Author Archives: Lucas Hargis

NaNoWriMo – One Thing I’m NOT Doing

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NaNo-2013-Participant-Facebook-Profile

So, for this blog post, this is me using Dragon NaturallySpeaking to dictate without any editing. So far so good. But if this goes like everyone in my other experiments than these words within a completely jumbled and out of whack.

See. Just like that.

I’m considering whether or not I should use Dragon Fernanda Reimann [TRANSLATION: for NaNoWriMo]. So far it’s not looking too promising. I’ll look another complete sentence that was written correctly. And that should be “oh” not I’ll. So frustrating.

Something is coming more of a pain in the bot or a headache that it is going to be helpful. See? That line doesn’t even make any sense. If I enunciate like I’m in speech therapy, then it will type perfectly like this sentence. But oh my gosh I can’t talk like that for an entire novel. [But see their, entitled the previous sentence correctly. But not this one. And it misspelled their. Again.]

So even though I might be fun to try and use Dragon, I believe the editing would be a nightmare. I don’t think it’s really do work Fernanda Reimann.

TROPES – An Exquisite Rabbit Hole

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alice falling

Writers: You will deeply love me and curse my name by the Seven Suns after this.

Unless you already know of tvtropes.org… In which case, you are most likely well-versed in tumbling down this exquisite rabbit hole.

I can’t even put words to how amazing, inspiring, AHA!, and helpful this site is.

Looking to flesh out a character, or simply want to label one you already have?
Check out the Archetypes: http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/ArchetypalCharacter

Hunting guidance on a specific genre, or just want to explore what’s out there?
Check out the Genre Tropes: http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/GenreTropes

Need to amp up your dialogue? Give it some variation and tap into new flavors?
Check out the massive list of types: http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/Dialogue

Need a…?

Want to…?

Curious about…?

Stuck on a scene…?

 

My apologies in advance.

[But not really.] Happy tumbling.

 

Navigation pointers: The site’s main navigation is awkwardly positioned at the bottom of the far left column. Once you open a specific page, dozens of hyperlinks will be nestled within the text. PRO-TIP: Depending on your browser setting, clicking these may automatically open a new tab. If not, hold down [CTRL] as you click, to generate a new tab. Or a hundred…

Developing A Raw Idea Into a Premise

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SASHIMI

It’s time for the next novel. Like many other psychopaths, I’ll participate in NanoWrimo [again] this November. Some writerly friends are also joining in the mass hysteria. What’s scary for me—on their behalf—is that many still have no idea what story they’ll be writing. Hell, I outline short stories & flash fic, so I can’t imagine beginning a novel without a SOLID, well-defined premise worthy of investing thousands of words and hours into.

That investment is too damn crucial to be left to chance.

It’s like settling for cheap fishsticks when melt-in-your-mouth sashimi is available at the other end of the table.

Constant waves of ideas batter the shores of my mind, bringing the little fishies close. Some get caught in the riptide, or flow right back out to sea. A few actually launch themselves on the beach and flop around until I toss them back in. Most don’t have the sacred combination of  freshness, strength, deep-diving ability, beauty, and tenderness needed to nourish an entire novel.

So how do I decide whether a concept is an idea-fishstick or premise-sashimi?

FLOATABILITY
If an idea wants to swim near the surface for a while, I let it. It will either develop, morph, and flash silver in the sunlight, or it will sink out of sight. A few keep on bobbing. They tread water and refuse to go away.

SUBMERSION TESTING
When a concept lingers, I lob rocks at it. Does it have enough inherent conflict? Is it determined and feisty? Is it really a novel-length idea—something I want to spend months and months chewing on and living with? Is the concept unique? Is it weird enough to plumb & entertain my imagination? Does it sparkle? Does it burn? Is there at least one character begging me to tell his/her story? Is there gut emotional appeal at the heart of it? Does it break through the static of all my other thoughts? Am I kinda obsessing over it?

