I’ve been having fits with the current book I’m writing. I’m over 500 pages in, over 200,000 words, and usually by this point in a book I’m writing as fast as I can, just to keep up with myself, but not this time. I’ll get a productive day, and then the next day it’s like all my momentum is gone. It’s like throwing a punch at the heavy bag without rotating your hips. You’re still going through the motions, but you’re leaving most of your energy somewhere else. Today I figured out what was wrong, someone is going to die.
I’m a writer of mysteries, police thrillers, with relationship growth and a huge dose of the supernatural thrown in, so there are usually dead bodies and a villain to stop. I like my fiction neater than real life, so the good guys usually triumph and the bad guys get punished, sometimes they get punished to death, which works for me in fiction. Like I said, it’s neater and more black and white than real life, at least in some areas. I try to make my vampires, zombies, and ghouls as realistic as possible, so there are also huge gray areas where my characters struggle with moral dilemmas and balancing work and relationships. Crime busting can be very hard on couples, or threesomes, or fourples, or any family arrangement.
I love my world and my characters, so why is this book dragging its heels? Because I have a character on stage that is in the hospital. I know what’s wrong with him, and I’d planned on saving him, but . . . I realize now that it may not work. He had another close call a couple of books back, though anyone reading the book wouldn’t have realized it because the moment in the climatic fight scene where he might have died didn’t make it into the final draft. When push came to shove, I couldn’t do it.
I’ve had this problem before where I’d planned on killing off a character, but we realize that I, and my main characters, would miss him. The most famous example of this to me and my fans is that I planned to kill Jean-Claude off at the end of the third book in the Anita Blake series. That’s right, the sexiest vampire on the planet, and now king of them in the United States in my world, though I didn’t see that one coming either, was supposed to die at the end of The Circus of the Damned. But when the moment came, I couldn’t do it. Anita and I would have missed him. I wanted him dead because he was taking over my series and stirring it in directions I hadn’t planned on, but I let him live. I was right on him taking my series to places I hadn’t planned on, or wanted to go. He was a very strong character with very definite Ideas about what should happen, and when, and with whom. It would be a very different series if Jean-Claude had died so early, and maybe I wouldn’t be writing the twenty-fifth book featuring him and Anita. Who knows what would have changed if I’d followed my original plan; so I’ve had this happen before, but never twice to the same character.
I knew he was slated to die at the end of a novel, and I flinched. He’s a good guy, we like him, what harm is it that he’s still alive? Well, he’s changing the game on me, not as profoundly as Jean-Claude did, but he is impacting my plans for the other characters and the world in general. If I leave this character alive, will it have as profound an effect on my series as Jean-Claude’s survival did? If so . . .do I want that? Or do I want to stay with my own over-arching plot line for the series? How much freedom do I give my characters? How much do I play god? He’s destined to die, should he get a reprieve?
I find myself regretting every time I kill a character off. I miss them. I miss writing them. I miss what the rest of their story might have been. It’s not even just major characters that I miss, even the minor-major ones, make me think, “If only . . .” I hate regrets, and unlike real life I have so many chances to undo it. I could write the death scene and then get up tomorrow and rewrite it so that he makes it. It’s one of my favorite things about writing fiction, I can always fix the mistakes tomorrow. In real life there aren’t take-backs, or do-overs, at least not for death. That’s about as final as we get in real life.
I’m going to break for lunch, but when I come back I have to decide. Does this character live, or die? Do we lose him forever? Or do we save him a second time? It’s bugging me a lot that this is the second time he’s come up on the chopping block. It must mean something to my subconscious that this same character keeps almost dying. Does it mean I’m uncomfortable with him? I was with Jean-Claude back in the day. Does it mean I don’t know what to do with him on paper? That he’s getting in the way of other characters that are staying? Maybe, maybe not? I don’t know, I really don’t. All I know for certain is that when I get back from a late lunch it’ll be go-time, and he will either live, or die.
Author: LKH
The First Bird of the New Year
I have been a birder since high school, long before I took my first ornithology class in college for my biology degree. Yes, I mean bird watching. I’m like a ferret on crack for anything winged and flying near me. Yes, this is the same person that writes Urban Fantasy featuring Anita Blake and Meredith (Merry) Gentry. My world is not all zombies, vampires, and wereanimals, thank you, or even fairy princesses that happen to be private detectives. It’s not even just violence and sex, or is that sex and violence, sometimes I forget which order they go in. Hmm . . .
