But It's a Dry Heat

Archive for the ‘Writing’ Category

Half-Baked Leftovers and a Freebie

Free story. Free!

The problem with being a newbie writer, or even an old-bie writer, isn’t the absence of advice and information. For example, wanna know how to writer better dialogue? There’s a book for that. Or an “app.” Likely several. As well as numerous blog postings and articles available online and free.

Some of the advice out there is good; some possibly cooked up while shooting heroin.  But a bigger problem–for me anyway–was sorting out which of the good advice actually applied to me.

When I started writing my first novel, I was told that in order to break in, find an agent, etc., I had to first publish some short stories. In a rare fit of obedience, I dutifully cranked out a few short stories.

No writing is truly a waste of time. How do you get to Carnegie Hall? Practice, practice, practice. But writing short fiction, when short fiction isn’t your thing, is sort of like practicing the mambo when you really would rather dance ballet. It adds to your repertoire and builds skills. But it may ultimately be a distraction from what you should be doing.

So I wrote short stories. Most of them set in the world of The Improbable Child, aka, Regan O’Connell, aka, the milleue of The Music of Chaos. Most are fun, flawed, and not publishable. (I.e., no editor is going to pay me for my efforts.)

“Keep Away from Naked Flame” is in my humble opinion, one of my best stories. In fact, if I just kept waiting, and submitting, it would probably find the right market. But, instead, I’m going to pop it first rights cherry here and post it. It’s a funny story of yet another of Regan’s misadventures in diplomacy, accompanied by her best pal, Talis the dark elf.

Also under the new Extras section on this blog, I posted a couple of outtakes/cut scenes from The Music of Chaos. Both were deleted because they didn’t add much to the story. Think of them as the stuff, back when films were actually on “film,” the bits that ended up on the cutting room floor.

Just Keep Clapping

Publish America is a crooked vanity publisher in sheep’s clothing. But that isn’t the point of this particular ramble.

This morning, I came upon this in the Publish America (PA) thread at Absolute Write. The commenter was responding to another commenter who asked if anyone had privately contacted any PA writers.

I’ve sent a few PMs via Facebook when I’ve seen some authors express dissatisfaction with PA or ask questions that won’t be answered honestly. (…)
Another author, on the other PA page, said the only choice was between 1. PA 2. expensive self-publishing 3. the major publishers, who wouldn’t look at work from unknown authors. When I explained about small presses, he said he would do some research, but then claimed small publishers like Ellora’s Cave were all vanity presses trolling Facebook to destroy PA.

In short, when confronted with the facts about PA, certain writers shove (more…)

There’s No Mystery; I Just Don’t Care

Alternate Title: “Why This Excerpt Sucks.”

PROLOGUE 

“They’re coming,” said Mary.  “They should be here tonight.”

“Tonight?” said Bob.  “That soon?  Can anything be done to stop them?”

“No. Nothing.”  Mary stared out the window, clutching her shawl around her shoulders. “It will be worse than before.”

“The last time they came, it was (more…)

A Troll on an Elevator Is Still a Troll

Once upon a time, on a little Celtic island, far, far away, a lovely princess was cornered in an elevator by a drooling troll. The troll propositioned her for sex, and the princess turned him down and fled the elevator as soon as she was able.  A while later, she posted a vlog where she suggested, to trolls everywhere, that cornering princesses in elevators, isn’t going to lead to a Happily Ever After, or even a Happily for Ten Minutes Naked.

And trolls everywhere emerged from under their bridges, outraged–OUTRAGED–by her cruel admonishment. Never mind that it wasn’t “cruel.” The trolls were furious, and couldn’t believe that anyone would impede their right to be creepy. (Apparently the right to be creepy is inextricably entwined with the pursuit of happiness in the Troll Bill of Rights.)

Shorter version: An army of creepy assholes have their man panties in a knot because an uppity woman suggested that they not act like creepy assholes.

What struck me about this debate is that (more…)

The Music of Chaos, Casting Call

Every once in while, I get the feeling something is missing in my life. I look around, find my dog; the horse is where he should be; nothing’s on fire; nobody’s exploded; all’s well.  Now what has got my spidey-senses all a-tingle?

*Palm to forehead slap.* Oh, yeah, I know.  I should promote my frickin’ book.  Then somebody says something funny on Twitter, or a fight breaks out at my favorite blog and I forget about the matter entirely.

So I’ve got a little interview over at Kathleen’s Place to Reflect.  Kathleen Anne Gallagher is a fellow Decadent author, and a super nice person for letting my stop by and babble at her blog.