FILLETING
If a stubborn concept has stuck around this long, it deserves a chance. I haul it onto the sand and slice it open. I pick it apart and look at its innards, sample its freshness—its rawness. This filleting is done at my desk with pencil and paper, while driving, in the shower, upon waking, while clipping my fingernails, during meals. Few make it to this stage. Even then, about one in three concepts survive and move on to next level. And for me to haul it home, the concept has to be a big, juicy, tasty, gnarly Great White of a story.

SEASONING THE PREMISE
Now I decide if this thing is truly edible. A lot of the testing has already taken place, but this is where I make sure. This is my (fish-analogy-free) development process:

Brainstorming
How far-reaching does this concept go? How deep can I make it? Who is my MC? What does s/he want? What is stopping him/her from obtaining that? What is the core conflict? What subplots can feed into that central component? Can I interlace internal and external conflicts so they ride on parallel rails?  Who is the antagonist? For all characters: what is each one’s role and purpose, motivation(s), strengths and (especially) faults? What is the world like? What are its rules? How can I make this idea stand out from the millions of others out there? What are the settings? What do I already know about the topics involved? What do I need to learn? What emotions will this story elicit? What strings inside the reader will it twang? Can I tie ALL these things together in one gorgeous, beautiful whole?

Mic Check
This might seem out of place, but I draft the first scene at this point. Even before I know the nuances of the story, I know how it begins. Before I invest any more time in this concept, I need the assurance that there is a fresh voice waiting to breathe on the pages. This is all about style, and word choice, and what the character has to say in his/her own words. This might take a few iterations—like asking a ouija board the same question a few times—but the character should come alive on the page. Once I’m confident I can channel this character’s story and give him/her a voice, I keep developing.

Congealing
By this point I have a haphazard pile of scribbled post-it notes, notebook pages, sharpied napkins, a OneNote file full of details. Which is cool and all, but do I have a solid premise? My way of testing this critical aspect is to write the pitch as though crafting a query letter. This takes a lot of work. Like, a lot, a lot. But, if the core of the concept is strong, the basic structure and details quickly fall into place. I don’t worry about “voice” at this early stage of pitch crafting. This won’t produce the final pitch, but this version should clearly show the premise, MC, conflict, and stakes. A second part of this process is then boiling the pitch down to a single sentence. If it feels close-enough-to-solid, I’m golden and move on to outlining.


GOBBLING
At this point, I’m absolutely sure my premise is as solid as it can be. I still have months of writing & revision ahead of me, but I’m confident that I have sashimi. In such a subjective industry, I have no idea how the premise itself will be received by agents, editors, or readers. I can’t change another person’s tastebuds any more than I can change the type of stories which swim and splash in my imagination. What I can do is lay a firm foundation on which to build those stories. And if I continue that same level of purposeful development until I have a polished manuscript, there won’t be a fishstick in sight.

 

See the where this process led me in prep for NaNoWriMo:
https://johnlucashargis.wordpress.com/epistle-of-doff-the-most-blasphemous-monker/

Short Story: Until It Pops

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water gun game clowns

As part of the Dark Carnival, I created a short story and an illustration using The Water Gun Game as inspiration.

I was an early-adopter, so was able to choose from a wide range of topics. Always loving a challenge, I decided to select a random element of the carnival—one which wouldn’t necessarily be others’ first choice, one which would force me to get the creative juices flowing. It was impulsive, a way of pushing myself. When I requested the Water Gun Game, I had absolutely no idea how I would creep it out or what the story would become. No concept, no characters, no dark twist. Nothing.

I went into this project with three things in mind:
1) Treat it like a novel. Include the elements of a complete arc, conflict, tension, rich setting, 3-D characterization, heart, surprise.
2) Somehow twist those things into darkness.
3) Infuse emotion throughout. Make the reader feel something.

Please judge me.