I hear crows calling, and I know that call. There’s a hawk somewhere nearby. Binoculars are sitting right here on my desk, because, yeah. I few seconds of looking near the crows and there it is. A big red-tailed hawk, beautiful bird with a paler than normal golden red tail, some can brick red almost brown, and it’s that rufous tail that gives them their name. It’s probably a female from the size alone, males are smaller. Bluejays and other tinier birds have joined the crows in harassing the hawk. They’re all doing the bird equivalent of, “Get out of our neighborhood, you trouble maker!” Though I suppose it’s more like, “Get out of our neighborhood, you killer!” Red-tails don’t normally take small birds, but they will kill and eat most anything they can catch, if they’re hungry enough. The crows and other birds aren’t taking any chances. The bluejays are even dive bombing the hawk, a few striking it on its shoulders and back, then dashing away. Brave birds, and puzzled hawk as it tries to keep its footing on branches too small for its large taloned feet. When it settles into stillness again if I look away for a moment it’s hard to find it again in the autumn leaves and dead tree branches. It’s remarkably camouflaged for a bird about the size of a toddler.
Wait, what was I talking about? Oh yeah, I’m a birder. *laughs* There is a tradition among birders that the first bird you see on the first day of the new year will be your theme for the year. Some serious birders travel to exotic locations to stack the deck in favor of something exotic for that first bird. I was someplace exotic last year, but I honestly don’t remember my first bird. It maybe the first time in years that I didn’t make a note of it, so getting back to tradition I will be looking for my first bird of the year when I get up tomorrow.
I’ve had years where it was starlings which are all about group communication, and squabbling if you watch them for very long. The hawk has just flown higher on the tree and is sitting so pretty. Maybe my first bird will be the red-tailed hawk and I will have a predatory year where I have to remember to aim at what I want and commit fully to getting it. If a hawk hesitates, or isn’t sure it wants that rabbi, it will miss it’s mark and go hungry. If it misses too many opportunities it will starve. Predators are all about committing fully to your goals. For two, or three years running it wasn’t a bird, because every New Year’s morning there were squirrels playing in the yard, but not a single bird moved until after I’d seen squirrels. They were always in groups of at least three and they were chasing each other, and playing. I finally figured out the message, I was supposed to balance work and play better. This was back when I was doing two big books a year, and basically was a workaholic with very little time for other things. And before someone asks, no the dogs, cat, or domestic animals you keep do not count as your first “bird” of the year. Go outside, see the real world, and find out what it has to teach you.
The least wonderful time of the year
Christmas used to be my favorite holiday of the year, but that was awhile ago. I realized this year that I hate Christmas, the whole Christmas season, but unlike Dr. Seuss’ Grinch I don’t want to take the holiday away from everyone else, I just want free of it myself.
It’s Winter Solstice, the longest night of the year and the reason for all the celebrations near that astrological happening is that our ancestors were afraid that the sun might not return. They were an agricultural people that understood that without the heat of the sun, they were pretty much screwed, so they threw a party to invite the sun back, to wish him back to life and strength so that we could all live another year. It was the rebirth of the sun long before Christianity made it the birth of the son of God. I get throwing a great, big party to keep our spirits up. It’s like whistling in the dark when you hear that scary noise. We celebrate Winter Solstice because in the darkest, coldest part of the year we need to light a few candles against the dark, eat good food, drink strong spirits, visit with friends and family, play games, tell stories, and do all the things that make us feel positive and less afraid of the darkness. If that’s what the holiday was actually about, I could get behind that, even enjoy it, but that’s not what Solstice, Christmas, Yule, Hanukah – pick your holiday – has become.
The Winter Holiday season has become a billion dollar industry. It has become the time when a lot of businesses make the majority of their profit for the year and the only way they can do that is by us buying things from them. Now, there’s nothing wrong with that, I am a great fan of capitalism, being a capitalist myself, but the pressure to buy gifts, the perfect gift, and find that perfect gift year after year is a lot of pressure. The message that somehow if you don’t spend enough on your family, especially the children, that you’re bad parents. I love Santa Claus, but for those parents that can’t afford the big gifts, it is an ideal that leaves a lot of small children across the country disappointed on Christmas morning.
And let me just say now, I feel totally cheated by years of Hallmark and Folger’s Coffee commercials, because life is almost never like that, or at least my life wasn’t. These commercials, and others like them, are the romance novels of family life; they set unrealistic expectations that leave most of us feeling like there must be something wrong with us because we aren’t that warm, that loving, that perfect.
Real life is never perfect. It’s not supposed to be. So let me strike a blow for all of us that are struggling this Christmas morning with reality versus what we wanted the day to be. It’s okay that your dinner wasn’t perfect. It’s perfectly human to burn at least one dish, or have that turkey a little dry, or whatever went wrong with the big meal. Take a deep breath, let it out slow, and tell anyone that complains that next year they get to cook the dinner.