One of the questions was who would I cast if The Music of Chaos were a movie.  Typically, my character’s physical appearance starts out as a rough sketch in my head and sometimes on paper.  Once, in a while, as with Benjamin Black (The Canvas Thief), physical appearance comes first. (He’s not an elf, but he was inspired by this artist’s illustrations of Maehdros the elf [LOTR].) But when developing characters, I don’t think of them in terms of any particular actor.  It’s only after the character has been around a while, that I’ll sometimes stumble on an actor who makes me think: “He could totally be [insert character name].”

Breas the vampire is a blond-haired pretty boy.  But Hollywood’s crop of blond hunks are a little too All American, maybe too Nordic, for Breas.  Anyway, one morning I’m channel surfing, clicking past the Today Show, Good Morning America and other Infortainment with its vapid segments on “Things that can kill your child,” or “Foods that will keep you young.”  I settle on a Spanish soap opera (novela). It’s the usual plotline, fraught with inane misunderstandings, secret babies and whatnot. The hero is played by Puerto Rican actor Carlos Ponce, who is the perfect Breas.  Well, in the novela he’s the hero and too nice to be Breas, but physically he’s perfect.

So there you have it–Breas’s actor doppleganger. Stick a beer in his hand, plunk his ass down on the couch, put on ESPN (preferably a game with his beloved Seahawks) and you’ve got Breas.

The Internet Ate My Baby

“Careful what you say on the Internet,” whispers the nervous Nelly on an online forum, “An employer or an agent or editor might be listening.”

“Look,” says another, “Here’s a case where someone lost their job because of what they posted online.”

“I won’t buy a certain author’s book because of what she said about toasters,” says another with an imperious sniff.

“Oh-Noes!” cries the Greek chorus, “Beware! Beware! Beware!”

*Yes, this is me rolling my eyes back into my head. Lookie, gray matter!* No, it’s never a good idea to post nekkid pictures of yourself, or a detailed account of your cocaine-enhanced, (more…)

AWOL from the Battle of the Sexes

If men are from Mars, so too are women.

I periodically come across discussions regarding the depiction of men in romance novels, in particular, how men are written by female authors. The common concern is that the men aren’t “manly” enough, that they have been feminized (whatever that means).  Alternately, some female writers opine that men are mysterious beings who cannot be fathomed by the female mind.

This is big deal for some women writers.  They even take classes for insight into the male mind.

Which boggles my mostly female, but somewhat male mind.  Do these women know any men? Is the whole of (more…)

Clarity Counts

Here in New Mexico, the local schools use a program called Character Counts to uh, indoctrinate teach kids to be good little cogs in the machine how to play well with others. Whether or not this actually works is debatable. What has always struck me about Character Counts is how those words are essentially nonsense, word salad. Serious, what does “Character counts” mean?

Here’s where someone wearily says, “You know what it means.”

No, I don’t.  At least not absent the whole campaign that goes with the program.  “Character counts” what? Sheep? Cards?

Words do mean … stuff.  But meaning and clarity are a function of a whole bunch of other words.  One of the most common problems I see when critiquing stories over at Critters is a total lack of clarity.  Often this is because (more…)

You Liked It? Are You … A Crazy Person?

Over on Facebook, Smart B*tches Who Love Trashy Novels posed the question:

I have many readers who email rants about books they wanted to like but didn’t. Am pondering category of “book rants.” What do you think? Interested?

The response could be summed up as “Yes.”  If you haven’t hated a much loved and ballyhooed book, then either you don’t read or your opinion switch is stuck on “Pollyanna loves everything.”

When I look at my responses to novels (and movies), it’s obvious that my nastiest are leveled at bestsellers and critics’ darlings whose charm utterly escaped me.  (Like No Country for Old Men and Let the Right One In.  There are a few, miserable, lugubrious hours, I’ll never get back.)

But this kind of rant negative review really isn’t about the book (or its author). It’s about the reviewer’s relationship with the book’s fans.

Let’s wind the clock back, nearly two decades ago, when (more…)

Windmills? What Windmills?

I’m hardly one to call for civility and decency.  Snark is my primary means of communication.  But even I have mellowed with age.

As the story of this author kept spreading across the web, as people apparently couldn’t let it go, I started to feel sorry for her.  Yeah, me.  Pity. The cold, dry fig of my heart, started beating.

Perhaps it’s the anonymity of the media, but the Internet can accelerate people from zero to outrage in a microsecond. I see it all time, everywhere. Blogs. Forums. Newsgroups. Someone says the sky is blue.  Someone else takes umbrage to use of the word “blue,” screeching that blue is the color of Smurfs and Smurfs are filthy, blue, child molesters. And off we go…

I’ve seen people on newsgroups rant about (more…)