Something weird happened today in real life, after two positive things that mean my house stuff is moving in the right direction (one of them: I have a front gate). The unsettling thing has unsettled my partner, so I'm currently in a support role. He's not good at dealing with this. At all.
I'm refocusing my energies on four novels; two to edit, one to write, and one to outline and research, so I'm dividing my day up between them. Research & read while on the train/bus/tube. Edit during dead times at work. Write in the evening. Hopefully, I'll be through the pile of work in the next 3-5 months. I'd like to start the crusades novel in about September, so I better hurry. There's also hope that when my camera arrives and the weather clears up (London: cold, grey, wet) I can go on my long exploratory walks in London again. And if the money gods smile, I'll get that patio sooner rather than later, so I can sit on the patio and edit there (again - better weather, kthnxbai).
After all the crazyness of the last eight months, it'll be fun to be in the writing cave and get actual novels done. I like short stories and novellas well enough, but a novel is a totally different animal. It probably sounds weird, but I'm looking forward to slower writing. Where every sentence is an animal that needs to be caught, killed, and dragged to the cave. I'll indulge those literary delusions, but after working so hard for so long, I think I deserve riding that particular horse. I've even, recently, considered writing a fantasy series - a large one, like A Song of Ice and Fire - but none of my very glancing ideas is even remotely interesting enough to sustain me for a few years. Also, my Muse curls up in horror at the idea of being "trapped" in anything for a year or three (or five). The idea to deliver a shelf full of doorstop-sized books is about as attractive as forced labour in a Victorian prison. On the other hand, it would be nice to build something larger again.
I dunno. Might do that in 2013, Muse willing, and if the idea happens. First those four books and the crusades novel.
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Tuesday, 10 April 2012
Tuesday, 17 January 2012
I blogged elsewhere & update on Dark Soul
Welcome, new subscribers! Please feel right at home. :)
First of all, I'm really enjoying to see Dark Soul going viral. I don't think there were many stories I've written that have turned out to be so popular, but it's great to see all the reviews and tweets pop up. I consider those motivation to sit down and finish Dark Soul 5.
As an update - Dark Soul 4 is completed.
Dark Soul 5 looks like it'll have five stories, as I have a lot of plot to wrap up and am currently pondering to add a sex scene somewhere. Interestingly, every single story of Dark Soul explores power, and most attempt a mind fuck of some description. (Yeah, I know, I'm slow, bear with me for a moment.) Some of those are tied up into sex, others into loyalty and obligation. The most powerful stories - IMHO Dark Secret, Dark Night and Dark Lady I - combine those themes.
How do I know these are the best ones? They are the stories that I balked the longest over starting. ("The m/m readers will rip me apart if I put a sexy guy into a female dress" was one of the considerations, admittedly.) And they were the hardest to write overall, and at the end of every single one I sat back, thinking, or saying "holy hell, I need a drink/coffee." (But I do keep a bottle of vodka in the freezer for this type of "woah, hell.")
So it's a ride; for me too.
So, back to Dark Soul 5. Two of the stories are written and they clock in at around 13k. It feels like I have most of the plot still to get through, but least, the research part is done, so now I can concentrate on finishing what I've started in terms of the plot arches. As a side note, I did not expect Stefano to have quite that much internal strength, courage and humanity (well, he has to, considering the beating he takes throughout the series).
Overall, I'd reckon DS5 will clock in at 20-25k words, which means the whole series will be around 90k words, which should make an attractive paperback later in the year.
Right now, I don't want to be thinking about "what book next", but I do want to get the second part of William's story finished before I vanish in WWII for a year or two. (Possibly two.)
We'll see what the next year brings in terms of queer writing and in the mainstream.
First of all, I'm really enjoying to see Dark Soul going viral. I don't think there were many stories I've written that have turned out to be so popular, but it's great to see all the reviews and tweets pop up. I consider those motivation to sit down and finish Dark Soul 5.
As an update - Dark Soul 4 is completed.
Dark Soul 5 looks like it'll have five stories, as I have a lot of plot to wrap up and am currently pondering to add a sex scene somewhere. Interestingly, every single story of Dark Soul explores power, and most attempt a mind fuck of some description. (Yeah, I know, I'm slow, bear with me for a moment.) Some of those are tied up into sex, others into loyalty and obligation. The most powerful stories - IMHO Dark Secret, Dark Night and Dark Lady I - combine those themes.
How do I know these are the best ones? They are the stories that I balked the longest over starting. ("The m/m readers will rip me apart if I put a sexy guy into a female dress" was one of the considerations, admittedly.) And they were the hardest to write overall, and at the end of every single one I sat back, thinking, or saying "holy hell, I need a drink/coffee." (But I do keep a bottle of vodka in the freezer for this type of "woah, hell.")
So it's a ride; for me too.
So, back to Dark Soul 5. Two of the stories are written and they clock in at around 13k. It feels like I have most of the plot still to get through, but least, the research part is done, so now I can concentrate on finishing what I've started in terms of the plot arches. As a side note, I did not expect Stefano to have quite that much internal strength, courage and humanity (well, he has to, considering the beating he takes throughout the series).
Overall, I'd reckon DS5 will clock in at 20-25k words, which means the whole series will be around 90k words, which should make an attractive paperback later in the year.
Right now, I don't want to be thinking about "what book next", but I do want to get the second part of William's story finished before I vanish in WWII for a year or two. (Possibly two.)
We'll see what the next year brings in terms of queer writing and in the mainstream.
Tuesday, 29 November 2011
The shape of it
I've had a good think about my future in the genre, and I'm continuing to think. Right now, a double-track approach seems to make the most sense. The melodrama and the hate mob have driven me to reconsider whether I do want to stay in the genre. The messages of support and love and several versions of "don't leave me!" have made me reconsider how much power I'm giving the haters over my writing and the Muse.
Make no mistake, the Muse is still having dinner with the dodo, wherever they are. Not a wingbeat, no words, thoughts, or images coming from him, so as far as the writing urge is concerned, I'm currently "healed", like I haven't written a word in my life and can go happily on living without ever writing another word. There's an interesting calm in that emptiness, in the absence of story. Like a haunted house suddenly exorcised. A schizophrenic healed. Awakening after a night crammed full of dreams and nightmares. Deep breath - calmness - meditative silence.
It's odd not to be writing. All the time I have now for reading. The pre-Christmas stress seems manageable. Above all, I'm getting to bed at a reasonable hour. This is how "normal" (non-writing) people live. It's nice. No obsessing about word counts, no submission stress (I have nothing out there to sell, and nothing even remotely ready to go out anytime soon - the emptiness also characterizes the state of my projects folders).
I know, rationally, that I'll need to write the last parts of Dark Soul, but, as I said, not one wingbeat. I know, roughly, what'll happen, and that used to be a state I could rely on to carry the writing, but I've stared at a white screen long enough now to know that it's not that easy. I might have entered a prolonged dry phase (I've been dry for three weeks now). No writing at all. I've had a few of those earlier in my career. The longest was two years. I suffered like an animal in that time. Short dry spells can be anywhere between a few weeks and a few months.
I don't know, and I'm not going to stress over it. I'm just saying I'm pretty sure I can blame outside forces for it. The Muse asks "why bother" and "for what", whenever I get him to talk.
I'm working on finding an answer, but that's the rational part of me. What I want back is the ability to fall into my story and feel the passion for writing and for sharing a story with anybody outside myself (I'm happy to entertain myself, but I can do that day-dreaming without the hard work of actually sitting down and typing it all up. I can entertain myself with a novel-length day dream in one day and enjoy that for a week).
It doesn't help that everybody around me (in real life) tells me I'm "too good for that". Part of me knows, and that's why those words are gaining so much traction - I've done THAT dance before, I know the markets, I have the contacts, I can actually sell in the mainstream if I really, really want to. It means a lot of work and networking, might involve switching back into German, might involve building a totally new writer persona online. It's all daunting and complex and exhausting - last thing my Muse needs. I've been writing m/m because it's what I'm good at, what's natural for me, because it's fun and because of the readers.
But that doesn't mean I don't, ever, have mainstream ideas. And at the same time, I'm already pushing that particular envelope, and it might just be one more step to re-enter that realm.
For the moment, I've removed all "In the Works" projects from my website, because I think that some of the things I'm working on can go into the mainstream and those might need to go under a new pseudonym (I'm working on a few, but none has yet "clicked" for me), and because I have no visibility how many projects will actually happen. I had a pile of about twenty projects that I might potentially want to do, but after the last month, the life has been leached from all of them.
Make no mistake, the Muse is still having dinner with the dodo, wherever they are. Not a wingbeat, no words, thoughts, or images coming from him, so as far as the writing urge is concerned, I'm currently "healed", like I haven't written a word in my life and can go happily on living without ever writing another word. There's an interesting calm in that emptiness, in the absence of story. Like a haunted house suddenly exorcised. A schizophrenic healed. Awakening after a night crammed full of dreams and nightmares. Deep breath - calmness - meditative silence.