Did you not find the perfect present for everyone on your list? Me either. It’s okay, your friends and family love you anyway, and anyone who doesn’t love you because their gift didn’t meet their standards, why do you care? If they only love you for what you buy them, I’m not sure that’s love. Love really doesn’t have a price tag. Do the best you can, and then enjoy the day with your family. It’s about the people, not the things, try to remember that.
Now, if part of the problem is the family, that’s harder. If your family is not a positive in your life, then you do not have to spend the holidays with them. There, I’ve said it, if your family is toxic to you and spends most of the time criticizing and cutting you down, then you don’t have to stay and keep listening to it. If your family is so awful to you, or each other, that the idea of spending it alone sounds better, then do that. There really are those of us who have had points in our lives where spending the holidays alone was less stressful, or even less frightening, than spending it with our birth families. If you are in that place in your life, honor it. It is a privilege for your family to see you, not a right. Privileges have to be earned by good, loving behavior. Please remember, that if you only visit them when they are loving and good to be around, but they’ve never, ever been that, you may never see your family again. Are you okay with this? If so, then rock on, and enjoy your solo and less stress-filled holiday. If you are not okay with it, then ignore all this advice, good luck, and God speed.
This is supposed to be a holy day, regardless of what exactly that holiness means to you, it is still supposed to be a celebration of joy, light, love, and hope. Instead its become an emotional meat grinder for a lot of us. I want to like this holiday again. I want to feel hopeful that life can be like those tear-jerkingly happy commercials for more than a moment at a time. I want to feel a connection to community, family, and faith that’s in all the TV specials, but that seems scarce in real life. I want to really believe this is the most wonderful time of the year instead of the most stressful. I’m not sure how to get back to the wonderful and out of the stressful, but I am going to try. Here’s to next year, hoping it will be better, happier, healthier, less dramatic, less traumatic, safer, gentler, more happy excited than adrenalin pumping excited, productive, loving, hopeful, helpful, and just all together better. Blessed Solstice! Merry Christmas! Happy Hanukah! Merry Yule! Damn it!
Wreaths Across America
The rows of white stones march out and out across the neatly clipped grass, each stone marks a grave, each grave marks a soldier, or family member, who has passed. I’ve stood at Arlington National Cemetery and wept at the endless rows of headstones, but I didn’t know that there was another cemetery much closer to home where the uniform white stones march out and out. Jefferson Barracks Cemetery was established in about 1827 and made a National Cemetery in 1866, when the National Cemetery Administration was established. It’s just down the road here in St. Louis.
I’ve seen it twice this year, the first at the funeral of my sister’s father of record, and the second on the day when Wreaths Across America invites people to join them at cemeteries like Arlington and Jefferson Barracks to honor those who have paid the ultimate price for our country. Wreaths Across America is a charity that receives no money from the government, it’s all donations from people like you and me. Jonathon, Genevieve, Spike, and myself went expecting we’d be there for hours helping lay wreaths, but unfortunately there were so few wreaths that everyone in attendance was asked to only take one, or two, so that everyone there could lay at least one wreath on a grave.
A news story on CNN about Arlington National Cemetery not having enough wreaths to cover all the graves this year was what first brought Wreaths Across America to our attention. We even donated to the cause, as did many others, and it was enough so that Arlington was able to put a wreath on every grave this year. They said in the interview that most cemeteries were embraced by their local town, because so many local military were buried there, but Arlington was made up of soldiers that weren’t local, so the surrounding area didn’t feel connected enough to contribute. The interview made us think that here in St. Louis there would be enough wreaths to go around, but there was not.
In fact, there were only about 1,100 wreathes to go on the 180,000 graves. It was upsetting to see all the bare white tombstones, and the few evergreen wreaths. I guess a few was better than none, but it still seemed sad, and left all of us feeling like we need to do better next year. I’ll say it here and now, that we plan to contribute more next year and would like to have a goal of honoring many more of our fallen soldiers next year by helping our local Wreaths Across America.
The other interesting thing about the ceremony was that it was full of speeches where people talked about this country with unabashed patriotism and pride. There was no apologizing, or over explaining, or any of the language that has crept into so many politicians and citizen’s speeches lately. It harkened back to when I was a child. I was taught to be proud to be American and that it was the best country in the world to call home. You know what, I still believe that. I’ve visited several other countries and they are all wonderful in their own right, but they aren’t home. I don’t believe our country is perfect, but then the same is true of every other country. I sat there and thought, here is an entire group of people of diverse race, religion, economics, and age, but we were all there to honor the ideal that we are still the home of the brave, and the land of the free, and that last part, freedom, came with a price that the men and women lying dead around us had paid. I will not apologize for honoring the dead of my country and it was wonderfully freeing to be in such a large group of people that felt the same way.