This is my first horror(ish) piece. I believe I met my challenge to myself head-on, but the point of sharing our writing with others is to spark something new, fresh & alive within them. It can be caring, new thinking, anger, love, dreaminess, self-realization, fear, ickiness, or a myriad of other thoughts & emotions. The point is: our words should rub something raw inside the reader. Our creations should have an effect not easily forgotten.

Until It Pops can be found here:
http://penandmuse.com/pops/

Be sure to thank & follow the ladies who provided the venue & will continue to work through the whole month of October to share the Dark Carnival imaginings of my fellow carnies:
@JoleneHaley
@KristenJett
@PenandMuse

How Hot Is Too Hot?

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Man on fire 1

I like hot stuff. On a scale of vanilla to battery acid, I prefer food heat levels somewhere in the radiator vicinity.

A fear years ago while travelling down in Louisiana, my companion and I selected a loverly little spot to grub on some ribs. The waiter took our order, including what kind of sauce we wanted the ribs soaked in.

I sat up straighter, pushed my shoulders back, and looked him dead in the eyes. “Hot. Like, super hot.”

“As hot as you’ve got,” my companion added.

“The Inferno’s the hottest we suggest.” His top lip quirked up. “But we do have a sauce that’s not on the menu: Petey’s Insane in the Membrane Melt Your Face Off Sauce.”

Challenge.accepted.

Mr. Waiter warned us. He tried to talk us out of slathering it on the ribs, and offered to bring a cup of Petey’s on the side. Helz naw! We were living the life. If we were gonna go hot, we were gonna go hot.

My companion & I tucked in our napkins. Kerosene fumes assaulted our noses as we closed in on the flammable meat. Eyes locked, we took our first experimental bites. The sting was immediate. We chewed, eyes watering, sweat erupting on our cheeks, not even pretending like the agony was worth it. Then the liquid lava kicked in. Holy hell was it insane. In our membranes, our tongues, teeth, tonsils, our very souls. We cried, coughed and chewed, somehow choked down the first napalm chunks.

And then our faces melted off.

Bread didn’t help. Drinking tea was like tossing water on a grease fire. We scraped our lips and tongue with our napkins—to no avail. Once the feeling returned to our limbs, we squeegeed the ribs with knives and napkins in an effort to strip off the incendiary barbecue paint. Damn that sadistic Petey and his murderous sauce!

Last week, I posted about a personal experience with an offer of rep and the reasons I declined. Going into the drafting of that post, I definitely weighed the risk of sharing it with the world. Sure, I could have kept it all tucked in, buried in the shadows, vaguely hinted at, or completely cloaked from interweb eyes. But I had a burning in my gut; sharing the experience would help others. This wasn’t just about me. And, perhaps, by openly sharing my experience, reasoning, and process, other querying writers might pause, and breathe, and assess an offer of rep not just with emotion, but also with tempered wisdom.

I know too many amazing writers who jumped at their first offer, only to regret that quick decision later.

So, tiptoeing onto the tightrope, I sought a way to share my story, while giving enough specifics to be genuine, but not too many that I’d tip over into unprofessional. I sought to be truthful, to speak with candor, while only naming one party—myself. Personally, I believe I stayed on the tightrope.

The positive response was overwhelming. Something in my words obviously struck a chord. My personal favorite DM: You’ve got balls of steel, man. Kudos. An agent took the time to send me an encouraging email regarding the post. Folks engaged in active conversation about the topic. Which is to say: this hush-hush thing was laid out on the table where everyone could see, poke, and discuss it.

As in all public things, which are open for judgment, my post received a few tsk tsk tsks.

My thoughts?
– Opacity helps no one.
– Transparency can actually hurt the sharer.
– But a Translucency exists between those two extremes.