It's odd not to be writing. All the time I have now for reading. The pre-Christmas stress seems manageable. Above all, I'm getting to bed at a reasonable hour. This is how "normal" (non-writing) people live. It's nice. No obsessing about word counts, no submission stress (I have nothing out there to sell, and nothing even remotely ready to go out anytime soon - the emptiness also characterizes the state of my projects folders).
I know, rationally, that I'll need to write the last parts of Dark Soul, but, as I said, not one wingbeat. I know, roughly, what'll happen, and that used to be a state I could rely on to carry the writing, but I've stared at a white screen long enough now to know that it's not that easy. I might have entered a prolonged dry phase (I've been dry for three weeks now). No writing at all. I've had a few of those earlier in my career. The longest was two years. I suffered like an animal in that time. Short dry spells can be anywhere between a few weeks and a few months.
I don't know, and I'm not going to stress over it. I'm just saying I'm pretty sure I can blame outside forces for it. The Muse asks "why bother" and "for what", whenever I get him to talk.
I'm working on finding an answer, but that's the rational part of me. What I want back is the ability to fall into my story and feel the passion for writing and for sharing a story with anybody outside myself (I'm happy to entertain myself, but I can do that day-dreaming without the hard work of actually sitting down and typing it all up. I can entertain myself with a novel-length day dream in one day and enjoy that for a week).
It doesn't help that everybody around me (in real life) tells me I'm "too good for that". Part of me knows, and that's why those words are gaining so much traction - I've done THAT dance before, I know the markets, I have the contacts, I can actually sell in the mainstream if I really, really want to. It means a lot of work and networking, might involve switching back into German, might involve building a totally new writer persona online. It's all daunting and complex and exhausting - last thing my Muse needs. I've been writing m/m because it's what I'm good at, what's natural for me, because it's fun and because of the readers.
But that doesn't mean I don't, ever, have mainstream ideas. And at the same time, I'm already pushing that particular envelope, and it might just be one more step to re-enter that realm.
For the moment, I've removed all "In the Works" projects from my website, because I think that some of the things I'm working on can go into the mainstream and those might need to go under a new pseudonym (I'm working on a few, but none has yet "clicked" for me), and because I have no visibility how many projects will actually happen. I had a pile of about twenty projects that I might potentially want to do, but after the last month, the life has been leached from all of them.
Saturday, 5 November 2011
Faber-Castell Ambition mechanical pencil (stupid and shiny)
I have to admit, I spend stupid amounts of money on stationary. Fountain pens, mechanical pencils - if its shiny and pretty and cool, I want it. (I can always justify another purchase - sometimes I buy several, so I can give some away.)
So, today I regained the use of my Faber-Castell "Ambition" stainless steel mechanical pencil. The damn thing is too pretty for its own good. It's sleek, it's solid metal (I do like a pencil with some heft in the heat of the writing battle), it's German precision engineering. I'm a sucker for German/Swiss/Austrian(Czech) brands - Rotring, Pelikan, Faber-Castell, Koh-I-Noor, Lamy. Bring them on, I never had a bad experience with any of them (not that I could ever afford a Faber-Castell pen before).
So, yeah. I bought it as a "pick me up" at the pen shop in Heathrow when I flew out to Chicago, and it wasn't THAT expensive. I counted it towards my Christmas presents last year. (Yes, I'm justifying spending a small nation's GDP on what's basically a stupidly pretty mechanical PENCIL).
Anyway, as if to punish me for this act of conspicuous consumption, the bleeding thing broke only after a few months. I didn't actually *do* much to it, I wrote a little with it and otherwise kept it in a leather wallet. Hardly extreme sports in the Sahara fending off a rebel insurgency with just a pen for a weapon to block bullets.
Now what makes that pencil so stylish is that a twist of the cap pushes the mine out. Simple, elegant, genius. Until it breaks. Then the genius design falls flat on its bottom: you can't open the thing, you can't jiggle parts around until they fit and work again.
So I had to hand it in to a specialist pen shop (same chain I bought it from in the first place). They sent it to Germany (I assume changing a small broken spring exceeded any British engineering skills that are left in the country?) - which took eight weeks (they must have shipped it by coughing decrepit donkey mail).
Eight weeks and £10 later (which would have bought me 40 plastic mechanical pencils - enough even for this productive writer to stomach some losses), the pen has returned - that is, I picked it up a few hours ago.
It's sitting right next to me, looking stupidly shiny and elegant again, saying "Trust me. I won't break again. It was probably your own fault anyway. Love me again."
But I feel the shine is off. I don't quite trust it. It's let me down before - it might again. What happens if I'm in the middle of a brilliant sentence and the pen breaks again and I'm losing my train of thought? How can I ever trust you again, Faber-Castell, if I have to keep a 25-cents pencil ready whenever I use the "Ambition" to write a sentence, just in case?
So, today I regained the use of my Faber-Castell "Ambition" stainless steel mechanical pencil. The damn thing is too pretty for its own good. It's sleek, it's solid metal (I do like a pencil with some heft in the heat of the writing battle), it's German precision engineering. I'm a sucker for German/Swiss/Austrian(Czech) brands - Rotring, Pelikan, Faber-Castell, Koh-I-Noor, Lamy. Bring them on, I never had a bad experience with any of them (not that I could ever afford a Faber-Castell pen before).
So, yeah. I bought it as a "pick me up" at the pen shop in Heathrow when I flew out to Chicago, and it wasn't THAT expensive. I counted it towards my Christmas presents last year. (Yes, I'm justifying spending a small nation's GDP on what's basically a stupidly pretty mechanical PENCIL).
Anyway, as if to punish me for this act of conspicuous consumption, the bleeding thing broke only after a few months. I didn't actually *do* much to it, I wrote a little with it and otherwise kept it in a leather wallet. Hardly extreme sports in the Sahara fending off a rebel insurgency with just a pen for a weapon to block bullets.
Now what makes that pencil so stylish is that a twist of the cap pushes the mine out. Simple, elegant, genius. Until it breaks. Then the genius design falls flat on its bottom: you can't open the thing, you can't jiggle parts around until they fit and work again.
So I had to hand it in to a specialist pen shop (same chain I bought it from in the first place). They sent it to Germany (I assume changing a small broken spring exceeded any British engineering skills that are left in the country?) - which took eight weeks (they must have shipped it by coughing decrepit donkey mail).
Eight weeks and £10 later (which would have bought me 40 plastic mechanical pencils - enough even for this productive writer to stomach some losses), the pen has returned - that is, I picked it up a few hours ago.
It's sitting right next to me, looking stupidly shiny and elegant again, saying "Trust me. I won't break again. It was probably your own fault anyway. Love me again."
But I feel the shine is off. I don't quite trust it. It's let me down before - it might again. What happens if I'm in the middle of a brilliant sentence and the pen breaks again and I'm losing my train of thought? How can I ever trust you again, Faber-Castell, if I have to keep a 25-cents pencil ready whenever I use the "Ambition" to write a sentence, just in case?
Friday, 15 July 2011
The time, the time
Currently I'm tied up in the massive Sekret Project that we can hopefully announce pretty soon - which means all the grey matter in my head is engaged, leaving very little space for things like socialising (I AM socialising a lot with my co-conspirators, of course).
But I'm still there.
It's 4 weeks until the launch of "Dark Edge of Honor", which I'm pretty excited about. I read the file on my e-reader the other day and actually couldn't stop. It's rare that my own books develop such a "pull" on me. After all, I still kinda remember what's going to happen.
And that's the year done (and we still have five months to go). Which means, basically, I have to get cracking on the marketing, the "promo", but I try to think of it not as advertising, but as telling all my friends about my new book. Marketing itself is soul-crushing for many writers, but these days part of the package.
In my real life, we've had some excitement - the financial markets were going/are going through some jitters at the moment, focusing on Italy. As the bank I work for has been caught up in that, last week at work was interesting and actually really quite stressful. I don't believe I'm losing my job, but senior management has announced "changes". Banks are slaves to the markets, and the markets don't behave in a rational manner. The more I know about the financial markets, the more I'm in favour of much, much harsher controls and some practices actually outlawed. We'll see if politicians ever grow enough balls to do that... I'm not positive.
Last week, we also got new windows and doors installed at Casa Voinov. We used to have really badly converted Victorian wood-framed box sash windows in a few places (one of which was really badly rotted underneath the paint) and two doors (garden and front) that were basically just a pane of wood and single glazing - the kind of door a vigorous child could kick down. Well, that's over now - with all the additional locks and bolts (all inside the door), we're locked down pretty tightly now.
The last remaining single-glazed windows were replaced with PVC windows that actually open (hence you can even clean them - I know, the marvels of progress), and which should prove a lot warmer in winter that the others. With last year's "cold snap", some of the rooms in this house were so cold that I didn't actually want to stay inside them for a long time. Which is unfortunate if you're talking about the study where I write or the library where I do my research.
Meanwhile, the "two birds" book is continuing - slower again, and slowed down by a short story I just need to throw onto the paper and hope to finish this weekend. I've taken today off to do that. There's also an editing project that needs doing by Monday, and a novel to feedback next week.
Life's busy, but that's good.
But I'm still there.
It's 4 weeks until the launch of "Dark Edge of Honor", which I'm pretty excited about. I read the file on my e-reader the other day and actually couldn't stop. It's rare that my own books develop such a "pull" on me. After all, I still kinda remember what's going to happen.