Let me say, that if you disagree with me, that’s okay, because something else I was taught as a child was this, America is about being free to believe, to worship, to vote, to have an opinion that is your own. I may not agree with you, or you with me, but I will fight for your right to have your own opinion and beliefs, as you are supposed to fight for my right. We are supposed to fight for each other, not against each other. We can disagree vehemently, and it’s okay if our opinions anger each other, but we are still supposed to honor each other’s right to those opinions. That is what it means to be free in America. We are free to believe, to speak, to worship, to study, to work, to create as we will, and the government will not stop us, or arrest us for it. I don’t think most Americans realize how rare that is in the world.
Spike walked out among the white lines of graves in his uniform. He had been thanked for his service by several people, and thanked others in return. He still doesn’t like being too visible in the blog, but as a combat vet himself, he felt it was important to show his respect. We missed the opportunity for donating enough to Wreaths Across America to cover the graves at Jefferson Barracks, but there is always next year. The dead are patient and they’ll wait, but for the living veterans and their families it’s harder to wait. The dead have all the shelter they will ever need, they do not know hunger or thirst, sorrow or terror, the cold does not move them, illness and injury are things of the past for the dead, but there are living veterans and their families that need shelter, food, medical care, and just to know that their sacrifices aren’t in vain. Here are just a few charities that try to help the men and women who served in our armed forces, and their famili
Hope for the Warriors
Iraq and Afghanistan Veterans of America
USO
https://www.uso.org/
This is why I write
I stepped into my office today with dawn like a knife slash in the east, the light seeped through like pale orange and yellow blood. The crescent moon hung shining silver in the black branches of the tallest tree, as if night and day hung poised, so that it was both at the same time. It was both beautiful and terrible, somehow. I’ve thought that the last few mornings that I’ve seen my office this early. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about why I write this blog. Initially, it was to grow my audience, my brand, to sell more books; but I think most of what I gained in those areas has happened already. The blog probably did most of its original purpose years ago when I was trying to do one daily for a year. So, why do I write this blog? What’s it for? Honestly, I’m no longer certain, but I know one thing that hurts me as a writer in every area, and that is not writing about things. The more secrets I have to keep, the more editing of my life I do, the harder it is to write the blog (which makes a certain sense) but also makes it more difficult to write anything.
My personal life is very separate from my fiction and yet there is some mystical connection that, even after all this time, I don’t understand but I know that it is there, and I know when I do not honor that connection my ability to write suffers. So what haven’t I been saying publicly that’s clogging up the creative pipeline?
Jonathon’s mother, Mary, had cancer this year. She’s gotten a clean bill of health now, but it took chemo to get her there. If you’ve ever seen anyone go through chemo, you know it will take time to heal the effects of the cure. I got her permission to talk about her illness a while back, but it somehow seemed too personal to her to put it here, but if she’s okay with me talking about it, then why has it been something I didn’t want to talk about?
Jonathon buried his Aunt Sweetie just before Thanksgiving, so about two weeks ago. She helped raise him, and when he talks about her it’s more like a second mother than an aunt. She lost her battle with cancer after over twenty years and several remissions. The family is devastated and still reeling as they deal with it. I will miss her, but I don’t have the decades of connection to her that they do. She was not my sister, or my childhood hero, so my loss is seen through the patina of theirs, and my major worry is for those left behind and how they are dealing with it. Aunt Sweetie was ready to go, and her faith gave her peace, so there should be no tears, and yet there are.
Today we will be going to another funeral for a friend’s father, who died suddenly, but his health had been poor for most of the time I’d known the family, so it seems both sudden and inevitable. Our friend is forty, which seems young for burying your father.
The attacks in Paris, the attacks in California, people killed, and for what? To terrify people? To terrify the world? Because that’s what terrorism is, it is literally an attempt to frighten us all, to make us insecure and unsure of our safety. It is a war that kills a few people at a time in the hopes of demoralizing the rest of us. Don’t let them win. Live your lives, be happy, and keep moving, because to do anything else gives them a victory. They haven’t won anything, don’t act as if they have. I’ll admit it’s unnerving, but be hopeful, keep faith that good triumphs in the end. Dark times come, but they do not stay, history teaches us that.