And you know how random synergy seems to pulse through the writing community? [Eerie that…] Parallel conversations on complimentary topics cropped up. Things like a Twitter convo about how much is too much to share regarding rejections. And, in another synergistic moment, Oversharing was the focus of the loverly Fizzy’s post from earlier this week. And scroll back to @millercallihan’s Twitter feed from Wednesday to see her thoughts & advice.

If this isn’t apparent yet, in every facet of my life, I burn white-hot: creative ventures, work, relationships, emotions, humor, opinions, writing. Passion sears through me and ignites everything and everyone within warming distance. Rarely does any of that go up in flames. Instead, my life glows with heat, and adventure, and love, and surprise, and beautifully insane randomocity.

I have no doubt that some believe I burn too hot at times.

But some things remain opaque. There are things I absolutely know NOT to share. Specifics and stats you will never, ever know. These are the sacred things, the things which are nobody’s business but my own, things which—by sharing—would be of no help to anyone else. These things, while they may still blaze and spit flames, remain safely caged behind the fireplace screen and out of the public eye.

I’m curious what you all think. Some things are an enigma to me. Like how querying writers, as a rule, shouldn’t publicly share stats on rejections, but as soon as that writer is repped, those stats are almost a requirement in the announcement post. I suppose it’s okay to share that once-taboo detail once you’ve crossed into the promised land?

So, how hot is too hot?
What are the things best left opaque?
What are some translucent areas you feel are left up to circumstance & personality?
Are there times when you’re actually scared to Tweet or post something, out of fear that it might sour an industry pro’s view of you or your work?
At what point does a writer/author’s transparency cross from Inferno into Melt Your face Off with Cringe?

FTR, I don’t have a problem with sharing rejection info—to a point. I’ve posted a few pie charts detailing the different yeses and nos in my querying process. But I chose to share percentages, not numbers. Another off-limits for me is naming specific agents or agencies. Super blasphemous. As is submissions & rejections to publishers once over on the other side of the river in the promised land. For what my opinion’s worth. 😉

ADMIT ONE: Dark Carnival

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The Dark Carnival

 

Darkened laughter, cackles, screams
Harmless fun, draped in night
Beneath the cotton candy fluff
A carnival which breathes your name

 

Step right up! Come inside!
Pen and Muse, and the carnies posing as writers & illustrators, invite you to explore the secrets of the Dark Carnival.
Every Friday in October, sneak close enough to smell the fried foods & feel the wind whizzing off the rides.
Step closer still, and let the tales of the creepy, eerie, strange, horrific & macabre seep into you.

Out of the kindness of my heart, I provide you this ticket for FREE Admission to the Dark Carnival.
The question you must ask yourself, is whether my heart has already been won over by its darkness.

 

Preview the topics, Writers & Illustrators.

OFFER OF REP! (and why I said no)

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guy kneeling crying

Please, put down the torches and pitchforks.

I know how that title sounds. I never, ever imagined I’d turn down an offer of rep from an agent. But I did. I had to. It was a difficult thing to do, but maybe not for the reasons you might think.

It all started with the most recent #PitMad event. The day job was busy sucking the life out of me, so, the night before, I scheduled a few Tweets to jump in and scrap with the thousands of others vying for attention in the stream. By the end of the day, I had two requests: one from a small pub & one from an agent. Right away I knew I wouldn’t submit to the publisher. Because, you see, I’ve made the personal decision that I want an agent fighting by my side, adding value, experience, and wisdom to this passionate dream of mine.

So that left me with an agent who wanted to see more than the (exactly) 140 characters: Tera joins the crazy-twisted Phreak Show where she must embrace the truth: being a freak isn’t about looks, it’s a frame of mind #PitMad YAF

I’d previously researched the agency *a little*. My mind couldn’t instantly dredge up any black-listed reasons not to submit. Plus: AN AGENT WANTS TO SEE MORE OF MY STORY! Once I got home, I hunted the sub guidelines and shipped off the query, synopsis & first 25 pages. I grabbed some dinner and nonchalantly strolled into my weekend.

