Thank you to everyone who read, commented on, or otherwise participated in the Geek Goddesses blog. We had fun writing it together, and we will leave the archives up in hopes that they may help and/or entertain more of our fellow writers in the months to come. Goodbye for now, we hope to see you around online, and in the meantime may your every writing day be filled with divine inspiration!
Filed under: Uncategorized | 1 Comment »
This morning, it made me grin to see those words–words I wrote over a year ago, in my initial pitch for my second YA novel, GLIMMER—appear in the Harpercollins Winter 2012 catalog.
See, I’ve forever wanted to write my own riff on Pleasantville, that 1998 film fable about a seemingly perfect, if black-and-white, town. More than that, I wanted to add my own quirky little contribution to what I fondly think of as The Creepy Town Subgenre. Not necessarily creepy in the sense of, I don’t know, murderous dolls, or attic furniture draped in dusty old sheets. But creepy in the sense that something is deeply, deeply wrong here, even though everyone insists on smiling. And I wanted to make it a romance, too. Because when it’s you against a crazy world, it might as well be you and someone crazy-hot, fighting it together.
That’s GLIMMER. It’s also the first novel I wrote post book-deal, ie knowing that real people would read it in real book form. (Cue fear and trembling.)
And, since the digital catalog was released today, that means, naturally, the cover got posted online today. I woke up to se I’d been Facebook tagged with my (supposedly still top-secret) cover on a blogger’s wall.
Instead of telling you how purely excited and thrilled I am about this, I’m going to tell you the truth. For me at least, It’s Complicated.
Early buzz is nice, but buzz can be too early, and that is not nice. I’d rather people get excited about my book when it’s actually available to them. On the other hand, cat’s out of the bag now… and what kind of anti-feline sadist would really want to keep a kitteh in a bag?
In the 3 hours since my cover was leaked, nearly 50 people have added GLIMMER to Goodreads. And a wonderful blogger friend of mine in Brazil has already posted a translation of the book description. My editor tells me that ARCs will be printed in a mere few weeks (!!!). Equally good news: as of today GLIMMER is officially available for pre-order on Amazon.com. That means anyone who hears about it can go ahead and order it, even though it won’t arrive for awhile. I can’t help but be purely excited and thrilled by those things. Oh, and one more thing: OMG I love the cover!
Filed under: getting the word out | 6 Comments »
I’ve always been fascinated by doors. A favorite scarf is covered with doorways. What possibilities like behind THAT one, I wonder?
Recently, I saw Nancy Pearl on TV interviewing Anu Garg, author of “A Word A Day.” He talked about his fascination with words and their backgrounds. I knew I had to read his book. Like Garg, I like to check the history of a word. Simultaneous: Latin “stimul” at the same time + “taneous” ca. 1660. Does that mean that before 1660 things couldn’t happen at the same time? Surely there was some way to say that. My mind goes wandering off. Too often when I come across an unknown word there is not a handy dictionary, or I don’t want to be bothered, hoping the context will give some meaning. As a result, my mind is full of words I’m fuzzy about (what does epistomology really mean? And how about axiomatic?)
And then there’s the pronunciation issue. As a young girl, I’d read the word “scintillating.” Loved it and actually knew what it meant. I just didn’t know how it was pronounced. One afternoon, while with college friends, I said an event I’d attended had been “skintillating.” My friends thought I was being clever and so imitated me. It was a long time before I learned about the silent “c.”
I loved when my children made up words for things. I wrote them down faithfully in their baby books and use them to this day. However, with the younger generation, I sometimes have trouble keeping up. New words and word usage keeps popping up and I don’t have a clue.
But back to my purpose in writing this–the power of little words to open and close doors. A simple “yes” can mean a world to a writer when it’s your editor or agent. However, that tiny two-letter word “no” can crush hopes.