There have been a lot of tragedies this year, both personally and in the larger world. There’s more, there’s always more, but somehow the theme of death and loss seems a thread this year that I can’t shake. But Jonathon’s mother is going to be alright, and that is a miracle of modern medicine. There is good among the bad, wins and not just losses, but sometimes it’s hard to concentrate on the positive when so much negative keeps happening. I know I’m not the only one feeling a bit overwhelmed right now.
Why do I write this blog? Why do I write at all? In part, it’s to reach out to other people and say, “It’s going to be all right.” It’s a way of saying, none of us are alone. We’re in this together. I write fiction to help me make sense of the world and to share a good story, so that as you read my books you can forget the news headlines for a few hours. You can get lost in a good book, where the heroes usually triumph, the villains are punished, and the world is saved. Yes, fiction should make you think, but it should be first and foremost an escape from the mundane world. It should let you slip into a world more fantastic, and more openly magical than our own. That’s why I write my stories and novels. The blog is part explaining how I make that magic happen, and a glimpse into my own reality, so that the magic and the reality of my world brushes up against your own.
I am a storyteller. It is an ancient art. We used to sit in caves, huddled around the fire, listening to noises in the dark, afraid of what they might be, and someone would say, “Let me tell you a story,” and everyone would gather closer to the fire where they felt warm and safe, and they would forget the noises in the dark, listening to adventures. Now, I sit in my office and write words on a screen, that I’ll share with you soon. I’ll finish writing the blog, and continue to work on the latest novel, because you need a good story, and I need to be able to say, “Come, sit by the fire where you’ll be safe and warm, and let me share an adventure with you.”
Happy Thanksgiving 2015!
Happy Thanksgiving, everyone! To those outside the United States of America its just another Thursday, but for us it’s Turkey Day! A day for family, food, and gratitude. What are you thankful for, is the question asked around our table each year. I try to pause frequently and make lists of what I’m grateful for, so I thought I’d share some of that list with you today. 
I’m thankful for:
My sister, Pilar, who is with us this year, but will be moving out of the country soon. We don’t know when she and I will be together again. We’ll SKYPE and text, and call, but its never the same, so I am very grateful that my little sister can be with us for a few days.
Our daughter, Trinity, who is in college now. She’s with us this year, and doesn’t have any plans to move out of the country, but I’ve learned that plans change, and we’re happy she’ll be with us this year for sure.
My husband, Jonathon, who keeps making me believe that maybe there are romantic soulmates, after all.
Genevieve and Spike, the other halves of our domestic arrangement. We’ve lived together over a year now, and I think we’ve all learned more about ourselves, about love, and about what it takes to be in a committed relationship.
That I am polyamorous and have the chance to try for relationships as complex and rich as the ones I have in my life.
That I am a writer, and earn my living doing what I was born to do. I am even grateful for my deadline, because it helps keep me focused and motivated.
That it is a sunny, warm day after so many cold and wintry ones.
That Jonathon’s family is going to be able to join us for the meal today. We will think of those we have lost, but do our best to be truly grateful for those that remain.
For friends close at hand, and those faraway, who make life richer and more bearable.
For my best friend, he knows who he is, we are each other’s 3AM call, and have seen each other through divorce, the loss of parents, lost loves, found loves, illness, injury, and the dreams that get us through.
That I am healed enough to be back in the gym.
For the health and safety of those I hold dear, for as one professor in college used to say, “We are all just temporarily able bodied.”
I hope today finds you surrounded by people you love, and that includes yourself. If you are alone today enjoy your movie marathon, or your book of chose. For those who are into sports, enjoy the game, as for me and mine we’re watching the dog show. Okay, they’re recording the dog show so I can watch it later, because I have to keep making pages on the new book, so you can all read it next summer. May we all be truly grateful for the blessings in our lives.
Happy Veterans Day 2015!
Happy Veterans Day and thank you all for your service! A special thank you to all the veterans who have helped me with research over the years. You men and women have helped make my fiction stronger, more believable, and made sure I got things right. Without your willingness to share your experiences and stories Anita Blake wouldn’t be the character she is today, and neither would Edward aka U. S. Marshal Ted Forrester. Thanks for the gun information, the weapons training, the helicopter simulator time, and just showing me a glimpse into a world that I would never have known existed without being able to call you friends and family.
Me with a few of the novels that wouldn’t be the same without my veteran friends and family.
Writing Your First Novel; or Good Luck, all you November Writers
It’s November and most of us in America are getting ready for Thanksgiving at the end of the month, but about 300,000 people aren’t worried about cooking the perfect turkey, or the on-going family debate of raisins versus no raisins in the stuffing. They have a very different goal this month – to write 50,000 words in 30 days. It’s National Novel Writing Month, affectingly known as NaNoWriMo. These literary adventurers will either have a rough draft of their first novel by November 30, or at least a good sized chunk of it.
