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Last week I met someone in person for the first time, although we've known each other online for several years. I noticed she seemed distracted at first and wasn't quite making eye contact with me while we talked, and after a couple of minutes she confessed to having had the wrong idea about me for ages.
She recalled a photo she saw three years ago, in which I wore the same glasses I had on while we spoke. I know the photo. I'd just bought those glasses actually. They have the Dolce & Gabbana logo on both arms in faint gold lettering, one of which had caught the sun in that photo. She said it looked as if I was wearing glasses decorated with diamante, and ever since then she has thought of me as camp and rather glamorous.
"But you know I'm married," I said. "I have kids."
"I assumed you had one of those interesting marriages," she replied.
This is what happens when your friends are creative writers. Sometimes they fill in the blanks for themselves.
Although she denied it, I think she was a bit disappointed, so I told her I would have been quite comfortable as a gay man if life had taken a different turn in my youth, and we agreed I would make a good bear.
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Janette had the first procedure of her second round of treatment today. Three hours of electric shocks to the kidney. Yes: ouch!
They hope this treatment will avoid further surgery, but it has its downsides. Following this first whack today, they estimate she'll need at least two more of them before they'll know if it's going to work. They've scheduled them one month apart, to allow her to recover each time. I just put her to bed, very woozy and filled to the brim with painkillers again. |
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Short fiction, too. I've tried to write short a few times before, but this is the first time it worked for me.
It's a Litopia flash fiction competition, and the only stipulations were the title and the 150-word maximum.
Thanks to my fellow full members at Litopia for voting my entry the winner. Here it is:
No Turning Back
Have you found Tsuke yet?
Paul and Karen are rebuilding a cautious friendship since their divorce, but her emails still carry echoes.
Tsuke has been good for him. A human baby stolen from her cradle, she’s grown in courage and wisdom until she commands the respect of her former captors, leads her own band of fae fighters in the Forest War, and has helped Paul to sell eleven successful novels.
And, yes, Karen is correct: in Tsuke, he has created his perfect love.
Which explains why he is failing to meet his deadline for this final book, and why he’s written her into an impossible situation. He can’t let her go.
He answers the urgent midnight rap on his front door and Tsuke stands on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. Behind her, his garden has become The Forest.
"I need you." She is beautiful. "Will you come?"
:)
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AudioLark launched yesterday: http://www.audiolark.com/
They're inviting submissions of previously published romance shorts, novellas and novels, for which authors have retained audio rights.
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Last week a writer on Litopia mentioned an interview in which this year's Booker Prizewinner, Hilary Mantel, said that although writing came easily to her, she wasn't a natural storyteller and had to teach herself that skill, and the Litopian asked if other writers thought storytelling had come to them naturally or if they had learned it.
I was a writer first. When I was thirteen, my English teacher told me I was born to write. I took his comment to heart and kept it with me throughout my years at sea, which is where I learned storytelling.
There's an oral tradition among sailors, even today when everyone is a technician of some sort or other, and it may surprise some to hear that most sailors' stories are not about ships or big waves or bad weather, but about people - and especially about memorable characters. Every group of sailors will normally include at least one good storyteller, and every sailor will remember listening to at least one master storyteller. Anyone can tell a story, but only a gifted storyteller who can give it life will find his listeners asking to hear a story again and again.
When I listened to one such master on my first ship tell the same story in two night watches several months apart, I realised on my second hearing that he wasn't just reciting it. He was living it, and, because he was so skilled, we lived it too. After a sailor has been around for a few years, he'll recognise lesser versions of master storytellers' tales circulating among good storytellers - and he'll hear unsatisfactory versions recited by poor storytellers.
My aim is to marry my natural gift for written communication with the talent for storytelling I learned from listening to masters. And to keep listening and learning, obviously.