5 days later, this arrived in my inbox:

I’m absolutely obsessed with this. Your concept looks really tight and the message is just awesome. I think there is something so real about this, but you are entertaining instead of didactic. I could go on and on, but suffice to say I’m fangirling : ) I would be delighted to give your full manuscript a read.

Of course I did a celebratory jig (a cross between Riverdance & walking on hot coals) & sent it right over. An agent. Fangirling over my words! And only then did I do the in-depth research I should have.

Uh-oh.

As this process progressed, a half dozen of my fellow writers, CPs, and an Assistant Agent friend all suited up & went into research-war with me. There were a lot of questions marks, which twisted into perplexities, which then flared into big, flaming red flags.

– Predators & Editors only noted: slow response time to queries. [Well, hell. That’s 75% of all queries I’ve ever sent…]
– No agents with the agency are members off AAR. [Okay, well I know of some top-notch agents who aren’t…]
– No clients listed on the agency website. [Okay. Wait. What? You’ve been in business for years…Your website is a basic (and easy) venue to champion your authors’ work. If you’re not showcasing your clients & their books on your own website, then what kind of marketing value are you really adding?]
– Twitter digging, following the rabbit down its hole, unearthed a few “clients”. [Hmmm…few and far between. The quality of the book covers look little better than something created in MS Paint. Are these self-pubbers? I smell fish.]
– Even though the agency (and its parent Talent agency) has been around for years: no sales listed. None. Anywhere. [Slow the eff down. Even if the agent (for whatever reason) chose not to post sales, then the Editor, or the even the author most likely would. Right? HOW CAN YOU BE IN BUSINESS FOR YEARS AND NOT HAVE ANY PUBLIC RECORD OF SALES?]

And as a few more red flags were firmly planted: that dead fish smell clung to me, my manuscript, my misconception that landing a full request is always a good thing.

THE NEXT DAY: My phone rings during my commute home. I don’t recognize the number. It’s the agent. I pull over. I whip out my notebook, access the mental database of all those questions & red flags in my head.

I absolutely LOVE this. Love.it. The aesthetic you created is perfect for this concept, perfect for YA. The quirkiness is really good; weird in a good way. Your characters are a BIG strength; they feel so real. The whole story felt really emotional without sacrificing plot. It’s so hard to balance characterization, worldbuilding and plot, and you did it beautifully. That’s evidence of a great writer.”

Lucas’ brain: She’s genuine. She reallymeans every word. Damn, those words feel good. Why, oh why, does this have to smell like a Red Lobster’s dumpster?

I’d like to offer you and your phenomenal book representation.

Lucas’s brain: Oh fuck does this suck. Hard.

I dig into my questions: carefully. I ask about the things giving me major pause (or, actually, damn-near a full-on stop). She answers. She’s super nice. Her personality is vibrant, cheery, and wonderful. We’d get along great outside of the whole agent-author relationship thingy. Oh yeah. That’s the whole point. A knowledgeable agent guiding me through the process, selling-the-hell-out-of-my-book, connecting with contacts I don’t have, championing my story, fighting alongside me to make this passionate dream of mine a reality.

I have other fulls out, so I need to nudge those agents and give them the opportunity to offer. A week ought to do. I ask for a copy of the agency’s contract to look over. I can text or email or call anytime with questions or concerns.

I’m torn. There’s no way I can accept this offer. But, at the same time, in an ooey gooey part of me, this is the call I’ve been working SO HARD to receive for years now. THIS EFFIN SUCKS.