That’s approximately 1,700 words a day for the month. If you figure about a 12 point font, double spaced, that’s about three to four pages a day for 30 days. If the page is dialogue heavy there may be fewer words, but if it is description heavy then it may be more words per page. Like a lot of things in writing, it depends.
I applaud everyone who’s taken up the challenge. When I wrote my first novel, Nightseer, I wrote two pages a day, every day before work. I was in a cube farm in corporate America and I’d found that I was too exhausted by day’s end to do anything creative; so I got up early before work and did my two pages. Let me add that at that time I was not a morning person, by any stretch of the imagination, but I wanted to write my book badly enough to find a consistent time to write, because consistency is what it’s all about when you’re writing novels. I’d written short stories for years but never had the guts to tackle a book length project. I’d been writing since I was twelve, decided I wanted to be a writer at fourteen, started sending stories out and collecting my rejection slips at seventeen. I was twenty-one and had graduated college and landed my first job, but I still wanted to be writer. I knew that if I hoped to make a living as one I had to write novels, short stories weren’t going to pay enough, so I put my butt in a chair at least five days a week and did two pages every morning. Two pages didn’t seem like much at first, but doing two pages day after day meant in three hundred days I had six hundred pages and at the end of two years I had even more pages and a first draft. I honestly can’t remember how many pages the first draft was, but I know I’m one of those writers that writes long and cuts a lot, always have been, probably always will be. Other writer’s first drafts are far shorter than the finished manuscript, so their second drafts are all about adding stuff in, instead of cutting. I would do seven drafts of Nightseer before I sent it off to an agent, who sent it around to publishers. I would do another draft to editorial order, mostly the editor pointed out that I hadn’t described a single piece of clothing in the entire book. I added clothing description and more physical description at the editor’s request, and I never forgot again (some may say I’ve over compensated).
Here are the most valuable things I learned in the two years it took me to write my first novel, that would eventually sell and begin my career:
1. Don’t revise as you write first draft.
Why, or why not? Because the greatest danger to any first time novelist is getting bogged down and not finishing the first draft of the first novel. Write your word count a day and just keep adding to the growing pile of pages; if you stop to revise as you go, perfectionism will catch you and sink you. You certainly won’t make the word count per day if you try editing while writing the first draft, or I wouldn’t. Even after writing 40 books, I still have to be careful not to start editing too much during first draft, because I’ll get stuck too. Once you have a draft finished, you can polish in the second draft, that’s what subsequent drafts are for, polishing.
2. Don’t stop writing your first draft to do extra research.
I’m going to assume that you wouldn’t have sat down to write a book without some background, or interest in the topic, so you’ve done enough research to do a first draft. Wait on extra research until you have hundreds of pages beside your computer and a finished draft. Why wait? Because if you’re anything like most writers that I know, including myself, sending us to a library is a dangerous thing because we’re surrounded by BOOKS! We have good intentions of looking up only the specific topics we came to research, but it’s a library, it’s like Aladdin’s Cave of Wonders, and just like Aladdin if we touch the wrong treasure we’ll never get out alive, or at least not out in time to make our deadline. The internet is equally deadly for research, maybe more so, because it’s always at our fingertips. Do not do extra research until the first draft is finished unless the fact you need is absolutely essential to writing the current scene, but usually it’s not. Beware that research doesn’t become a procrastination tool. I still type all caps – NOTES; WHAT DOES FIFTEENTH CENTURY UNDERWEAR LOOK LIKE? or, NOTES; WHAT FOOD WOULD BE AT A MEDIEVAL WORLD BANQUET? These were both notes I had in my first novel, but I didn’t need to know the answers to get my heroine undressed for bed or to have her confront her sister over dinner. My second draft was just filling in the notes, and my third draft was where I started polishing the language. You might say my second draft was research questions only.
3. Do not get caught up in the perfect opening sentence in your first draft.
You can start the draft with gibberish for all it matters, because the important thing in a first draft is all those hundreds of pages after that first sentence; without them, the first sentence doesn’t matter a damn. What? you say, The first sentence is very important! You’re right, in fact it’s vital. Your first sentence, first paragraph, will sell the entire book to the right editor and to readers after it’s published. But I’ve seen too many writers get caught up in making the beginning of a book perfect, to the point where they polish the first chapter over and over, and never finish the book. A great first line may sell a book to an editor, but it won’t sell a few chapters to anyone. The day’s when editors would buy an unfinished manuscript from a first timer are decades past. To sell a book, you have to finish it first. Even today the opening lines/paragraph is often the last thing I revise, not the first. I’ll agonize over the first sentence, but only after the rest of the book is polished and singing.