How about you? |
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A lovely story I heard this week:
While at Balmoral the Queen heard that a local woman was about to celebrate her 100th birthday, and, since she was in the area, she decided to visit rather than sending the customary telegram. When conversation flagged a little over tea, the Queen admired a fine china tea set and asked if the old lady ever used it.
"Och, no! I'm saving it for a special occasion."
:) |
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Literary agent Peter Cox makes several interesting points about the publishing industry's failure to engage with consumers in his Litopia Daily podcast here. |
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I finished this on Friday. It's engaging, but it comes from an aspect of the Moscow mindset that seems to be unremittingly dour. It starts there and ends there, and even the flashes of humour along the way are of the grim "shared suffering" variety.
Sedia writes well and draws the reader into her world, like a wise and kindly woman offering to share her shawl on a November afternoon, but several times on the journey I paused to wonder why I was still walking with her, and when we reached our destination I was glad to emerge from the bleakness.
So, why am I offering a review here, when it's my LJ policy to review only novels that have impressed the hell out of me?
Well, it's because this book has impressed the hell out of me. Yes, it's downbeat. And, yes, if you're looking for a light, fun, sexy read, I'd suggest you look elsewhere.
But it's a strong story that stayed with me over the weekend and into today. Often, I close one book and open the next on the same day, but not in this case. The Secret History of Moscow is still fermenting in my mind now, three days after I finished reading it.
Sedia is a brave and honest writer. She could have lightened this story up in any number of places, but she stayed true to her world in which people and their gods stand bowed but resolute under the oppression of land and climate and years. And those flashes of gallows humour? They stand out in my memory like bright steady lights shining from a wooded hillside at night. They're real.
There's a terrible beauty in the history of Moscow, but Sedia doesn't describe it. She writes from within it - as the people of her world live within it, and often in spite of it - and so it shines from the core of her story. |
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Sex with aliens.
Anything goes. Tentacles allowed. This is a judgement-free zone.
Which alien does it for you? Who would you do?
There's no question as far as I'm concerned: it always has been and always will be Farscape's Pa'u Zotoh Zhaan.
Who's your off-planet pash? |
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![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) jongibbs, who is running an interesting occasional series on self-promotion for writers, asks:
As a writer, how would you advise someone to go about increasing traffic to his/her journal?
Having explored social media quite thoroughly over the past few years, I now know the only way it'll work for me is to do only that which I enjoy doing.
For example, I enjoy LJ. I know that when the time comes for me to woo potential book buyers, lots of them won't find me here on LJ unless I point them here from elsewhere. Several of my novelist friends have started blogging on other platforms in addition to their LJs. But I really enjoy the community here, so I allow anyone to comment, including those who want to remain anonymous, and I'll continue to point visitors here from my website.
Can't bear Facebook. I'm on it because some of my friends have focused their online presence there, but I don't really participate very much. Likewise Twitter: it's okay, but I don't spend a lot of time there nowadays. And, again, the only reason I went there in the first place was because my existing friends from other communities started tweeting.
So that's what it's all about for me. Community. And only community that I enjoy naturally. If I have to force myself, it isn't natural and I won't last in that place. I'm an enthusiastic and active member of three formal online communities - two writing and one non-writing - and this lovely informal one here on LJ. I try other places from time to time. If I'm a good fit there: great. If not: nothing is lost.
I enjoy my online activity a lot. This is my 'presence' and, when my time comes, this is the foundation upon which I'll build reader awareness.
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Apologies to those who are on my flists both here and at my photoblog. You'll see this pic in both places today.
It's a view across the valley from our front terrace this morning, all clean and shiny after yesterday's heavy rain, and it makes me just so glad to be alive.
Also, I had fun on the Litopia After Dark live broadcast on Friday evening. This morning, the recording is online here.
I'm hugging the world. :) |
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I was a 21-year-old sailor the year Justin Hayward's Forever Autumn was in the charts, and I spent a late summer leave in Liverpool with my girlfriend, who was in teacher training there. It was a magical couple of weeks. I remember kicking through deep swathes of fallen leaves together as we walked down wide roads with our arms wrapped round each other, singing this song in mournful tones and giggling.