If the red flags smelled fish-like, the contract is the bloody meat of every fish who ever died, piled on a shit-covered beach, rotting in the boiling hot sun while zombie skunks spray musk on the stinkbugs chewing on the eyeless corpses. You think I’m exaggerating. I’ve seen a few agency contracts, so I have comparison points. I work with contracts & legal docs in both my day job and in my own business. This contract isn’t for just this project, but basically for your creative soul. The Author’s Work is defined as:

“…all ideas, story materials, characters, situations, formats, and works of authorship which Author has created or creates during the term of this Agreement…”

That feels pretty all-encompassing. “Ideas” are included? And what’s with the “has created” phrase? The word “irrevocably” is used too many times throughout the contract. The clauses involving how the contract can be terminated revolve around a very specific period in time; not just with 30 days written notice, which seems to be the standard. With each new work, the contract auto-renews & resets the clock & the termination clause. The continuation of residual commissions is scary when combined with the agreement’s definition of the Author’s Work. If things weren’t fishy before, this contract alone would have been enough to lead me to a no.

My deadline for getting back to this agent arrives. My gut wrenches as I dial the number. And I’ve heard agents say this before: rejections suck no matter which side of the conversation you are on. This isn’t true with queries or partials, I’m sure. Probably not even with a lot of fulls. But here, with an offer of rep before me, knowing and believing that (despite all the salmon) this agent truly & genuinely loves my work, I feel so awful saying no. And not for my sake. Not because I feel like I’m losing something, but because this agent feels so strongly for my manuscript. My heart hurts because she has expectation and hope. And I’m the one dashing it against the stones.

It bites when agents give you a generic rejection, which leaves you wondering But, really, WHY? It’s harder this way (on me), but I’m super-honest and straightforward with her on the reasons why I am declining her offer. She is gracious, but sadness tinges her voice.

I received an offer of rep. And yet, I had to reject it.

But the story doesn’t end there. Since I rejected that offer, I expanded the deadline: for reasons. Baited hooks still dangle in the sparkling water, with the possibility of reeling in an agent with the passion, experience, and wisdom worthy of a yes. It may or may not happen this round. I’ll keep you posted. Thankfully, there are fish in that wide, open sea who don’t smell fishy at all.

Dr. Kevorkian and the Miracle of Coffee

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Patron Saint of Patience

Patron Saint of Patience

Sometimes you get so close to something you can feel the heat of it.

Like the aroma of coffee warming your nose before the cup ever touches your lips.

I’ve had this health issue thingy for over a year now. So as not to channel my Mama (who expertly lists each and every crick, ache & ooze of her own & those in our extended family, like she’s a hybrid living phonebook/family tree/Ailment Field Guide), I’ll keep it vague. Perhaps you’ve noticed I’m pretty candid at times. (I get that from Mama, for sure.) But, I also have it in me to engage my hush-hush & discretion genes when needed.

Unnamed health issue. Riding on a wave of not-so-good, then okay again. Doctors, meds, co-pays. A specialist. Surgery.

Thursday at midnight, I enter the land of no-food-or-drink-or-you’ll-turn-into-a-pumpkin. Which is to say: NO COFFEE ON THE EARLIEST MORNING IN THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD WHEN I NEED IT MOST. Java-less Friday dawns. Dread oozes over me as my chauffeur parks the chariot outside the Surgery Center.

Check-in. Consent form signage. Butt naked, then re-styled in surgical couture: graphic muu-muu with this season’s signature slit up the back, a powder-blue cap obviously offering a nod to little Toadstool from Super Mario Brothers, and a pair of grippy-bottom booties—the medical world’s Louboutin.

The second hand of the institutional clock circles like a slow, methodical vulture. The surgeon’s running a half hour late to the fashion show. (And you know what it’s like when you have to wait for things as important as Friday quitting time, to hear back on a full request, to go under the scalpel—agony.) So, decked in my trendy garb, I do what I always do when nervous, happy, pissed, scared, or basically anything other than sad; I joke. My chauffeur plays editorial photographer with his iPhone as I smize & nail risqué poses in my designer clothes. I cause the nurse to chuckle as she enters top-secret jargon into her sci-fi computerator. Nurse #2 (who resembles a young Roseanne Barr) giggles as she inserts the ouchy IV. Anesthesiologist is already jovial (probably hitting a mild sedative), so I surreptitiously prestidigitate, casting a spell to further augment his sunny disposition.

