must decide whether to risk their lives toward setting the future right. 

Enjoy and give me feedback!

If you have suggestions for synopses or just want to comment on the storylines, please let me know! My email is lleachie@gmail.com.

A Case of Writers' Block

I'm back home, sitting at the Board Game Cafe, trying to figure out what I want to write.

Anything I start will be interrupted in two days when I get my dev edit for Whose Hearts are Mountains back, so I can work on fixing it. On the other hand, I feel weird not writing. Not writing poetry, not writing short stories, not writing novels, not editing. 

I'm afraid that if I take a break, I won't go back. But I have taken a break over finals week and beyond to Christmas. And inspiration has taken a vacation as well.

If I felt like starting a novel, I could turn the jam-packed short story Hands into a novel, if I could get some insight as to what Warsaw, Poland was like fifteen years ago. Boy, did I paint myself into a corner there. 

My blog counts as writing, though, as I intended it to. Warmups to something bigger for the day. Let's see what that will be.

On My Way Back Home

I'm spending my last couple hours at Starved Rock sitting in front of the fireplace in the Great Hall, soaking up the atmosphere. It has been a good vacation despite my frustrations borne of childhood issues temporarily clouding my perception. 

I need to get back to writing. This will be easily cured by a big project in the form of my developmental edit of Whose Hearts are Mountains. The frustration, though, is that I don't have any ideas on the back burner, neither short story nor novel. I don't like feeling so tenuous about my attachment to writing. 

I need to have a resolution that I will write two hours a day once more. It's been a while since I've spent that much time -- no, I take that back; I was writing/editing four hours a day cleaning up Whose Hearts are Mountains in November.

Does anyone have any story ideas I can play around with?

Unusual Dreams of Christmas.

It would be a nice time to get obsessed with a story, while I'm waiting to hear back from potential developmental editors for Whose Hearts are Mountains, while I'm waiting for responses for things I've sent, while my last two weeks of school are easy and the festive season gives me ideas to play with.

I'm not getting any of those inspirations at the moment. "Silent Night" in Gaelic is playing on the stereo. The artificial fireplace is crackling and I can smell fake pine scent, and I wonder why these artificial remnants of a vital, pagan culture give me comfort. Would the real things give me more inspiration? I don't know. 

I admit that I have fantasies about Victorian-style Christmas Eves (note that in Victorian Christmas, decorations were put up Christmas eve and remained till January 6, the twelfth night of Christmas.) Of course, my fantasy soon takes me off into a decidedly pagan adventure with Father Christmas, finding a way to slip largesse and joy into people's lives in the countryside. This might involve some invisible smuggling hunting of wild game for the table in a Robin Hood turn.  Or modern ones, following an elusive busker through Chicago decorated for the holidays, a search for the treasure of knowing a talented soul. 

 For not being inspired, I sure feel inspired today. 

Practicing my query synopsis for Whose Hearts are Mountains

Anna Schmidt, a shell-shocked anthropologist, searches cross-country for the origin of an elusive folk tale in the wilds of the former United States. She holds her own secrets as the daughter of the premier cryptologist of the era, on the run by her deceased stepfather's urging. She finds tantalizing hints of the tale, threats to her life, and unlikely connections -- and a threat against humanity that only she, with her knowledge of cryptology, can solve.

Writing and the Art of Concealment

Writing is like performing magic in a way --

Writing utilizes misdirection -- sometimes a misinterpretation of facts, or an unreliable witness, or an ambiguity can draw the reader's mind away from an early conclusion.

Sometimes the omission of one sentence can conceal the plot twist from the reader. Agatha Christie does this well in The Murder of Roger Ackroyd, where the narrator leaves out important actions he has performed.

A hint should not be too obvious, too direct, too revealing. In effect, they're like the baffling prophecy in Oedipus Rex, where we can't see how Oedipus is going to kill his father and wed his mother until it unfolds. 

At the same time, the misdirection can't be an outright falsehood, unless that falsehood is in the hands of an unreliable narrator or witness. The writer cannot lie; the characters can lie, or misinterpret, or make mistakes.

I was reminded of this yesterday when editing Whose Hearts are Mountains, because my developmental editor noted that I made something too obvious to readers who would have read my other work. How to make it less obvious? At one place, keeping silent. At another, misdirecting. Making things less obvious at another.

I feel like a magician when I can do this, knowing that words are as concrete or wispy as I need them to be.

Better get over this burnout quick.

My brain needs a rest.

I think I burned myself out doing 50 hours of editing Gaia's Hands in ten days. My brain definitely needed a break. Then I'm in the busy part of my semester, and have graded 45 final projects and 25 papers in the last two weeks. And put together my classes for next semester. 

I think maybe I'm a little burned out on everything. I tend to want to sleep a lot, even though I'm not depressed.  It's a good thing that I have a week off for Thanksgiving next week, then a week of finals, and then Christmas.

I'm not going to let the burnout last long. I need to think of a project -- maybe editing Whose Hearts are Mountains before a dev edit. Maybe editing a story or two for submission, or even writing a new story. Someone suggested I turn the short story Hands into a novel, but I think that would require a research trip to Poland, where I don't know the language nor what I'm looking for. 

I'm trying to find my direction forward, and it's harder now that I've calmed down about getting published. I should go back to my goals and see if I need to revise or add or just get cracking on them.