And that's the year done (and we still have five months to go). Which means, basically, I have to get cracking on the marketing, the "promo", but I try to think of it not as advertising, but as telling all my friends about my new book. Marketing itself is soul-crushing for many writers, but these days part of the package.
In my real life, we've had some excitement - the financial markets were going/are going through some jitters at the moment, focusing on Italy. As the bank I work for has been caught up in that, last week at work was interesting and actually really quite stressful. I don't believe I'm losing my job, but senior management has announced "changes". Banks are slaves to the markets, and the markets don't behave in a rational manner. The more I know about the financial markets, the more I'm in favour of much, much harsher controls and some practices actually outlawed. We'll see if politicians ever grow enough balls to do that... I'm not positive.
Last week, we also got new windows and doors installed at Casa Voinov. We used to have really badly converted Victorian wood-framed box sash windows in a few places (one of which was really badly rotted underneath the paint) and two doors (garden and front) that were basically just a pane of wood and single glazing - the kind of door a vigorous child could kick down. Well, that's over now - with all the additional locks and bolts (all inside the door), we're locked down pretty tightly now.
The last remaining single-glazed windows were replaced with PVC windows that actually open (hence you can even clean them - I know, the marvels of progress), and which should prove a lot warmer in winter that the others. With last year's "cold snap", some of the rooms in this house were so cold that I didn't actually want to stay inside them for a long time. Which is unfortunate if you're talking about the study where I write or the library where I do my research.
Meanwhile, the "two birds" book is continuing - slower again, and slowed down by a short story I just need to throw onto the paper and hope to finish this weekend. I've taken today off to do that. There's also an editing project that needs doing by Monday, and a novel to feedback next week.
Life's busy, but that's good.
Friday, 8 July 2011
More shelves, new windows and doors
For months, the inhabitant of Casa Voinov have been pouring money into the shared account that we use to pay the mortgage. I guess you're really "partnered" when you have a shared bank account and low six figures of debt together.
Watching the sum grow nicely, I then realised that we should actually start putting some of that money to work, so I got a windows/doors sales guy in a couple weeks ago.
Well, the Big Day has almost arrived, so on Monday, we're getting two new doors (kitchen and front door) and two large new windows installed. The possibility of being really fucking cold next winter too has diminished considerably (the roof seems to have some insulation). I'll also have a fire escape from the top floor.
Also spent two mornings in the company of "Simon the Carpenter", who replaced two busted floor boards and installed two sets of bookshelves into the recesses of the study. All tailored, exactly to spec, and they are brilliant - I hope to spend some time on the weekend rearranging my books by theme/topic/time period.
In case you're curious, the main categories in my flat are: fiction (classics), fiction (contemp), gay history, generic military history, ancient history, medieval history, modern history, locations (especially Afghanistan), espionage, encyclopedias, WWII, and creative writing books & books on writing. Smaller category: trophies (author copies of books I've written and those I've edited/feedbacked), friends' books, and medical history. There are also shelves and shelves and SHELVES of roleplaying books which I should really sell as I'm not doing anything with them.
The idea is to sort them by theme (they mostly are, but the system's not *perfect*) and then by proximity. The books for the "two birds" book should be nearest to my desk, whereas books I bought for books I want to write at some point in the future would be correspondingly more distant. This would mean reshuffling with every finished book, which would actually help with closure.
The carpenter also fed me ideas about nailguns as weapons (he said Hollywood's Doing it Wrong).
In writing-related news, the "two birds" book has progressed to just under 16k. Any hope that this is a short story has been soundly shattered, so I might just as well live with it. I don't believe I'm halfway in the plot. It's more like a third. Or will soon be a third. We're quite possibly looking at another short novel - in the area of 50-60k. On the positive side - I do believe I know where it's going, or at lest I have an idea for an ending/resolution and several important scenes that might just get me there.
On the negative side, the book's been devouring my brain completely and all other projects have stalled (apart from the secret project, which continues, if slower than I'd like). I'm on the line to write a short story for the group over on Goodreads, and not a word is coming. I have half an idea, but it's only half an idea and it would need way more research, and I don't have the time - or headspace - to do it. Next time, I won't sign up for that kind of thing. My own muse demands 100% obedience and won't have it any other way.
With Monday taken off work, I'll have three days to do stuff. Not that I expect to do any writing with the builders taking out and putting in windows and doors. I do hope to get a little bit of work done, but right now, I've beta-ed and edited mostly. But that's mostly because while I can edit when work's slow at work, I really struggle writing emotional scenes while at work.
In any case, I'll post some photos - before and after. :)
Hope everybody has a great weekend!
Watching the sum grow nicely, I then realised that we should actually start putting some of that money to work, so I got a windows/doors sales guy in a couple weeks ago.
Well, the Big Day has almost arrived, so on Monday, we're getting two new doors (kitchen and front door) and two large new windows installed. The possibility of being really fucking cold next winter too has diminished considerably (the roof seems to have some insulation). I'll also have a fire escape from the top floor.
Also spent two mornings in the company of "Simon the Carpenter", who replaced two busted floor boards and installed two sets of bookshelves into the recesses of the study. All tailored, exactly to spec, and they are brilliant - I hope to spend some time on the weekend rearranging my books by theme/topic/time period.
In case you're curious, the main categories in my flat are: fiction (classics), fiction (contemp), gay history, generic military history, ancient history, medieval history, modern history, locations (especially Afghanistan), espionage, encyclopedias, WWII, and creative writing books & books on writing. Smaller category: trophies (author copies of books I've written and those I've edited/feedbacked), friends' books, and medical history. There are also shelves and shelves and SHELVES of roleplaying books which I should really sell as I'm not doing anything with them.
The idea is to sort them by theme (they mostly are, but the system's not *perfect*) and then by proximity. The books for the "two birds" book should be nearest to my desk, whereas books I bought for books I want to write at some point in the future would be correspondingly more distant. This would mean reshuffling with every finished book, which would actually help with closure.
The carpenter also fed me ideas about nailguns as weapons (he said Hollywood's Doing it Wrong).
In writing-related news, the "two birds" book has progressed to just under 16k. Any hope that this is a short story has been soundly shattered, so I might just as well live with it. I don't believe I'm halfway in the plot. It's more like a third. Or will soon be a third. We're quite possibly looking at another short novel - in the area of 50-60k. On the positive side - I do believe I know where it's going, or at lest I have an idea for an ending/resolution and several important scenes that might just get me there.
On the negative side, the book's been devouring my brain completely and all other projects have stalled (apart from the secret project, which continues, if slower than I'd like). I'm on the line to write a short story for the group over on Goodreads, and not a word is coming. I have half an idea, but it's only half an idea and it would need way more research, and I don't have the time - or headspace - to do it. Next time, I won't sign up for that kind of thing. My own muse demands 100% obedience and won't have it any other way.
With Monday taken off work, I'll have three days to do stuff. Not that I expect to do any writing with the builders taking out and putting in windows and doors. I do hope to get a little bit of work done, but right now, I've beta-ed and edited mostly. But that's mostly because while I can edit when work's slow at work, I really struggle writing emotional scenes while at work.
In any case, I'll post some photos - before and after. :)
Hope everybody has a great weekend!
Monday, 4 July 2011
A book of three birds
I've been joking that my current book is the tale of three birds: a nightingale, a hawk, and the albatross of an author trying to get the thing off the ground.
For weeks, I've been writing 300-500 words per day, and some days nothing at all. Well, yesterday I wrote 3,700 words in one day, which, I guess, is my Muse's way of apologising or ensuring I'm not throwing the towel.
The story now stands at just under 13k, the pieces are mostly in place (I'm missing one major character), and, to stay with the albatross image, the bird is hobbling along and seems now to have moved on from ungainly running to a hint of sailing. Ideally, there will be an uplift or a cliff or something that should help with gaining altitude.
I assume this will end up at 40k+, so definitely novella length. The related research is fun and never ceases to amaze me.
Today, work at work is extremely slow, so I did some fact-checking and very light-touch editing. The beginning will need some rewrites, but I think the overwhelming majority of this is as solid as can be. I really would liket o finish it this month, or maybe August. And after that - more historicals.
On a sidenote, I watched "Cabaret" yesterday, which is three years older than I am. Very surprised to see a m/m/f menage in there and a bit bummed that it didn't work out. Loved all the nods and winks to other stuff, like Otto Dix's paintings. Well worth watching, with an awesome Liza Minelli.
For weeks, I've been writing 300-500 words per day, and some days nothing at all. Well, yesterday I wrote 3,700 words in one day, which, I guess, is my Muse's way of apologising or ensuring I'm not throwing the towel.
The story now stands at just under 13k, the pieces are mostly in place (I'm missing one major character), and, to stay with the albatross image, the bird is hobbling along and seems now to have moved on from ungainly running to a hint of sailing. Ideally, there will be an uplift or a cliff or something that should help with gaining altitude.
I assume this will end up at 40k+, so definitely novella length. The related research is fun and never ceases to amaze me.
