Better Than Dead

Random quote of the day:

“All my life has been an interest in stories, forever and ever and ever.”

—Annie Proulx, interview, Glimmer Train, Issue #5, Summer 1992

Disclaimer:  The views expressed in this random quote of the day do not necessarily reflect the views of the poster, her immediate family, Siegfried and Roy, Leonard Maltin, or the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. They do, however, sometimes reflect the views of the Cottingley Fairies.

It’s been a cleaning frenzy at our house.  While I’ve been dealing with boxes and boxes of stuff in the garage, I finally was forced to the realization that I cannot do all that needs doing myself.  It’s a strange combination of guilt and relief I’m feeling right now.

It’s 5:45 and we’re still waiting for the doctor. Last time I take a 4:45 appointment. [Note: We didn’t leave his office until 6:30.] 17 Feb

On the way to work I listened to NPR and they had a little bit about astronauts going into hibernation sleep on long space voyages. 18 Feb

As I stopped at the sensor where my garage pass opens the door Keir Dullea said “Open the pod bay doors, HAL.” Hal: “I can’t do that, Dave.” 18 Feb

Fortunately, the pod bay doors opened, but I was laughing so hard by then. Sometimes life is a synchronistic delight. 18 Feb

So, read a good book and try to stay awake or kill mutants? Which of these? …The good book… 19 Feb

On this night in 1814 Byron was debating the existence of God in his diary. 18 Feb

There’s hope for us older gals after all… 18 Feb

Lightning. Thunder. Min went under the bed. 19 Feb

Torrential rain and wind at the moment. Sure glad not to be out in it but my dinner is going to get wet. Poor delivery guy. 19 Feb

I would’ve liked to stay in my jammies all day but the Box Unload Marathon cannot be denied. Woe! 20 Feb

I can’t believe no one has tweeted in the last 47 minutes. Not sure I trust you, Edwin Droid. 21 Feb

To do list: finish Drood, start The Mystery of Edwin Drood. 21 Feb

selfavowedgeek Berrien C. Henderson Retweeted by pj_thompson Signal Boost: Francesca Forrest’s story, “The Yew’s Embrace”–http://www.strangehorizons.com/2011/20110221/yew-f.shtml 21 Feb

For the 1st time in my life I paid someone to clean my house. I actually feel kind of ashamed. But I expect I’ll get over it. 21 Feb

With my bad knees and shoulder I couldn’t do the scrubbing needed and Mom sure couldn’t. 21 Feb

Random quote of the day:

“It doesn’t matter if something is true as long as it makes a good story.”

—Italian proverb

Disclaimer:  The views expressed in this random quote of the day do not necessarily reflect the views of the poster, her immediate family, Siegfried and Roy, Leonard Maltin, or the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. They do, however, sometimes reflect the views of the Cottingley Fairies.

Some of you who have known me for a long time, and read my stuff for a long time, may remember Hortensia Bustamante. She’s the strong-willed sister of the Bustamante Brothers of Dos Lunas County, the first white settlers to invade the Kintache Indian homeland.

Ever since I finished Venus in Transit, my Dos Lunas County novel, strong-willed Hortensia has been bugging me. “Where my novel?” she’s been asking.

I’ve explained patiently that I’m working on other things now, to make a change from Dos Lunas, but Hortensia has never been one to listen to the reasoning of her writer when she’s made up her mind about something. “Where’s my novel?” she repeats at every chance.

I staved off her insistence some time back by writing a 30k plus novella, but—although she liked it quite well—she’s informed me that it isn’t sufficient. Her story deserves expanding and exploring. I have been thinking along those same lines myself for some time and even had several ideas on how to do that, but I hadn’t thought of taking on that challenge at this juncture.

“It’s time,” Hortensia insists.

I find myself sighing fatalistically a lot these days. My imagination ping ponged all last week between chapter two of the Carmina novel and a short story, and I’ve been considering that maybe it’s time to start the rewrite on Venus in Transit. All the while Hortensia kept crooning in my ear: “It’s time. Where’s my novel? It’s time.”

I pulled the novella out today just to, yanno, look at it. Hortensia squee’d with glee. I told her not to get her hopes up. She scoffed.

So I don’t know what I’m working on now. Perhaps Hortensia would be the antidote to my restless. I’m sure Venus would be. Maybe I’ll let Venus and Hortensia and Carmina and Sea Eyes from the short story fight it out amongst themselves. Just let me know when you’ve figured it out, gang. Only, don’t start sending me tweets advocating for yourselves. That would be one step too far over the line.

It’s both disturbing and gratifying to read old stories I haven’t touched in a few years. Gratifying because I can see the progress I’ve made as a writer; disturbing because I realize that stories I think are pretty danged good at this moment in time will probably make me cringe at some future reading. Not all of the old stories make me cringe, fortunately, but sometimes, as now when I am rereading a novella from some years ago, I wonder what kind of line of self-delusion I might be walking. Reading this poor old thing just makes me so tired, so much so that I wrote this blog post during my writing time rather than continue reading it. Back in the day, I thought it one of the best things I’d written. It even got some recognition as an Editor’s Choice on the Online Writing Workshop. And maybe it was the best story I’d written at that point in time.

The other cringe-making thing is that I reworked this novella so many times I edited some of the life out of it. Now that I’m incorporating it into my WIP, I’ve gone back to an older version to compare/contrast. Some of what I cut out to streamline can probably be added back into the novel with no harm, reincorporating some of the richness that got rinsed away.

Or I may wind up cutting it out all over again.