Dreams vs goals

I've been pretty mellow lately about my writing, getting my enjoyment from editors telling me how to improve. This is my most noble self, but my sanguinity even in the face of rejections doesn't motivate me to push myself -- for example, I haven't sent queries lately. I haven't finished editing Whose Hearts are Mountains (although that may need a developmental editor). 

I still daydream about getting a novel published, even though I understand how hard it is, and I know I'm not a literary writer but a genre writer, and my stuff seems like it needs an endless amount of improvement ...

I need to set some goals again. I'll make them SMART goals -- specific, measurable, attainable, relevant, time-bound.

• Write/submit 5 short stories/poems/flash fiction by December 31, 2020
• Get Whose Hearts are Mountains into developmental edit by March 1, 2020
• Send 50 queries for Gaia's Hands by February 1, 2020
• Send 50 queries for Apocalypse by August 1, 2020

Note that my goals are in terms of what I will do (submit) rather than what might happen (publication). It's not realistic for me to determine someone else's actions. 

I suspect I will be successful in fulfilling these goals -- in general I'm very goal oriented. What I don't know is if they'll yield dreams come true.

I don't know where I'm going

I know I've been writing very boring posts lately, and for that I apologize. My justification (not excuse) is NaNo and projects.

What have I been thinking about lately? NaNo and projects. Ok, that's not a good start to a blog.

I've also been thinking about my relationship with writing. On one hand, I've hit some very positive rejections that have 1) given me ideas of how to improve, and 2) have said positive things about my writing. 

I might actually be taking my writing more seriously than I have before, and with that I wonder more if I can get my writing to the point where it deserves being published. I don't know if I've gotten there with my stories, and I wonder what it would take to get to that point. 

I still have some big things out there -- I have Prodigies at DAW, Apocalypse at Tor, Voyageurs in a novella contest, a submission to Pitch Wars, and -- well, I don't think I will win any of these. And I don't know what to think about this. 

Meh again

I think I burned myself out on editing for a while.

It's Sunday, and I have plenty of time to edit Whose Hearts are Mountains for NaNo. Yet I can't bring myself to do it, even though I have nothing better to do today.

On the other hand, I've got 69 hours in between the two novels, and NaNo is a little more than half over. 

What I need is a new developmental editor, as mine has gone on leave and I really don't know what to do with Whose Hearts are Mountains. How does one find a developmental editor? 

Meh.

I took a break from the blog yesterday because I've been working on my online presence for spring classes (all done; assignments are where they should be with due dates as they should be) and working on Whose Hearts are Mountains (which isn't a total mess, but a frustrating problem with how to make more tension in the first half.)

I'm at 67k (67 hours) for NaNo, at least 50 of that going to the big edit of Gaia's Hands. I've almost quit posting time because I'm so far over my time.

Today I am going to spend as much time as I can stand on Whose Hearts are Mountains, but I don't know how much that will be because I'm feeling a bit underwhelmed. Not upset, not depressed, just underwhelmed with my writing. Meh.

Writers' Balk

I woke up this morning not wanting to write.

Actually, it's an editing day -- Whose Hearts are Mountains won't edit itself. But I am not, as they say, feeling the love.

It might be that the 50k/10 days binge edit of Gaia's Hands has taken a lot out of me. It could be because it's a week and a half  till Thanksgiving Break and I'm on break already. It could be because I'm discouraged from the latest rejections. It could be because I'm not sure why I want to get published at the moment.

At any rate, I'm staring at the draft thinking, "How do I fix this?" This meaning one of the big flaws of the first half of the book (having fixed the other two) which is pacing.

I was told there was not enough of import happening in the first half, despite the fact that she gets shot at, rammed into, kidnapped, and exposed to a virus. And has flashbacks from being captured by a paramilitary group. You can see why I'm bewildered. 

I HAVE to work on it tonight, because I'm having a NaNo Come Write Me space at the Board Game Cafe. So maybe I wait till then.

50K!

I just made my 50k words for NaNoWriMo (actually 50 hours, as I was rebelling this year by editing) in 10 days. That's 5 hours a day, which means I wasn't doing much of anything else but writing in my spare time. 

It was insane. On the other hand, I think I have Gaia's Hands to the point where, after a friend reads it, I could publish it. I think I learned a lot about editing. And focus. And feeling braindead at the end of a day.

I will finish a read-through on it, and then, I will probably start on Whose Hearts are Mountains. Only 2 hours a day, though. And it's going to take a lot more work, because it has structural problems in the first third. 

Time to pass out now.

Rebel Rebel

I've decided to be a rebel for NaNoWriMo.

What that means is that the participant does anything but write a novel in those 30 days*. I have two books I'm editing, the problem child Gaia's Hands (which may be a novella by the time I'm done with it) and Whose Hearts are Mountains when I get it back from my dev editor. 

It feels odd not writing a new novel, but it's not the best use of my time. I need to get this backlog dealt with and ready for possibilities. When these are done, I will have five completed novels (or four and a novella): Whose Hearts are Mountains, Apocalypse, Voyageurs, Prodigies, Gaia's Hands. (There's one more novel, Reclaiming the Balance, but I despair over that particular one, and there's Gods' Seeds, the one I'm not finishing for NaNo.

It's time for me to edit. It's time for me to write shorter items and try to get those published (I have one short story and one flash item published so far, Flourish and Becky Home-Ecky.) It's time for me to try something else for NaNo.

*******
* The way one counts progress when editing in NaNo is 1 hour = 1000 words. Which is about right, except when I get really stuck.