Dr. Sleptthefuckin finally darkens the doorway. Funny bone: amputated.

Questions. Expectations. With nurse #1 carrying my IV bag, my entourage and I own the red carpet (i.e. white linoleum) and sashay to the operating room. Sharp things glisten under the harsh light of the paparazzi flashes. Or maybe that’s just the weapons-grade surgical lighting bouncing off the stark white walls and stainless steel.

I’m horizontal. Action. White-coated bumblebees buzz all around me. I want to close my eyes. So bad. I want to just block it all out. This isn’t fun any more. In that moment, I think, No. Keep your eyes open. Suck it all in, read the visuals like tea leaves, focus on description. Scribble notes in your head so you can fictionalize this experience in a novel someday. 

Electric sensors latch on to my back and chest, cuffs squeeze both legs and one arm, a crab claw clamps down on my finger, sunny-anesthesia-man twists a little plastic knob, my arms get strapped to wings jutting from each side of the table. Dr. Kevorkian palpates the soft skin he’s about to slice wide open. His hands are neither cold nor hot, but they’re definitely not just right. I can barely even feel them.

He grimaces. His unibrow furrows. He pushes with so much force it hurts. He looks at me, mumbles some words that may or may not be proper English.

A complication?

A miracle?

For reasons: the surgery can’t proceed. Not today.

In the recovery room, I cry.

Not because I wanted the surgery, but because I wanted the unknown over and done with. So much build up, months of worrying & wondering, crackling nerves, a coffee-less morning, pokes & pricks, a resolute part of me whispering It will be over soon. Rest well, Lucas. Rest well.

Sometimes you get so close to something you can feel the heat of it. An orchiectomy. A request from a writing contest. A blessed email asking for the full. A surprise phone call and an agent offering your book—you—representation. An editor at a major house whispering yes, blowing the steam over her coffee cup. Just a few more sales to shimmy on to the bestseller list.

Like the way things oh-too-often happen in the writerly world, my health issue and I are back to waiting, to see what comes. It’s a limbo-esque place to exist—fret with hand-wringing, impatience, and the nervous shits. But also: hope. That things are okay for now, and there’s a chance a miracle has happened. That one stage of the waiting may be over. That chauffeurs who take provocative pictures, and nurses who look like Roseanne, will be there supporting you no matter what comes.

And, perhaps most importantly of all, coffee is always there. Even on those most dreaded of java-free mornings, it smiles—warm and comforting—just on the other side of the wait. I’m savoring the heat of it right now. But, Patron Saint of Comedic Coping help me, I’m ready to take a sip.

Sucking Smarties Until the Chocolate Comes

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But it aint chocolate

But it aint chocolate

FACT: Every stage of traditional publishing is slow.
FACT: The waiting can drive you batty.
FACT: Distractions between stages are a necessity.

I’m not ready to start my next novel. It’s percolating, but the idea isn’t hot enough yet. The concept hasn’t reached its boiling point. So, while it simmers, I’ve been fighting off the crazies by both reading and writing (shorter pieces).

There is this [anonymous] bestselling YA author, see, and I’ve tried my best to like her books, to enjoy them, to discover their appeal. Last week I made a third attempt—the first book in a trilogy—in hopes that this would be the one which would win me over. No ma’am! Not even close. I slogged through it, forced myself to just.make.it.to.the.last.page, which is a horrible thing to have to do with a book. And thus, my non-relationship with this author has officially ended with a whimper.

Flip that coin over. Let’s talk about some BANG. Through the wonder of word-of-mouth, which is to say: a random Tweet floating by in my feed, I strolled a block to my local library & checked out Rainbow Rowell’s Eleanor & Park. Now, let me state for the record that I rarely read Contemporary YA. YA Fantasy? Yes. Non-fiction about psychology, science, philosophy, astronomy, etc? Why yes please and thank you. So this wouldn’t normally be a go-to novel for me.