4. Write your idea, and don’t worry if it’s good enough to sell.
Your ultimate goal is to sell, but if you start worrying about selling before you have ever finished a single book, you aren’t just putting the cart before the horse, you’re buying a saddle before you’ve taken riding lessons. I don’t know if your idea is good enough to sustain a book, let alone good enough to be your first selling novel, but I know you have to start somewhere, why not this idea? Maybe it’ll suck, but maybe it’ll be great, you’ll never find out if you don’t take the chance and write it.
5. Last piece of advice that helped me write my first five novels, all of which sold.
The 70/30 rule. I found that seventy percent of my first drafts were garbage, but thirty percent was gold, but I had to write all one hundred percent of the draft to get that thirty percent of shining gold because it was scattered among the seventy percent of unusable garbage. My garbage quotient has gotten lower as I’ve gained more practice as a writer, but it’s still a good rule of thumb if you’re one of the writers that writes long and then revises like I do.
Good luck all you November writers! Happy Hunting!
A Not So Scary Halloween Birthday!
I’m a horror writer, and back when there was a horror section in the bookstores, that’s where I was shelved. I’ve been called mixed genre, dark fantasy, urban fantasy, paranormal, paranormal thriller. I’m still shelved in science fiction and fantasy, because thats where horror goes now. We horror writers hang out on the street corners with the science geeks, and the Tolkien fans, teaching them about the darker side of their fantasies. Muhahaha! Because I usually write a darker version of whatever I’m writing, I get invited to a lot of Halloween events. Not as many as I used to get invited to, because I have a reputation for turning them down. I could have made a lot of press and publicity over the years if I’d been wiling to attend more Halloween events on All Hallows Eve, itself, so why refuse?
When my daughter, Trinity, was three I went to either World Fantasy Con, or World Con in California. I honestly can’t remember which con it was now, but they are both good cons for networking, finding agents, publishers, getting invited into anthologies, interviews, and a host of other things that are good for a writer’s career. If you are starting out as a writer I especially recommend World Fantasy Con for making good business connections. It was a smart business move so my friend and fellow writer, Deborah Millitello and I went. My ex, who was at that time still my husband, stayed at home like many spouses do for their other halves. Trinity was going to be Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz, and her best friend was going to be Glenda the Good Witch. My ex promised to get lots of pictures and our good friends and parents of the Good Witch were going to get video. My ex promised to get video, too. I hated to miss it, but I’d see the pictures and video later, and there would be other Halloweens. I was still searching for enough writing contracts to keep me busy and grow my career and that might not be able to wait for another year until next World Fantasy, so I chose and I went.
It was a very busy and fun convention in many ways. I had a lot of meetings with editors, publishers, agents, and even had an interview with a new magazine. It was potentially a very productive convention, if any of it panned out. Just like you have to send out a lot of stories to a lot of different markets so you can up your chances of getting a professional sale and getting paid, so the more meetings you have with more publishing professionals the better your odds for new contracts. But it’s a bit like fishing, you put a lot of bait in the water, you don’t always catch a fish.
As it turned out, not a single meeting turned into an actual paying contract for me. No new book sales, no new series sales, no anthologies that actually took off and became a reality. It was a lot of promise but no follow through, and . . . I’d missed seeing Trinity dressed up as Dorothy with her best friend as Glenda, but there’d be pictures and video.
Nope, both cameras and both video recorders broke. I had one fuzzy picture in the dark where I could see the ruby gleam of my daughter’s shoes, but that was it. Literally every tech device we had to record that memory malfunctioned. I missed that Halloween and I could never even see it.
That was my wakeup call from the universe that Halloween with my daughter, my only child, might just trump business even for a horror writer. I made the promise to myself that I would never miss another one with Trinity, and I have kept that promise.
Her birthday is in October and one of her very favorite holidays is Halloween. She’s always been disappointed that I couldn’t hold out so she could be born on the actual holiday. For her birthday this year she wanted to go to Disney World for Mickey’s Not So Scary Halloween Party.
It’s not a typical twenty-first birthday request, but it is very Trinity, so Jon and I went about making it happen. We told her to invite a friend, which she did. Jon, who has been Daddy Jon since she was quite small, and I, plus Spike and Genevieve, the other half of our poly foursome set about making Trinity’s birthday wish come true.