Today, work at work is extremely slow, so I did some fact-checking and very light-touch editing. The beginning will need some rewrites, but I think the overwhelming majority of this is as solid as can be. I really would liket o finish it this month, or maybe August. And after that - more historicals.
On a sidenote, I watched "Cabaret" yesterday, which is three years older than I am. Very surprised to see a m/m/f menage in there and a bit bummed that it didn't work out. Loved all the nods and winks to other stuff, like Otto Dix's paintings. Well worth watching, with an awesome Liza Minelli.
Friday, 17 June 2011
Sunday, 29 May 2011
Three day weekend (redux)
It's easy to lose a book. Something doesn't go quite right, the book is set aside, suddenly, two years have passed, and by now, you're a lot more interested in other books (like the one you're currently writing or the one that's coming up). Years pass. The characters turn into strangers. The book's gone.
I have a ton of books in the drawer. There's the financial trilogy which will likely never happen the way I imagined things in 2008/9. I think I have a novel and a novella there, and both need HUGE amounts of work. There's the menage and its prequel, there's the historical WWII novel (still around, still kicking, and still unfinished) and some other projects that are "cool ideas" at this stage and nothing more. I tend to be drawn towards the new over the old. Research books for the "new" are piling up all around me. You'd have to see it to believe it.
But above all, I'm putting work in to finish with the past and move into the future without guilt constantly dragging at my feet. I think I would be able to move faster that way. I might even tackle ROI again, the first book I did after "Special Forces". While "Collateral" saved me from burnout and from hating writing, ROI was what Germans call a "Befreiungsschlag" - a (violent) move to free oneself (usually from a superior enemy force). For that alone it deserves to be finished up properly. As it's not a romance in the conventional sense, I figure I might have to go down the self-publishing route, but that's OK. I'm done with conventional publishing, anyway.
I have a ton of books in the drawer. There's the financial trilogy which will likely never happen the way I imagined things in 2008/9. I think I have a novel and a novella there, and both need HUGE amounts of work. There's the menage and its prequel, there's the historical WWII novel (still around, still kicking, and still unfinished) and some other projects that are "cool ideas" at this stage and nothing more. I tend to be drawn towards the new over the old. Research books for the "new" are piling up all around me. You'd have to see it to believe it.
But above all, I'm putting work in to finish with the past and move into the future without guilt constantly dragging at my feet. I think I would be able to move faster that way. I might even tackle ROI again, the first book I did after "Special Forces". While "Collateral" saved me from burnout and from hating writing, ROI was what Germans call a "Befreiungsschlag" - a (violent) move to free oneself (usually from a superior enemy force). For that alone it deserves to be finished up properly. As it's not a romance in the conventional sense, I figure I might have to go down the self-publishing route, but that's OK. I'm done with conventional publishing, anyway.
Monday, 23 May 2011
I'm just no good
My last update was more than a week ago. Now, received wisdom is to blog every day - and most people expect to see at least 3 or 4 updates a week. I'm seemingly incapable of it. My life's not *that* interesting. Sometimes, big things go on behind the scenes that I can't talk about because they are dirty laundry, or are in the process of getting resolved, or just very emotional, and I rather wait and calm down and think things through before I go on record with anything.
Also, the last week has been spent "promoting" Scorpion. Reviews so far are looking good. I'm still in the stage where I check my reviews every day, but I know that once the nextbrain parasite book takes hold, I'll stop caring. I sometimes make fun of people who run around like excited chicken, squawking "I LAID AN EGG! OMG, IT'S AN EGG! IT'S ROUND AND WHITE/BROWN AND IT'S HARD ON THE OUTSIDE AND SOFT ON THE INSIDE! I'M THE GREATEST CHICKEN EVER! I LAID AN EGG!"
You know, that's what chicken do. We lay eggs. I deeply care about the current book, and I probably am like any other author in that I love to talk about my work, but at the end of the day, the process is natural and perfectly normal. Writers write. Chicken lay eggs. It's nothing special. And I much rather invest the energy and passion into the next one rather than running around telling people "BUY MY BOOK!", because firstly, that doesn't work, and secondly, I much rather write another book.
The proof of the writer is in the writing, not in the marketing, the blog schedule or how excited we're getting about what we're doing. The excitement is a given, but I'm a workman, I write one after the other, loving every one of them (of course, otherwise I wouldn't sacrifice every free minute to a pursuit that pays less per hour than slinging lattes at a coffee shop), but really, the worst part of writing is NOT writing. (The one thing worse that NOT writing is that gut-wrenching feeling of "it's no good, it won't come together, the whole thing is doomed to fail!" - that terrible, terrible angst I'm getting about 40% into a book. EVERY book.)
Compared to the Mid-Book Crisis and the I'll Never Write Again angst, nothing any reviewer can say can hurt me. To get a book out, I have had to overcome both. Reviews don't figure on my list of things I'm scared of. Sure, it's a bummer if a reviewer who is clearly intelligent and insightful ends up hating my book, but, really, by the point reviews roll in, I'm already two books ahead. Getting criticized for a book that has just come out feels a bit like reading your assessments from Middle school. ("Alex is a clever kid, but he loves getting distracted".)
For example, I started "Scorpion" in June 2010. To me, it's a very special book, because it's the only thing I wrote while getting my soul eaten by financial journalism for six months, working long hours every day and most weekends, travelling a lot and freaking out over learning an industry that could just as well have been happening on an alien planet, with my career (and mortgage) depending on providing insightful commentary that the practitioners would want to read.
Scorpion is my "fuck this, I WILL write!" book. Defiance in the face of exploitation - if having a cushy, high-profile white collar job can be called "exploitation" (well, certainly how THAT company did it). "Scorpion" happened despite everything. It's the book that lived, even though I tried to kill it a few times, even though it hit the brick walls so hard I could feel my teeth rattle.
These are the "book" stories few authors share, because every book teaches us something different about writing and about ourselves. And saying "hey, I was nearing burn-out, I realized I'm not a journalist despite more than four years in the field and all my scoops and features and all the hard work I put in, I realized that I'd hit the wall of my own lofty ideals and expectations and I was about to be eaten alive and have the joy of everything - writing, living, breathing - sucked right out of me" is not sexy. It's not even very interesting for anybody out there. I'm not holding a pity party. The book has to stand on its own, and so far, a fair amount of people like it and enjoyed it. So, yeah. for me, it's going to be a special book because of the stuff I was going through and still wrote.
But that doesn't matter, either. Once the book's out there, it's out there. The egg's done. Hopefully, I've learnt in the process how to lay better eggs. I've written another novel in the meantime.
Right now, I'm in the "post-book slump", which is one of the two phases of writing that I hate. While I have ideas, they really struggle to get on the page. Low energy, low drive, my famous discipline is faltering a little. I work, but at the end of the day, I have 650 words, which is almost nothing for a whole weekend.
Doesn't matter, though. All that matters is that there's a new book at the end of it. And all the little crises that happen in a writer's life are just seasoning to keep things interesting.
Also, the last week has been spent "promoting" Scorpion. Reviews so far are looking good. I'm still in the stage where I check my reviews every day, but I know that once the next
You know, that's what chicken do. We lay eggs. I deeply care about the current book, and I probably am like any other author in that I love to talk about my work, but at the end of the day, the process is natural and perfectly normal. Writers write. Chicken lay eggs. It's nothing special. And I much rather invest the energy and passion into the next one rather than running around telling people "BUY MY BOOK!", because firstly, that doesn't work, and secondly, I much rather write another book.
The proof of the writer is in the writing, not in the marketing, the blog schedule or how excited we're getting about what we're doing. The excitement is a given, but I'm a workman, I write one after the other, loving every one of them (of course, otherwise I wouldn't sacrifice every free minute to a pursuit that pays less per hour than slinging lattes at a coffee shop), but really, the worst part of writing is NOT writing. (The one thing worse that NOT writing is that gut-wrenching feeling of "it's no good, it won't come together, the whole thing is doomed to fail!" - that terrible, terrible angst I'm getting about 40% into a book. EVERY book.)
Compared to the Mid-Book Crisis and the I'll Never Write Again angst, nothing any reviewer can say can hurt me. To get a book out, I have had to overcome both. Reviews don't figure on my list of things I'm scared of. Sure, it's a bummer if a reviewer who is clearly intelligent and insightful ends up hating my book, but, really, by the point reviews roll in, I'm already two books ahead. Getting criticized for a book that has just come out feels a bit like reading your assessments from Middle school. ("Alex is a clever kid, but he loves getting distracted".)
For example, I started "Scorpion" in June 2010. To me, it's a very special book, because it's the only thing I wrote while getting my soul eaten by financial journalism for six months, working long hours every day and most weekends, travelling a lot and freaking out over learning an industry that could just as well have been happening on an alien planet, with my career (and mortgage) depending on providing insightful commentary that the practitioners would want to read.
Scorpion is my "fuck this, I WILL write!" book. Defiance in the face of exploitation - if having a cushy, high-profile white collar job can be called "exploitation" (well, certainly how THAT company did it). "Scorpion" happened despite everything. It's the book that lived, even though I tried to kill it a few times, even though it hit the brick walls so hard I could feel my teeth rattle.