Well, I suppose the best testimony for how much I dug it, is the fact that I ordered Rainbow’s new release, Fangirl, the day it came out. This is the first hardcopy book I have purchased in probably a dozen years. My m.o. is 75% borrow from the library and 25% purchase for the Kindle. So, obviously, excited. Whatever your preferred genre to read and/or write, whatever tastes you normally fall back on, I highly recommend both of these books. Because: quirky, endearing, relatable, solid.

Now, on to the writing-as-impatience-repellant.

Flash fic keeps me loose. It’s like the warm-up laps in a pool before swimming from Cuba to Florida. It purges ideas—exorcises them, if you will—to clear out headspace and make room for more. But it has its limits. Flash fic is akin to eating a pack of Smarties when you really really want chocolate. (Y’all know exactly what I mean…) So, I chew on it when there’s no time-chocolate, attention-span-fudge, or even complexity-syrup in the house. But it doesn’t satiate the craving for: more, a robust arc, deep characterization, subplots, intricate weaving of symbolism or layered themes.

That’s where short stories gallop in like white horses, or unicorns, or bronies, or [equine analogy of your choice]. If novels are king-size candy bars, then short stories are like the fun-size. Scroll down a post or two and you’ll find where I mentioned that “dark” seems to be whispering my name. (Mmmmm, dark chocolate is the best.) So I says to myself, “Self, how about some short stories? Make ’em dark. Oh! And I know, seek out venues in which to share them.”

On some as-of-yet-undisclosed Friday in October, my Until it Pops, short story (weighing in at 3,400 words), along with accompanying illustration, will be part of the #DarkCarnival. http://penandmuse.com/freaky-fridays-dark-carnival-writer-illustrator-showcase/ 

Then there’s this other project, which isn’t so much of a definite thing. Today I submitted my short story, Bastardbreed, (weighing in at 6,200 words) off to the guys heading up a Clive Barker fanfic anthology. (Which feels a little weird for me to say. Like fanfic is somehow unclean or not real writing. Which is silly. Because I created my own offshoot of a world, birthed brand new characters, and incorporated all the complicated elements listed three paragraphs up.) If the story makes the cut, it won’t be available for public consumption until Fall 2014 when Tor releases it in simultaneous hardcover & paperback.

FACT: Traditional publishing is a reaaaaaallllllyyyy slow process for high-octane chaps like me.
FACT: I won’t let my wiring keep me from pursuing that end.
FACT: I’m writing, reading, percolating, producing, and sucking on Smarties until the chocolate comes.

Update: So once this posted, I found out that Canadian *Smarties* actually ARE chocolate.
FACT: I feel ripped off, ‘MERICA!
FACT: I should move to Canada.
FACT: Everything should be made of chocolate. Except that would be really messy & make many things anti-useful. Nevermind. NOT A FACT after all.

AUTHORS: 9 Ways To Get Information Into A Character’s Hands

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This is pretty solid stuff on the means of getting important info to your characters.

Victoria Grefer's avatarCreative Writing with the Crimson League

Content editing doesn’t have to involve changing major aspects of your plot (though it can.) Sometimes, it just involves making sure a character learns a bit of information in a more logical manner.

I was reminded of that this morning editing “The Esclavan Abductions,” my NaNoWriMo novel from last year.

I got to a section where the villain pretty much spouts off lots of valuable info to his enemy while they’re fighting. (In my defense, this was a first draft and it was NaNoWriMo.)

I realized that needed to go. No question. Within five minutes I also figured out  more logical way to have the hero figure out the information he needed to know: and the editing work involved was pretty minimal (luckily for me!)

There are SOOO many ways that characters can get valuable or important information. Not all will work in every situation, and that’s awesome.

It means…

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