Two of my favorite little words, powerful door opener/closers, are the words “and” and “but.” That little word “but” can stop a project cold. “I’m thinking about starting a new book, BUT,” and then follows a list of problems. No project possibility there. However, the word “and” can include the problem AND open the door. I can even hold diametrically opposed ideas at the same time. “He’s being an absolute jerk AND he’s my friend.” “I’d like to start a new book AND I’m having a problem which I’ll tackle as soon as I get my BIC (butt in chair)” Ah, the power of a little word.
Filed under: Uncategorized | 2 Comments »
Okay, so this is not directly related to writing but I just couldn’t resist posting it.
Often, when I read a book or article, I relate, I’m drawn in, and it all clicks wonderfully. But there is also the opposite of that feeling. Rejecting what you read. Worse, feeling like it rejects you and everything you stand for.
For example. The other day, I was jogging uphill on the treadmill at the gym and I picked up Cosmopolitan, a magazine that had seemed so deliciously naughty and sophisticated when I was in high school.
Anyway, I only read one thing. A little tiny mini advice column. The questioner had the following problem: she kept making dinner for this guy she was seeing, but he never offered to wash the dishes and she was getting TICKED. What do you suppose the Cosmo advice is?
Buy the ugliest paper plates you can find–like pink Barbie birthday plates–and serve the next dinner on those. If he asks what’s up with the wacky plates, say, “Oh, I figured since I like playing chef but don’t like having to wash the dishes afterward we could eat on these.” He’ll offer. Problem solved. Genius.
Riiiiight.
FAR more likely he will do one or more of the following reasonable things:
A. Not even notice. Keep eating happily.
B. Notice but not ask. Figure she must like ‘em, and it’s her house, whatever.
C. Ask, accept answer as truth, shrug, and keep eating happily.
D. Ask, and correctly deduce she’s a passive aggressive psychodrama vortex.
Why not just say, “Hey, I have an idea. I’ll cook, you clean. How’s it sound to you? Or we could go out for dinner, or you could host. I’m game for any of that.” Is that too… fearless? 
The magazine may be a mega-hit, a best seller, but it’s not for me. Rather than making me want to turn the page and read more, it made me literally throw the magazine on the ground, turn up the volume on my ipod, and run faster to shake it off.
Filed under: dark chocolate-eating night of the soul | 2 Comments »
A year ago when my first novel Whisper came out, I got the opportunity to see hundreds of reviews and responses from people who bought it or checked it out from the library. Some of these responses made me feel The Big Love, all floaty and smiley, connected by an invisible thread to every other soul in the whole world. Others made me feel like I was being stabbed in the heart by a snickering, pencil-wielding second grader. I sort of expected that, though. What shocked me is how different as a whole the responses were from my own experience of reading my book.
Though I’d read the story dozens of times as I edited it, I had in another sense never read it at all.
There are wildly different states of reading. Different mental modes… and sometimes I think we need a different word for each.
There is reading with your heels planted on the carpet and reading with your head immersed in a cloud. There is reading with forceps and scalpel to dissect a story, and reading with a giant spoon, to devour it. There is reading with a red pen gripped tightly in your hand and reading with your mouth slightly open in a trance.
When I talk about Readers, capital R, I’m talking about the latter group. Which most writers themselves are, in their off hours from writing. But let’s face it. Even if you love to curl up with a book (that someone else wrote) and disappear between its covers, it’s almost impossible to consume your own work that way. At least not without the distance of time.
So… the age-old question: how do you shape and edit your story to be an amazing reading experience when you yourself can’t ever quite experience it as such?
That tantalizing question is the seed for this blog series. I hope you’ll tune in as I attempt to answer it for myself over the next several posts.
P.S. Comments (ie reader response) always welcome.
Filed under: process, process, process | 1 Comment »
I am almost done with copy edits for GLIMMER, and boy do I feel stupid.
First let me say that copy edits, while hard work, are among my very favorite stages of writing a novel. At this point, The Thing You Made Up In Your Head feels like a real book. You now get to make tweaks, or tiny adjustments, to each page, and marvel at their resonance, the way each infinitesimal change affects the whole work. You get to play with nuance now, with commas, with individual words, instead of hacking down a 300 page jungle as in your first (exploratory) draft. As you edit, you may even get caught up in the story, which helps you believe that maybe someone else will do the same–when The Thing You Made Up actually bound and available in stores. All this makes you feel smart.