These are the "book" stories few authors share, because every book teaches us something different about writing and about ourselves. And saying "hey, I was nearing burn-out, I realized I'm not a journalist despite more than four years in the field and all my scoops and features and all the hard work I put in, I realized that I'd hit the wall of my own lofty ideals and expectations and I was about to be eaten alive and have the joy of everything - writing, living, breathing - sucked right out of me" is not sexy. It's not even very interesting for anybody out there. I'm not holding a pity party. The book has to stand on its own, and so far, a fair amount of people like it and enjoyed it. So, yeah. for me, it's going to be a special book because of the stuff I was going through and still wrote.
But that doesn't matter, either. Once the book's out there, it's out there. The egg's done. Hopefully, I've learnt in the process how to lay better eggs. I've written another novel in the meantime.
Right now, I'm in the "post-book slump", which is one of the two phases of writing that I hate. While I have ideas, they really struggle to get on the page. Low energy, low drive, my famous discipline is faltering a little. I work, but at the end of the day, I have 650 words, which is almost nothing for a whole weekend.
Doesn't matter, though. All that matters is that there's a new book at the end of it. And all the little crises that happen in a writer's life are just seasoning to keep things interesting.
Friday, 29 April 2011
Like being left by a lover
Finishing a book is like being left by a lover. Of course, that's where the metaphor falls flat on its ass. You never enter a relationship with the aim to finish it. Or get paid for handing your lover over afterwards.
If anything, writing a book is like traveling. Discovery. Unexpected chaos. And then leaving, feeling like a part of you has been left behind (and not just the toe nails and hair and skin flakes).
Sometimes, finishing a book feels like that old superstition. That you "lose" part of your soul when you get photographed. Writing is forming emotional energy. You have to get the stuff from somewhere. You have to be passionate enough about it to keep it going for anything between six weeks to two years. Then release it. The relief that comes with the release - is also a loss. Your hands are empty. You lose purpose. You don't come home thinking "I Need To Get This Scene Written!" - you come home to laundry and dirty dishes and a carpet that needs hovering. You begin to notice dust specks. Begin to actually see that the garden is overgrown.
You update your blog twice in one day.
I know I'm a workaholic. That trait serves me really well, actually. I do get a lot of shit done, especially in writing. I just wrote a - pretty good - novel in less than three months. Whoot! I must be doing something right.
Finishing the novel - the act of racing towards the ending, knowing it's maybe just 5-10 pages now, is glorious. By that point you know whether it's any good. The quick edit after that is already anti-climactic. You have no idea if it's any good, but you begin to see all the stuff that has piled up in the meantime.
Not writing is misery. At least I know this time there are more novels (it's far worse if there are no others lined up - I've gone through the "oh noes, I'll never write anything like this every again! WOES IS MEHHH!" phase so often that it's become something of a running joke).
I know I should be unpacking my bags and sleep and sort through the photos and memories, but I really cannot wait to be travelling again.
If anything, writing a book is like traveling. Discovery. Unexpected chaos. And then leaving, feeling like a part of you has been left behind (and not just the toe nails and hair and skin flakes).
Sometimes, finishing a book feels like that old superstition. That you "lose" part of your soul when you get photographed. Writing is forming emotional energy. You have to get the stuff from somewhere. You have to be passionate enough about it to keep it going for anything between six weeks to two years. Then release it. The relief that comes with the release - is also a loss. Your hands are empty. You lose purpose. You don't come home thinking "I Need To Get This Scene Written!" - you come home to laundry and dirty dishes and a carpet that needs hovering. You begin to notice dust specks. Begin to actually see that the garden is overgrown.
You update your blog twice in one day.
I know I'm a workaholic. That trait serves me really well, actually. I do get a lot of shit done, especially in writing. I just wrote a - pretty good - novel in less than three months. Whoot! I must be doing something right.
Finishing the novel - the act of racing towards the ending, knowing it's maybe just 5-10 pages now, is glorious. By that point you know whether it's any good. The quick edit after that is already anti-climactic. You have no idea if it's any good, but you begin to see all the stuff that has piled up in the meantime.
Not writing is misery. At least I know this time there are more novels (it's far worse if there are no others lined up - I've gone through the "oh noes, I'll never write anything like this every again! WOES IS MEHHH!" phase so often that it's become something of a running joke).
I know I should be unpacking my bags and sleep and sort through the photos and memories, but I really cannot wait to be travelling again.
Thursday, 21 April 2011
The three-day short story
Whenever I'm quiet, it means I'm writing. This week, I've been writing. I've been writing despite being on the ohmygods early shift, which sometimes happens when I get trained to do something. It means getting up at 4:30 and getting picked up at 5:00 by a bank-paid driver, and then starting work at 6. This kind of shift involves large amounts of strong coffee and a complete collapse of all nervous functions at around 13:00, with nothing remaining but the desire to go to sleep and take a week off.
(They do pay me well for it, though, and there's something fascinating and beautiful and dejected about London at dawn.)
So, yeah, on Monday, while I was feeling sorry for myself and my biorhythm, an Idea Happened. Before that, I'd been pointed at Storm Moon Press' gun kink submissions call. I While I've used weapons a fair amount in my previous stories, this was interesting because immediately I tought that this time, the weapon really needs to take center stage. Which was an interesting challenge.
The Muse agreed.
I ended up writing a 9k story in three days. Now, I'm happy with my wordcount if I make 1,000 words/day. 500/day is better than nothing. 1,500/day is what I call a "good day". 2,000 is noteworthy good. 3,000 is more like a weekend output, realistically speaking. Keeping that level up for three days while sleep-lagged is nothing short of miraculous. If Storm Moon Press likes it, it should come out in January 2012, so that's my first potential release for next year.
Downside of writing that hard? I didn't write at all yesterday and my brain is in that weird hazy state where it tries to work out what project to work on now. Or whether it can be bothered at all.
What I did do was help a friend who needed to cut 18k from her manuscript -by cutting the final 2k and wrapping things up on that side. Still a sense of accomplishment, and one item off the big pile of Things to be Done.
But boy, I'm ready for the four-day Easter weekend before me.
(They do pay me well for it, though, and there's something fascinating and beautiful and dejected about London at dawn.)
So, yeah, on Monday, while I was feeling sorry for myself and my biorhythm, an Idea Happened. Before that, I'd been pointed at Storm Moon Press' gun kink submissions call. I While I've used weapons a fair amount in my previous stories, this was interesting because immediately I tought that this time, the weapon really needs to take center stage. Which was an interesting challenge.
The Muse agreed.
I ended up writing a 9k story in three days. Now, I'm happy with my wordcount if I make 1,000 words/day. 500/day is better than nothing. 1,500/day is what I call a "good day". 2,000 is noteworthy good. 3,000 is more like a weekend output, realistically speaking. Keeping that level up for three days while sleep-lagged is nothing short of miraculous. If Storm Moon Press likes it, it should come out in January 2012, so that's my first potential release for next year.
Downside of writing that hard? I didn't write at all yesterday and my brain is in that weird hazy state where it tries to work out what project to work on now. Or whether it can be bothered at all.
What I did do was help a friend who needed to cut 18k from her manuscript -by cutting the final 2k and wrapping things up on that side. Still a sense of accomplishment, and one item off the big pile of Things to be Done.
But boy, I'm ready for the four-day Easter weekend before me.
Saturday, 12 March 2011
For the first time in months, I'm caught up
Subjectively speaking, this is the first time since the beginning of the year that I have time on my hands. There's no urgent "needs doing yesterday" stuff on my desk. Nada. I don't have any of my own novels to edit for publication. (Doesn't mean I couldn't grab one from the drawer and rework it for submission - but no, I'm not going there.)
So, everything's off and gone. I finished the final line edits of "Scorpion" last week. After that, it was the "sanity check" for "Father of all Things", and I still found stuff. We also had to fill in cover spec sheets for both books (submitting artwork and ideas). And the last couple days, I've agonized over the blurb for "Scorpion". The final version of the line edits of "Father of all Things", went out this morning. The "Scorpion" blurb went out today, one day late.
I have loads of email I need to respond to. Royalty statements to organize (tax year ends in April). I have several ideas for new novels/stories. I bought a pile of books for research. I have three advanced works in progress, two of which need research.
I've fallen behind on blogging. Fallen off the face of the earth while wrestling with a pile of work. I have a contract to sign. A brain to recover. A desk to clean. More than six hundred THOUSAND words to edit for "Special Forces".
Part of me wants to go to bed.
On the way to London today (I managed to meet a friend in Foyles and not acquire a *single* book), I read what I have for the boxer story and "Scorpion 2". And there's some very good writing going on there. So, I'm hoping to do some work on either Scorpion part 2 or the boxer. Iron Cross still needs more research.
That's really the plan for the rest of the year - finish those three. It might even work out.
So, everything's off and gone. I finished the final line edits of "Scorpion" last week. After that, it was the "sanity check" for "Father of all Things", and I still found stuff. We also had to fill in cover spec sheets for both books (submitting artwork and ideas). And the last couple days, I've agonized over the blurb for "Scorpion". The final version of the line edits of "Father of all Things", went out this morning. The "Scorpion" blurb went out today, one day late.