That’s the thing about writing. One has to stay true to the current moment: pushing and expanding outside the comfort zone, climbing the next hill, and the next. I have to keep learning my craft, not resting on what I learned last year or the year before. It’s a constant climb up the rock face, scrabbling for finger and toe holds. Sometimes when one reaches a plateau, one can take a break, but there will always be another rock face. I can’t worry that some future plateau will show me what a hash I made of the last plateau and the stories it contained. I have to stay true to where I am now, either climbing or resting, and realize I’m doing the best I can now with the tools I have provided myself. And the tools that each day of writing helps me develop.

Random quote of the day:
“Stories begin in dreams and without the stories that we dream, we live someone else’s life rather than our own. Life’s like art. You have to work hard to keep it simple and still have meaning.”

—Charles de Lint, “The Pochade Box”

This artist makes these remarkable miniature scenes using railroad hobbyist figures and whatever else she can find for atmospherics, then photographs them. You can visit her Etsy shop here.

Disclaimer: The views expressed in this random quote of the day do not necessarily reflect the views of the poster, her immediate family, Siegfried and Roy, Leonard Maltin, or the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. They do, however, sometimes reflect the views of the Cottingley Fairies.

The heroine of my novel Venus in Transit has been named Marian St. Cloud for at least ten years, ever since I first started working on the beginning inkling ideas for the book. Now this movie comes along and I’m thinking the whole St. Cloud family of Dos Lunas might have to have their names changed. I’m not going to do that now, because that name is so entrenched in my consciousness, but I assume that everyone will assume that I stole it from the movie.

It looks like a fairly paint-by-the-numbers, dorky movie, too.

Of course, I still have to finish the read-through, the time with betas, the hardcore rewrite, then the marketing of this novel, so considerable time could elapse before even the possibility of a publisher or readers seeing it. Maybe ol’ Charlie will have faded from memory by then. Or maybe it will become a huge freaking hit, what with soulfully blue-eyed Zak Efron drawing in the sighing crowd. I don’t know.

Names and titles. They’re tricky business in the fiction game.

In other but related fictive news: Titles come to me out of the ether on a regular basis, often without a story attached. I keep a file just for those. Sometimes they’re so suggestive that I have to come up with a story to go with them. It becomes an obsession. Blood Geek was one of those. Ironically, sometimes the name that gets me to write the story becomes obsolete with the writing and has to be changed. Charged with Folly was like that. It became A Rain of Angels. Changing titles like that can be painful.

I’ve got another title that popped through the ether the other day. A drumbeat has started in the center of my body. Good stories begin in my brain, of course, but the ones which have to be written always eventually migrate to my core, to my second brain: the heart. I have no idea what this story is about, but it’s already migrated.

We’ll see what comes of that.

Recently, someone posted a list of her unfinished story projects and because I’m a magpie and must steal ooo! shiny! objects from others and put them in my own nest (and, admittedly, because I’m something of a masochist) I decided to do the same.

Going through my ideas folder was too depressing, so I’ve only listed things that I’d done some work on—at least a scene or two, though in some cases considerably more.  (That was somewhat depressing, too, but I’m hoping this may be a goad to action.)  Some of these stories are so close to being finished, but I just can’t seem to get them there, either because I’m missing some key plot element or because the character isn’t coming together as wanted, or whatever.  I threw in the unfinished novels, too.

Some of these stories and novels are creaky ancient and may never have their day, but many others are actively being worked on/thought about/added to here and there. Many of the stories are from the Dos Lunas County cycle, as noted, and I haven’t decided if they are stories in their own right or writing exercises to help me understand parts of my worldbuilding/characters.  Certainly all of them started out to be stories in their own right.  Other stories are connected to other novels/worldbuilding.

(more…)

Now that I’m halfway through the read-through of Venus in Transit I’m beginning to get that thrill of anticipation at the thought of finally being able to work on something new. There are some stories I want to get to for rewrites and for first writes, but the big subterranean beasts that have been swimming in the deeps for ages now have also made their break for the surface. Two novels seem to be vying for the attention of my forebrain, feeding me bits and pieces of themselves at odd times of day or night. My research reading seems to swing back and forth between the two subject matters, too.

One is a story involving an 18th century cunning man and the 21st century fallout from his old magic. That one even has most of a chapter one done, plus the 17k novella on which it’s based. For this I’ve been reading some fascinating stuff on JSTOR and also a book called, Popular Magic: Cunning-folk in English History by Owen Davies. I have about three more books on cunning folk lined up on my shelves, too.

The other is a very fractured and weird sort of fairy story in which Faerie hardly appears at all, and whatever fairies show themselves are neither flittery little beings of light, nor dark and sinister monsters. Or, as recently portrayed, sex mad stud muffins. Although, because I’m writing it, I imagine there will be sex. Is there not air?

These fairies are more like I imagine fairies would be if fairies do be: neither fundamentally good nor bad, just profoundly uninterested in the well-being of humanity, unless some poor hapless fool intrudes upon their space by accident or intent. Then it’s watch out mortal, you’ll pay for your trespass.

I have scads of books on fairies and fairylore. My current reading includes Meeting the Other Crowd: The Fairy Stories of Hidden Ireland by Eddie Lenihan and Carolyn Eve Green which informed a lot of my current thinking on the subject. I’ve also been playing with The Heart of Faerie Oracle by Wendy and Brian Froud, which is an absolutely gorgeous work of art. I can stare and stare at each one of those cards. There is so much rich detail in them—and gorgeous, as I say.

I ask myself if the world needs another novel of Faerie and I’m inclined to think not, there’s such a glut. But I also know that when the leviathans make a break for open waters, I’d better follow whichever is the strongest swimmer, hitch my darling coracle to their flukes and hang on for dear life, or get left adrift far out to sea. The leviathans choose me, not the other way around.

My latest story, “The Comfort of Stone” has been posted to the Online Writing Workshop. It’s the first new story I’ve written in awhile so I’m afraid I may be rusty…