But at the same time, if you’re like me anyway, you also get to feel really dumb!
I don’t see myself as grammar-obsessed. As a first generation American with a weird foreign name, I learned in early childhood that how you speak can help you fit in and sound more like everyone else. I’ll end a sentence on a preposition anytime. I shun the subjunctive. I am, I fear, complicit in the tragic deprecation of “whom.” Nevertheless, I like to believe that I know my $#!^. And it’s easy to go around believing that most of the time… but when a copy editor shows up and marks my pages black and blue, I’m forced to wonder. To wonder if brain-weasels may have chewed up the insulation of the wires in those parts of my mind that deal with subject/verb agreement, dangling modifiers, and the like. (Don’t worry… fragments are okay!)
For example, approximately 1000 times in my manuscript for GLIMMER, I committed the sin of dropping the first “AS” in the construction “AS X AS.” He grinned at me, bouncy as a golden retriever. NO. AS bouncy as. Her eyes were hard as glass. AS hard as. By page 296, the poor copy editor must have felt AS nutty as a squirrel.
Well, I‘ve fixed all that. I’m on guard now against mistakes… just like as I was after WHISPER got copy edited. I know what’s going to happen. For the next few weeks, I will remain acutely aware of proper English syntax. Lapses from it (in books, on signs, on Facebook status updates) will hurt my eyes and eyes. (And each time they do, it will dawn on me to be horrified and ashamed of all my own mistakes.)
And then I will forget, and go right back to the way I was… except two things. 1) More gratitude toward and respect for copy editors. (Was that right? Did I make a mistake there?) and 2) I’ll remember AS (X) AS, forever.
Filed under: process, process, process, the publishing side | 3 Comments »
I just gave my dog up for adoption. It was an agonizing decision that took many months to come to. I loved that crazy, patch-eyed dog, but she was taking so much of time every day. And every day, somewhere in the small recesses of my mind, I resented it a bit more. She was a great dog, but she was a working dog that had needs beyond my ability or willingness to meet. I interviewed a number of people and it didn’t feel right. I had friends question my desire to let her go—was I just being picky because I couldn’t part with her? I searched my soul and found the answer—I was responsible for another life and I wouldn’t feel right in my soul until I found the place she was meant to be.
When the right family showed up, I didn’t have to make a decision—our dog choose them. While this shattered my daughter’s heart into a billion pieces, it made my heart sing. This was the right thing to do.
What the heck does this have to do with writing, you may ask. And the answer is everything.
I haven’t been able to write for months. Not a word. Not a wisp of a desire to write blew through my imagination. The drive that had propelled me forward for years was just gone. And it scared the crap out of me.
I sat down this morning for the first time in I can’t remember how long and did a little art project to cheer up a friend. It felt so good to do something creative, something for someone else just because I wanted to. I had energy to give and to let creativity flow through me. Some silent bud that had been frozen in time was coming back to life.
The dog has only been gone a couple of days and I can see with total clarity what happened.
It wasn’t just the dog that led me to this creatively-barren place. I had taken on too much in all aspects of my life. As a result I wasn’t taking care of myself; I wasn’t sleeping well; and I never felt relaxed. I didn’t have the time or energy to refill my creative coffers. I put the shoulds at the top of my priority list and let the wants founder at the bottom. It took getting the shingles to force me to face the over abundance of stress in my life.
I made the decision to rehome the dog, began a meditation routine, and started running. All good steps, but when the dog found her new “pack” all was set right in my world again. The feeling of relief and newfound freedom is so magnificent I hope to etch it permanently into my memory.