I have loads of email I need to respond to. Royalty statements to organize (tax year ends in April). I have several ideas for new novels/stories. I bought a pile of books for research. I have three advanced works in progress, two of which need research.
I've fallen behind on blogging. Fallen off the face of the earth while wrestling with a pile of work. I have a contract to sign. A brain to recover. A desk to clean. More than six hundred THOUSAND words to edit for "Special Forces".
Part of me wants to go to bed.
On the way to London today (I managed to meet a friend in Foyles and not acquire a *single* book), I read what I have for the boxer story and "Scorpion 2". And there's some very good writing going on there. So, I'm hoping to do some work on either Scorpion part 2 or the boxer. Iron Cross still needs more research.
That's really the plan for the rest of the year - finish those three. It might even work out.
Saturday, 12 February 2011
Slow week
It's been a very slow week at work, which enabled me to get a lot of research done and a fair amount of reviewing. My bosses (at least the first two - no idea what the ueber-boss thinks) let me do whatever I want in the quiet times between editing assignments. I've been reading, editing, answering emails, surfing, and doing research. So, very productive time, really, in terms of writing and research. I'm catching up with my email and I'm getting better about my reviewing assignments.
Getting out of journalism was the best thing I've ever done. Apart from getting out of Germany, of course.
I just updated my website with some info on FOAT, which Rhianon and me are still pushing over the finishing line. The things gets a complete new ending, and that's been keeping my attention lately.
I've said before that this year is going to be slow. I'm already antsy about new releases. The last one was in November. That's four months! Feels like a lifetime now. But people have been wanting "more novels" - and novels simply take more time. I may throw in a few shorts just to keep my hand in, but largely, I'm concentrating on finishing my novels. Okay, there might be a novella in there, too.
Getting out of journalism was the best thing I've ever done. Apart from getting out of Germany, of course.
I just updated my website with some info on FOAT, which Rhianon and me are still pushing over the finishing line. The things gets a complete new ending, and that's been keeping my attention lately.
I've said before that this year is going to be slow. I'm already antsy about new releases. The last one was in November. That's four months! Feels like a lifetime now. But people have been wanting "more novels" - and novels simply take more time. I may throw in a few shorts just to keep my hand in, but largely, I'm concentrating on finishing my novels. Okay, there might be a novella in there, too.
Wednesday, 12 January 2011
Piracy costs you books
Here's an excellent post on the real costs of piracy by Shiloh Walker. Very good, sobering reading. Lilith Saintcrow also talks about money here. And tells people not to steal her books. And responds to some idjits who attack her for asking people not to steal her books.
Me, I've long decided that I can work and write. I'm not sure I'd write more if I wasn't working - possible, but hard to prove - but I sure want to get paid for all the hard work. And if I did make enough money to retire, I might. But I've made the decision to be a dilettante, and quite possibly forever, to only write what I am desperate, hungry, craving to write. And get books out immediately (or after 6-8 months maximum) rather than spend years and years going the traditional publishing way (which I've done and found too hard and too slow for a no-name like me, plus, in the niche, there's no real point to it, at least not at the moment).
Talking about getting paid - I'm in my second week and still enjoying it. I figure I've found an excellent place to stay. Also, because I can edit my own stuff in the lull between assignments (I forgot how it feels to not multitask and rush all the time). The last three days, that amounted to around 60 pages getting edited. At that rate, I'll finish the edits of FOAT much sooner than expected. There's still some heavy lifting to be done, but I'm reasonably sure I can do that lifting by Monday.
So far, the main thing that bugs me about being a working writer is that I have to go to bed in a way that preserves my strength and mental togetherness (to bed at midnight, latest) for the day job rather than when I run out of ideas (which is two or three hours later). It's a small price to pay, but definitely cuts the writing short even when I hit the flow.
Me, I've long decided that I can work and write. I'm not sure I'd write more if I wasn't working - possible, but hard to prove - but I sure want to get paid for all the hard work. And if I did make enough money to retire, I might. But I've made the decision to be a dilettante, and quite possibly forever, to only write what I am desperate, hungry, craving to write. And get books out immediately (or after 6-8 months maximum) rather than spend years and years going the traditional publishing way (which I've done and found too hard and too slow for a no-name like me, plus, in the niche, there's no real point to it, at least not at the moment).
Talking about getting paid - I'm in my second week and still enjoying it. I figure I've found an excellent place to stay. Also, because I can edit my own stuff in the lull between assignments (I forgot how it feels to not multitask and rush all the time). The last three days, that amounted to around 60 pages getting edited. At that rate, I'll finish the edits of FOAT much sooner than expected. There's still some heavy lifting to be done, but I'm reasonably sure I can do that lifting by Monday.
So far, the main thing that bugs me about being a working writer is that I have to go to bed in a way that preserves my strength and mental togetherness (to bed at midnight, latest) for the day job rather than when I run out of ideas (which is two or three hours later). It's a small price to pay, but definitely cuts the writing short even when I hit the flow.
Tuesday, 21 December 2010
Hiring a pro
One of the reasons why I want a bigger pay cheque (apart from paying off my house in less than 30 years, investing some money on the stock market, and wearing tailored suits) is that I want to be able to afford hiring a pro to look at my novels.
I have the good fortune to know a lot of excellent people, and many of these are making their way as writers and editors and freelancers in a field that is even more money-sensitive these days because competition is so high. If you've ever tried to charge writers for teaching them, you'd know what I mean. The people that start out writing don't have the cash. The people that have the cash are not necessarily the most talented. I do some of that work, and most writers fall back on other writers. "Find my typos and I find yours" is an accepted form of mutual help in writing circles (I wish corporate drones were as helpful as well-adjusted writers).
But sometimes, you get stuck on your own stuff. You get a lot of advice. Some people think a novel works, some think it doesn't. You've re-written it fifteen times. You're tired of it. No, you're so sick and nauseated when you're just THINKING about re-working that novel again, you've heard "you're a great writer, but that thing... just doesn't work", or "how dare you send this piece of suicide, drugs and irresponsible unsafe sex to US, you BEAST!", or "great character story, now where's the thriller you promised me?"
In one word, you have novel fatigue. It's not tiredness. It's not being without inspiration or drained. I think it might be closest to chronic fatigue syndrome. Just thinking about opening the file causes an immediate feeling of "I don't want to live anymore." Suddenly, taking up golf, or knitting, or cave diving become tantalizing prospects. Everything but open that file.
There's a project I feel like that about. I reached out to a pro for help. She quoted me a price, saying she was aware it was high and that she wouldn't mind if I pulled back and and all.
The money? Less than I make in a week, net. A bit more than I spend on food per month (can you tell I'm a cheap date?). I want to spend it so I know what the fuck is wrong with this book and how can I fix it. I want this off my plate. Getting rid of it - that is, getting it published - will be like therapy. It's a book that's been sticking in my throat like a bone. As nasty a feeling as an inflamed root of a tooth.
The book's been sticking around for 2 years now. I just want it gone. I don't even need a big contract for it. I just want to see it gone. I'll likely end up self-publishing it. So whatever I spend on it I'll likely never recover.
Doesn't matter.
Big reason for changing jobs? So I can afford to hire a pro. So I can put money in the pocket of good people, and acquire the help I need, and it won't break the bank. I just need an authoritative voice, a "definite" opinion of somebody I trust and who knows the market. And somebody who can answer questions I have about the book.
Might be one of the best deals I'll ever make.
I have the good fortune to know a lot of excellent people, and many of these are making their way as writers and editors and freelancers in a field that is even more money-sensitive these days because competition is so high. If you've ever tried to charge writers for teaching them, you'd know what I mean. The people that start out writing don't have the cash. The people that have the cash are not necessarily the most talented. I do some of that work, and most writers fall back on other writers. "Find my typos and I find yours" is an accepted form of mutual help in writing circles (I wish corporate drones were as helpful as well-adjusted writers).
But sometimes, you get stuck on your own stuff. You get a lot of advice. Some people think a novel works, some think it doesn't. You've re-written it fifteen times. You're tired of it. No, you're so sick and nauseated when you're just THINKING about re-working that novel again, you've heard "you're a great writer, but that thing... just doesn't work", or "how dare you send this piece of suicide, drugs and irresponsible unsafe sex to US, you BEAST!", or "great character story, now where's the thriller you promised me?"
In one word, you have novel fatigue. It's not tiredness. It's not being without inspiration or drained. I think it might be closest to chronic fatigue syndrome. Just thinking about opening the file causes an immediate feeling of "I don't want to live anymore." Suddenly, taking up golf, or knitting, or cave diving become tantalizing prospects. Everything but open that file.
There's a project I feel like that about. I reached out to a pro for help. She quoted me a price, saying she was aware it was high and that she wouldn't mind if I pulled back and and all.
The money? Less than I make in a week, net. A bit more than I spend on food per month (can you tell I'm a cheap date?). I want to spend it so I know what the fuck is wrong with this book and how can I fix it. I want this off my plate. Getting rid of it - that is, getting it published - will be like therapy. It's a book that's been sticking in my throat like a bone. As nasty a feeling as an inflamed root of a tooth.