I don't often miss my youthful innocence, but just now it snuck in and overwhelmed me for a few moments. |
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The flu, she is gone.
The earache, she is gone.
My submission package, she is winging her way to an editor's inbox!
Happy dance.
All I have to do now is prepare material for my guest panelist appearance on Litopia After Dark this Friday.
I've decided not to NaNo anymore. As attractive as the community madness may be, I've found it takes me longer to fix hell-for-leather 1st drafts than it does to write them well (which entails writing them lovingly) first time. Also, every year I did it, I hurt myself. Memories of swollen painful hands and forearms too sore to type can't even hold a coffee cup ouch! After several years, it's time to face up to the fact that NaNo is counterproductive for my work rate and hazardous to my health.
But to those of you for whom NaNo works: enjoy the rush! :) |
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Reports of my freedom from flu were premature. It dragged me back down into its swamp last night. Either that, or a bunch of ninjas snuck in and kicked hell out of me when I was asleep.
Also: earache, along with the quiet and steady whistle that heralded a pierced eardrum last time I heard it.
I picked a fine week to get back to work. Nonetheless, I just managed two hours on my Angels & Demons submission package for Samhain. The ms is fully formatted and now the synopsis is complete. Only the cover letter to go and I'll be ready to press send. |
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We just got Bev home from hospital. She's still sick, but no longer contageous or in danger. It's been scary.
Janette's awaiting her next bout of surgery.
Thanks for all your kind thoughts. |
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This will be a brief post because I can't shift this flu and swooning while I sit upright isn't my idea of fun.
Janette is back in the system. Last Monday, the consultant booked her in for more detailed tests and scans. He marked the request 'urgent' and her appointment is for tomorrow, Monday. More surgery on the cards, but we expected that.
Bev, our youngest daughter, has been in hospital since Thursday evening. In an isolation ward. She's been hit by an aggressive virus and has multiple painful and poleaxing symptoms, including a deep chest infection.
Feels as if we're being hit repeatedly. |
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Flu
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Oct. 5th, 2009 @ 06:26 am
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Now I know why I felt so crap all last week. It hit me full force Saturday afternoon.
So, no work done since then, but before it hit I wiped out some surplus secondary characters from Quarter Square. Merged three into one and deleted two others completely. Sorry, fellas. You and I, we thought in the beginning that you would be so much more, but it didn't work out. It wasn't you. It was me. I have to think of the book. Sorry.
Janette has to be at the hospital for 8.45 this morning. It's X-rays & consultation time again. 6.30 now. I'll get the kettle on.
Here is my new desktop for the winter:
A memory of summer.
I have the flu. Send nice things. |
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Our whole family has been upveaved this week by someone's illness. Not Janette's. She just gets on with it same as always. (Her next consultation is scheduled for 5th Oct, btw, with more treatment to follow.) Someone else. Not immediate family. I won't give details here, because they aren't mine to give, but we've had a week of long difficult days and longer disturbed nights and we're all exhausted/on edge/upset/pissed off/varying combinations of the preceding.
Not the best way for me to commence work on editing and polishing Quarter Square to its final glory, but that's life. My study door will be closed a lot during the next few weeks.
Worked late last night:
This morning: all my respected crits & edit-notes are in one place; the new document is formatted; I know exactly what I'm doing and what needs to be done; and we're ready to rock.
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Back
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Sep. 28th, 2009 @ 07:24 am
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Hello. I'm back from my week off. Didn't go away, but I enjoyed a healthy break from the internet.
I achieved the aim of the week and finished 2nd-drafting Quarter Square. Yay! :)
I've said it before and I'll say it again: that's the last time I'll write a fast 1st-draft. It took more hard work to fix the thing in this draft than it would have taken to write it well first time! Everyone to their own, of course, but for me this is an important lesson learned.
Now onto editing it!
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