I’ll tell you what I won’t do: I won’t jump back onto the “force myself to write” bandwagon. I’m going to be gentle with myself. I’m going to play at being creative in whatever form appeals to me at the moment. I’m going to be the queen of my creative castle—and no one will tell me what to do there (especially my logical self). And I am going to enjoy every minute of it.
The whole experience was a great reminder that creativity is a gift that needs to be honored and nurtured. You can’t whip it to perform. You can’t slave it out and expect it to be fresh. Thank you, Dottie, for that lesson and all you gave to me.
I’d love to know what you do to refresh your creative self. If you have any tricks or fun routines please share!
Filed under: dark chocolate-eating night of the soul, inspiration | 5 Comments »
Saturday I went to a birthday party whose theme was “Be What You Wanted to Be When You Were Seven.” Many people dressed up as dancers, fairies, or princesses. We also had doctors and mad scientists, a game show host, an astronaut, a professor, and even a lawyer. One man, who had dreamed each night of flying, went as a Bird Man.
And me? I was one of the few lame people who failed to dress up. Because, for once in my life, I couldn’t seem to bring myself to make something up.
This may be an embarrassing confession but: all I ever wanted to be was a writer. An author. A story teller.
Of course, now that writing is my job—with deadlines and contracts, queries and synopses and market research— the dream sounds kinda drab and Earthbound compared to, say, being a fairy princess. But Saturday night, as I admired my friends in their whimsical or outrageously grown up get ups, I was suddenly able to remember how differently it had all seemed to me as a child. In those days, writers were just as elusive and magical as fairies. Fairies had wings (awesome!), but writers possessed their own mysterious powers. They could reach into my world, into my mind, without even being there… all through their words.
Back then, words were frustrating to me. They were made of letters, and letters turned themselves around in my head. I was still working on the power to write b when I meant b (not d) and p when I meant p (not q). Nevertheless, my kindergarten teacher had written in my report card that she thought I would one day be a writer. (She might as well have said, “Your kid is weird.”)
I knew it wasn’t just a job, something normal people grew up to do. I also knew I had a shot, because I was weird.
And yet, sometime between when I was 7 and now, authors have become among the least mysterious, least elusive people in the world. We blog our deepest beliefs and our lunch menus faithfully each day. We connect with each other and with readers through ten or twelve different social media platforms and feel remiss if we fall behind on any of them. I have visited many schools and never once had a kid stare at me like they thought I was a mysterious wood elf, the way I used to view authors who spoke at my school. I honestly can’t decide if this is a good thing. If any of it is a good thing. I’m not being tricky and rhetorical. I just don’t know.
Very few things turned out to be as I imagined them when I was 7. But thanks to the Internet, publishing industry trends, and other factors, being an author is one of the most radically different.On the other hand, being a writer—the writing part, the flow—is exactly the same as I experienced it in childhood. Silence, focus, disappearing into the words, time going fuzzy. Butterfly wings growing on my back, carrying me through the sky…
Filed under: Uncategorized | 3 Comments »
When a friend of mine linked to this awesome article, I found the idea so refreshing and downright liberating that I decided to create my own edition… just for writers.
The following 10 items are right off the top of my head, using my specific experience for color. Feel free to add more in comments!
-Skip critique group when your college roommate comes to town and instead spend the day running around on the beach with her two adorable corgis.
- Let the dust pile up when you’re on a roll, or on deadline. It’s more satisfying anyway to clean stuff that’s dirty.
-Follow your subconscious absolutely anywhere when you’re writing a first draft. Go where it wants, even to Creepsville and Angstland. Let it be boss. (You’ll be the boss in the last draft, and you probably won’t have nearly as much fun.)
-Blow off all writing advice and critique that doesn’t resonate with you… yes even when it’s from authors you respect a great deal. Likewise, accept resonating advice wherever you find it. Even if it comes from people like me on the internet who cannt spel or writ Korrectly and who abuse exclams!!!
-Show up at critique group with nothing to read, not even a handwritten page from your obsessive calorie-counting journal. Really. Even if you had nothing last week too. Your voice is still worth hearing.