The book's been sticking around for 2 years now. I just want it gone. I don't even need a big contract for it. I just want to see it gone. I'll likely end up self-publishing it. So whatever I spend on it I'll likely never recover.
Doesn't matter.
Big reason for changing jobs? So I can afford to hire a pro. So I can put money in the pocket of good people, and acquire the help I need, and it won't break the bank. I just need an authoritative voice, a "definite" opinion of somebody I trust and who knows the market. And somebody who can answer questions I have about the book.
Might be one of the best deals I'll ever make.
Tuesday, 30 November 2010
I come bearing gifts
I'm now a regular blogger at Savvy Authors - my first column went online today. I wrote that real quickly after watching season one of "Burn Notice".
Then - "Speak Its Name" is starting its Advent Calendar. My turn's on the 9th. Last year was great, so I'm honored to have been invited again. I'll be giving a book away, too.
Britain is in the grip of an implacable foe: snow. Love the white stuff, the way it makes everything bright and quiet, but my commute was interesting today. There were points during the three hour trek where I thought I wouldn't make it. I think I'll stash a bag of survival kit in the office next time for next winter. An hour later, I can even feel my hands again. Bonus. My best estimate is that not even the Blitz created as much mayhem as a couple inches of snow. I think I'll test the theory against some eye-witness accounts of WWII.
Otherwise, deadline at work. Tech issues at work (inefficiencies galore in the system...). Awaiting the contract and package for the new job - job agent says it's only a matter of days now.
Come January/mid-January, I won't be a journalist. I'll be a proper Sith Lord. Awesome. Sith Lords are better paid and have more time for writing.
Then - "Speak Its Name" is starting its Advent Calendar. My turn's on the 9th. Last year was great, so I'm honored to have been invited again. I'll be giving a book away, too.
Britain is in the grip of an implacable foe: snow. Love the white stuff, the way it makes everything bright and quiet, but my commute was interesting today. There were points during the three hour trek where I thought I wouldn't make it. I think I'll stash a bag of survival kit in the office next time for next winter. An hour later, I can even feel my hands again. Bonus. My best estimate is that not even the Blitz created as much mayhem as a couple inches of snow. I think I'll test the theory against some eye-witness accounts of WWII.
Otherwise, deadline at work. Tech issues at work (inefficiencies galore in the system...). Awaiting the contract and package for the new job - job agent says it's only a matter of days now.
Come January/mid-January, I won't be a journalist. I'll be a proper Sith Lord. Awesome. Sith Lords are better paid and have more time for writing.
Sunday, 14 November 2010
Two weeks without
I haven't written in any significant quantity for two weeks. Chicago has eaten my brain, and the last week was catching up and racing the clock for the deadline. Also, of course, the job interview and assorted tensions connected to that. The muse is becoming restless.
What I've done is edit "Special Forces", done the edits for several chapters, and I'm attempting to edit up to chapter 35 before the year's up. That's about the halfway point in "Mercenaries". I'm mostly cutting back Jean at this point, as well as plots and scenes that don't go anywhere.
In good news - "The Lion of Kent" is available as audiobook from Audible.com. I believe it's not available for the UK, but I somehow managed to download it, regardless. (Dear Jeff Bezos, don't take my book away, please!) I'm listening to it during a few free moments, and it's very strange to hear the text spoken by somebody else. Very, very strange. The American accent of the speaker makes me laugh a bit - I do like the American accent, but it's strange to hear a medieval British/English story read by an American. I hear my own words when I read my stuff, and invariably, my mindvoice reads stuff differently. It might be as subtle as a pause or a slightly different emphasis.
But then, reading your stuff aloud - or having somebody else read it out aloud - is a priceless editing tool. Anything that sounds hollow or tinny needs to be redone and cut. So far I haven't heard anything in "Lion" I'd want to change - so that's good news.
In case I didn't mention it, "Father of All Things" has been accepted for publication by Carina Press. I might have referred to it as "the mystery project" or the "secret project", but that was mostly to keep the pressure off my co-writer, Rhianon Etzweiler, who led the project (it was her idea, and I believe most of the text is from her). If you talk too much about a project that is being written and that can still die/fail, that puts a lot of pressure on. Well, that's over. "Father of all Things" will be out with Carina Press in summer 2011.
Three weeks since I submitted "Scorpion". Usually, I hear back in 4-6 weeks, so we're getting to the interesting time window. I expect an acceptance, but of course that might be premature. Self-confidence getting in the way. I do my best to forget books once they are off to find their homes. Sometimes it even works.
Right now, two projects need tackling. One is a final rewrite of "To Catch a Spy", which involves some more research and some tightening of the plot, but at least those changes are far less severe and time consuming than the last two or three rewrites were. It can be done in a couple weeks' time. And finally "Iron Cross", which needs to be written. The main problem is that I can't decide which one I want to tackle first. Both will be all-consuming, tough pieces of work. Then again, my philosophy is to wrap up the book first that's closer to publication.
To relax, I've been watching "Burn Notice". This is a show I'd recommend to every writer. You can learn an awful lot from "Burn Notice". I might write a post about that soon, but right now, I'll do some prep work on TCaS.
What I've done is edit "Special Forces", done the edits for several chapters, and I'm attempting to edit up to chapter 35 before the year's up. That's about the halfway point in "Mercenaries". I'm mostly cutting back Jean at this point, as well as plots and scenes that don't go anywhere.
In good news - "The Lion of Kent" is available as audiobook from Audible.com. I believe it's not available for the UK, but I somehow managed to download it, regardless. (Dear Jeff Bezos, don't take my book away, please!) I'm listening to it during a few free moments, and it's very strange to hear the text spoken by somebody else. Very, very strange. The American accent of the speaker makes me laugh a bit - I do like the American accent, but it's strange to hear a medieval British/English story read by an American. I hear my own words when I read my stuff, and invariably, my mindvoice reads stuff differently. It might be as subtle as a pause or a slightly different emphasis.
But then, reading your stuff aloud - or having somebody else read it out aloud - is a priceless editing tool. Anything that sounds hollow or tinny needs to be redone and cut. So far I haven't heard anything in "Lion" I'd want to change - so that's good news.
In case I didn't mention it, "Father of All Things" has been accepted for publication by Carina Press. I might have referred to it as "the mystery project" or the "secret project", but that was mostly to keep the pressure off my co-writer, Rhianon Etzweiler, who led the project (it was her idea, and I believe most of the text is from her). If you talk too much about a project that is being written and that can still die/fail, that puts a lot of pressure on. Well, that's over. "Father of all Things" will be out with Carina Press in summer 2011.
Three weeks since I submitted "Scorpion". Usually, I hear back in 4-6 weeks, so we're getting to the interesting time window. I expect an acceptance, but of course that might be premature. Self-confidence getting in the way. I do my best to forget books once they are off to find their homes. Sometimes it even works.
Right now, two projects need tackling. One is a final rewrite of "To Catch a Spy", which involves some more research and some tightening of the plot, but at least those changes are far less severe and time consuming than the last two or three rewrites were. It can be done in a couple weeks' time. And finally "Iron Cross", which needs to be written. The main problem is that I can't decide which one I want to tackle first. Both will be all-consuming, tough pieces of work. Then again, my philosophy is to wrap up the book first that's closer to publication.
To relax, I've been watching "Burn Notice". This is a show I'd recommend to every writer. You can learn an awful lot from "Burn Notice". I might write a post about that soon, but right now, I'll do some prep work on TCaS.
Sunday, 10 October 2010
Writing hangover
I did a little bit of work work yesterday, but when I wrote a bit, I hit a serious case of "The Flow", and it's just too painful to push that kind of inspiration away. So I wrote. And wrote.
I think writing 6,090 words in a day might rank among my personal best. Certainly means an output of around 600-700 words per hour, which is OK, it means I didn't actually waste a lot of time with other things. What else I did was some stuff around the house. Weekend is always the time to recalibrate and tidy up, too. Did away with one of the remaining piles of "stuff" that has been sitting there since the move, so the house looks more and more like I want it. Everything has or will have its place, and there's no build-up anywhere. That's nice. No flock of mugs that need to be herded into the kitchen, no pile of clothes waiting to be washed. I am turning into a tidy freak, but really, us Taureans just like structure.
So, yeah, I'm pretty sure "Scorpion" is now around 90% done. I have a last couple plot twists and two more confrontations (I like those), and the lovers are now, in chapter 17, still somewhat awkward with each other (which happens when your lives get shredded by circumstance and necessity), but they are doing good otherwise.
I might even conceivably bring the herd home today, but work work is really, really more important. Plus, there's this dull feeling in my skull that I associate with hangovers. Creative writing is pretty tough on that grey squishy matter, and my brain feels actually sore after that writing binge. But it's great to know I can reach that kind of output, even on my own, and especially when I know what's going to happen.
Yeah, so, Scorpion's now at just under 54k. I expect to type "the end" by next Monday.