-Start a new project before finishing the old one. It’s okay. You never promised to be monogamous to Manuscript A…wait, did you? (No judgment, either way.)
-Call yourself a writer, whether you’re published or not. Guess what? Publication will not make you feel like less of a fraud—if anything the opposite—so you might as well start practicing saying it now.
- NOT write every single day.
- …and also NOT worry about whether this makes you less of a “real writer.”
-Write the project that calls to you even if it’s not what people expect from you, even if at times you yourself wonder what the heck possessed you. A calling is sacred.
Filed under: inspiration, Uncategorized | 1 Comment »
I am adrift. The laptop I do all my writing on is in the shop, leaving me anchorless and forlorn. I have two other computers. I keep telling myself, “Just sit down and write.” I sit down in the same chair but the keyboard is different. It’s cumbersome and slow, my mind can’t get moving. Before I know it, I see the dishes in the sink, the fuzz on the carpet, and I am off to do some mundane task that a week ago you’d have to threaten my life to get me to do.
All this time spent not writing has given my mind time to wander. Ugh. Maybe it’s gone: my desire to write, the connection to my story, my muse. Maybe it will never come back. What the hell was I thinking, why was I even writing in the first place? I feel like I am missing a limb or rather like I’m being haunted by a strange mirror image of myself.
Yes, I’ve heard the tales of writers being temperamental, fragile creatures. I’ve heard stories of writer’s block and it’s elaborate remedies. But surely, none of this would apply to me? I’m so levelheaded and logical about my writing. I know what I want to write. My stories are all mapped out in my mind. And I am determined. (I say this in a shaky, high-pitched voice with a little more force than necessary.)
Boo-yah. In my face!
The last week has forced me to see myself as I really am: I’m superstitious, ritualistic, fickle, overly passionate, and a daydreamer.
As it so frequently does, the universe provided counterpoint to my internal diatribe.
I was listening to NPR and a story about a three-minute fiction contest came on. They were interviewing this session’s guest judge, writer Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie. The award-winning writer was asked what she was working on. Her reply, “I’m pretending to write a novel.” Asked to elaborate, she explained that while she was working on a novel she could never really be sure she’d finish. So, rather than get anyone’s hopes up she’d remain non-committal. In other words, she doesn’t want to jinx it.
Then, this morning Jessica Morrel’s newsletter, The Writing Life, popped into my inbox. The main article was titled, “The Role of Ritual in Writing.” It had this quote from Stephen King: “There are certain things I do if I sit down to write,” he said. “I have a glass of water or a cup of tea. There’s a certain time I sit down, from 8:00 to 8:30, somewhere within that half hour every morning,” he explained. “I have my vitamin pill and my music, sit in the same seat, and the papers are all arranged in the same places. The cumulative purpose of doing these things the same way every day seems to be a way of saying to the mind, you’re going to be dreaming soon.”
While neither of these writer’s statements is all that earth shattering, they are comforting. They remind me that I am not alone—there are others out there like me. And I’m not crazy—or if I am there are others with my same brand of crazy and they seem to be doing pretty well.
The qualities in me that cause me to aimlessly circle my already-clean kitchen are also those qualities that allow me to lose myself in a story, that compel me to dig deeper into my character’s feelings. These traits allow me to walk for blocks and blocks letting my mind flit from one scene to the next, taking each one a little closer to its completion.
So, OK, I’ll admit it, I’m tethered to my ‘magic muse laptop’. That’s OK. I’ll develop a special incantation to transfer this muse to my next laptop when this one is gone for good. I’ll play this mystical game rather than fight it. I won’t try to clear the smoke from the mirror. I’ll fan my fickle flames. I’ll get carried away by my passions and daydreams. I’ll embrace my whacky superstitions.
Maybe I’ll even exercise parts of my creative brain that have lain fallow while I’ve been engrossed in writing my novel. And I’ll count the hours until my laptop is returned.
Sigh.
Filed under: dark chocolate-eating night of the soul | 2 Comments »