I think writing 6,090 words in a day might rank among my personal best. Certainly means an output of around 600-700 words per hour, which is OK, it means I didn't actually waste a lot of time with other things. What else I did was some stuff around the house. Weekend is always the time to recalibrate and tidy up, too. Did away with one of the remaining piles of "stuff" that has been sitting there since the move, so the house looks more and more like I want it. Everything has or will have its place, and there's no build-up anywhere. That's nice. No flock of mugs that need to be herded into the kitchen, no pile of clothes waiting to be washed. I am turning into a tidy freak, but really, us Taureans just like structure.
So, yeah, I'm pretty sure "Scorpion" is now around 90% done. I have a last couple plot twists and two more confrontations (I like those), and the lovers are now, in chapter 17, still somewhat awkward with each other (which happens when your lives get shredded by circumstance and necessity), but they are doing good otherwise.
I might even conceivably bring the herd home today, but work work is really, really more important. Plus, there's this dull feeling in my skull that I associate with hangovers. Creative writing is pretty tough on that grey squishy matter, and my brain feels actually sore after that writing binge. But it's great to know I can reach that kind of output, even on my own, and especially when I know what's going to happen.
Yeah, so, Scorpion's now at just under 54k. I expect to type "the end" by next Monday.
Saturday, 28 August 2010
Killing the golden goose
So many things damage artists. Apart from the knocks that we - like everybody else - get in life, there are some specific knocks that we somehow have to deal with. How to do it, though, isn't covered by the booklet with the delivery of "Artistic Talent". In fact, there's no booklet at all. We get this enormous thing delivered, and barely know how to deal with it. Maybe but a table cloth over the box and a fruit bowl on top and ignore it?
Apart from the usual issues - balancing "life" and "real life", there''s the other stuff. Piracy is one of them. Just today I learnt that Paul Richmond, the brain/hand behind the covers for "Clean Slate" and "First Blood" is being bootlegged by some asshole in China, who claims the copyright for the paintings. Read the full story here. What stuff like that does to a writer or painter, I guess few people can imagine. Maybe if somebody broke into your house and sold your clothes to random strangers out of your front door - and no police to call, no efficient help.
That's what writers feel like who get pirated. Some people get so hurt by this that they simply don't open the door to strangers anymore. They stop publishing and keep stuff to themselves and their friends. Pirates/bootlegger have quite literally killed the goose that lays golden eggs.
Another story is rather more personal. There are writers out there - and usually the best of them - that cannot deal with "publicity". They cannot deal with the need to run around on blogs and get on the stage and talk about themselves. Entertain in any other way than to send stuff to a publisher and then retreat, somehow reaching deep inside and digging up that pulsing heart that is the beginning of every story.
Forcing these people on the stage is like forcing a 9 month pregnant woman to dance on the stage, with a theoretical 5 billion people watching. For eternity. Because nothing that's posted on the Internet ever goes away. Dance bitch. Because you want to sell those books, don't you? You feel uncomfortable? Well, that's too damn bad, we're sure there are others that will just kill their dogs to be allowed to dance.
It's those expectations - some spoken, some unspoken - that kill the story. Make the author aware of what they are doing - and suddenly their legs cross, they stumble. Above all, they stop loving what they are doing. And it freezes the story to death before it had any chance to live.
The audience, the expectation, the publisher, one's own terribly high expectations - they can kill stories by a thousand cuts. To write, writers need to skin part of their own souls, and then write with the blood, through clenched teeth. We do it because we must, and getting watched makes it all awkward and kills the love.
There's one book that died on me like that - it took my agent to say "awesome, I'll sell that for a five-figure sum", to kill the book. I was dead flat broke, unemployed, desperate for money and recognition, and that book could have solved every problem I had.
I wrote 35 pages. They were good pages. I ended up staring at the screen and hated the idea of writing a single sentence. I threw fits over it, shouted, hated, resented every unborn character, every unwritten line of dialogue, knowing I'd have to drag myself by my teeth through a book that I never grew to love because of those expectations.
That's when I stopped wanting to be a "real author". I cut the throats of almost all my literary ambitions. I didn't write much. When I wrote again, I decided I'll only ever write fluff. (Granted, it hasn't happened... but the serious books happen against my best intentions, by following the story rather than sitting down with any notion of "I R Noah Serious Rita!"). Fuck that. My agent kept telling me how talented I am, and in a way I know all all - unless I don't, and doubt everything I do - and that's great, but the expectations are really, really tough at times.
I'm now productive and happy because I'm telling my muse "know what, I'm just playing", and he writes his little black heart out. I'm not thinking of the audience. There IS NO AUDIENCE. All those people are my friends. Elaine, Audra, Lori, Marcie, Peter... not "the audience" and not "the lions I get tossed to."
I'm a people person. I deal with people one at a time. I can't deal with groups at all. Groups in my brain are scary, hostile, faceless. I need to break that word down into who and what it's composed of. I can't do it any other way.
That's how I can dance while carrying a story. I only ever see one face in the crowd. That's the one person I'm doing it for. It can be as many as four or five, but that's it. Then again, I'm not ignoring the others. A stranger is a friend you haven't met yet - I've gradually stepped away from my learned paranoia and decided I will not live in a way that allows the bullies from the early decades in my life to decide how I deal with people for the rest of my life.
But it happens, we lose a lot of fantastic writers and great stories because something kills the spark. It might be the violation of disrespect and ignorance, it might be that pressure to "perform" and be everything - writer, promoter, VIP. I just know that sometimes, it can wipe out the best of us. These issues never crop of with the mediocre and the plain bad. They take the best.
Apart from the usual issues - balancing "life" and "real life", there''s the other stuff. Piracy is one of them. Just today I learnt that Paul Richmond, the brain/hand behind the covers for "Clean Slate" and "First Blood" is being bootlegged by some asshole in China, who claims the copyright for the paintings. Read the full story here. What stuff like that does to a writer or painter, I guess few people can imagine. Maybe if somebody broke into your house and sold your clothes to random strangers out of your front door - and no police to call, no efficient help.
That's what writers feel like who get pirated. Some people get so hurt by this that they simply don't open the door to strangers anymore. They stop publishing and keep stuff to themselves and their friends. Pirates/bootlegger have quite literally killed the goose that lays golden eggs.
Another story is rather more personal. There are writers out there - and usually the best of them - that cannot deal with "publicity". They cannot deal with the need to run around on blogs and get on the stage and talk about themselves. Entertain in any other way than to send stuff to a publisher and then retreat, somehow reaching deep inside and digging up that pulsing heart that is the beginning of every story.
Forcing these people on the stage is like forcing a 9 month pregnant woman to dance on the stage, with a theoretical 5 billion people watching. For eternity. Because nothing that's posted on the Internet ever goes away. Dance bitch. Because you want to sell those books, don't you? You feel uncomfortable? Well, that's too damn bad, we're sure there are others that will just kill their dogs to be allowed to dance.
It's those expectations - some spoken, some unspoken - that kill the story. Make the author aware of what they are doing - and suddenly their legs cross, they stumble. Above all, they stop loving what they are doing. And it freezes the story to death before it had any chance to live.
The audience, the expectation, the publisher, one's own terribly high expectations - they can kill stories by a thousand cuts. To write, writers need to skin part of their own souls, and then write with the blood, through clenched teeth. We do it because we must, and getting watched makes it all awkward and kills the love.
There's one book that died on me like that - it took my agent to say "awesome, I'll sell that for a five-figure sum", to kill the book. I was dead flat broke, unemployed, desperate for money and recognition, and that book could have solved every problem I had.
I wrote 35 pages. They were good pages. I ended up staring at the screen and hated the idea of writing a single sentence. I threw fits over it, shouted, hated, resented every unborn character, every unwritten line of dialogue, knowing I'd have to drag myself by my teeth through a book that I never grew to love because of those expectations.
That's when I stopped wanting to be a "real author". I cut the throats of almost all my literary ambitions. I didn't write much. When I wrote again, I decided I'll only ever write fluff. (Granted, it hasn't happened... but the serious books happen against my best intentions, by following the story rather than sitting down with any notion of "I R Noah Serious Rita!"). Fuck that. My agent kept telling me how talented I am, and in a way I know all all - unless I don't, and doubt everything I do - and that's great, but the expectations are really, really tough at times.
I'm now productive and happy because I'm telling my muse "know what, I'm just playing", and he writes his little black heart out. I'm not thinking of the audience. There IS NO AUDIENCE. All those people are my friends. Elaine, Audra, Lori, Marcie, Peter... not "the audience" and not "the lions I get tossed to."
I'm a people person. I deal with people one at a time. I can't deal with groups at all. Groups in my brain are scary, hostile, faceless. I need to break that word down into who and what it's composed of. I can't do it any other way.
That's how I can dance while carrying a story. I only ever see one face in the crowd. That's the one person I'm doing it for. It can be as many as four or five, but that's it. Then again, I'm not ignoring the others. A stranger is a friend you haven't met yet - I've gradually stepped away from my learned paranoia and decided I will not live in a way that allows the bullies from the early decades in my life to decide how I deal with people for the rest of my life.
But it happens, we lose a lot of fantastic writers and great stories because something kills the spark. It might be the violation of disrespect and ignorance, it might be that pressure to "perform" and be everything - writer, promoter, VIP. I just know that sometimes, it can wipe out the best of us. These issues never crop of with the mediocre and the plain bad. They take the best.
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