If you think that because I write horror and hard boiled mysteries that I don’t enjoy Disney, you would be wrong. In fact, all four of us are the type of adult that will watch our favorite Disney movies without a child as an excuse. Don’t let anyone tell you that you’re too old to enjoy the movies and things that make you happy, because they are killjoys that want to steal the happy-shiny from the world, and the world needs all the happy-shiny it can get. If Disney is one of your happy thoughts, then rock your bad selves!
If you go to Disney World for Halloween be absolutely sure you get tickets for Mickey’s Not So Scary Halloween Party. It was awesome! Don’t miss the parade, either! The Headless Horseman rides out first, and the rest of the parade was equally fun. I particularly liked that the dancers from the Haunted Mansion had shovels and caused sparks to fly against the ground; it was a very cool effect. But make sure and get good viewing for the show at the castle, because this year is being hosted by the Sanderson Sisters from the movie, “Hocus Pocus.” It was one of Trinity’s favorite movies and one of Genevieve’s, too. The show is fabulous and the actress they have playing Bette Midler’s part as Winifred is spot on! The other sisters are very good, too, as was the whole cast. I can’t compliment the rest of the cast individually without giving away the surprises so I’ll wait until November to say anymore, but it was amazing! If you can go to this year’s party, do it, because all six of us loved it.
So, Trinity is twenty-one, and she’s trying to arrange with work so she gets Halloween off because she’d still rather spend it at home with us and the dogs. Someday maybe she’ll grow out of wanting to be with us for the holiday, but until she does, I’m home for Halloween. I learned my lesson, even horror writers should take Halloween off and play with the kids.
Choose Joy
Choose joy
Yesterday was a hard day. I had a serious fight with someone I love. No fight gets as vicious as one between loved ones because we know each other’s weakness, and the painful spots, so we can drive the knife in deep where it counts. Fights with people we care about are the worst for that reason and because if it’s bad enough you can irreparably damage the relationship – forever. There came a moment of decision.
I could hold a grudge and make things worse, or I could choose joy and give the person who hurt me a chance to redeem the relationship. I chose joy, they worked their issues, and it was good. It was so much better than holding onto the resentment and anger would have been. A grudge leaves no room for joy, or healing. I chose to try and to believe we could work things out and today is a much better day. But I did not choose blindly and it took the other person, who was part of the negativity, to work their issues and risk being vulnerable enough to come to me with renewed effort. I did the same, because no matter who is right, or wrong, it usually takes both people in a fight to cause it – even if only a little on one side. Don’t keep score; heal, do better, talk, communicate the shit out of how you got into the bad moment and what you can do to get out of it and onto something better.
Please, notice above that I didn’t forgive and just accept the apology and go on. We both worked the issues that had led to the fight and talked about it. We talked about it until the discussion is almost as hard as the fight, but without the talking and the willingness to work the issues involved, forgiveness doesn’t work. Yes, you read that right. Forgiveness is empty if the person you’re forgiving keeps doing the same hurtful things over and over again because that means they didn’t mean the apology. Or, if they only mean the apology when they are in the middle of the fight, or see the pain they’re causing their loved ones, but then they go right back to the bad behavior – they aren’t sorry. Or they’re not sorry enough to change the behavior causing the problem. If that’s the case, then you’re screwed. Your only choices are to either settle for being dragged into their painful drama forever, or to walk away. If people won’t work their issues, you can’t work them for them. You cannot carry another person’s burden without depriving that person of the lessons they’re supposed to learn to become the best possible THEM, they can be. Look at it this way, if you keep rescuing the princess, she never learns to rescue herself. Or, if you keep putting up with the ogre’s horrible behavior, he will never turn into the handsome prince, because you’ll stay with the ogre. Its hard work to become a prince, or a self-rescuing princess, or a princess if your ogre runs to the feminine sort, or a self-rescuing prince – its freaking hard work to change yourself. People seldom do it for real, they do just enough to get by and then the old habits come back. Old habits, even self-destructive ones are strangely comforting, because they are the known, the familiar. The unknown and the unfamiliar scare the hell out of most people, but if you let the fear of the unknown stop you, your life is automatically limited. Is that what you want, a limited life? No? Then you have to forge ahead into the unknown, explore new worlds, new possibilities, because when the old habits lead you to the same bad places, bad relationships, dead end jobs, unhealthy bodies, the only way to find a better place to be, better relationships, a job you love, or one that supports you and your family better, or both, and/or a healthier body, is to try something new. Don’t let old habits, old pain, old issues, old fears, old unhappiness win! If you and your loved ones are willing to do the work you can find new, healthier habits, heal the pain, work through the issues that are stopping you, conquer the fears, and find yourself happier!
Choose joy, but understand that joy takes work. Decide to be happier, healthier, more productive, whatever you need in your life, and then be willing to do the work to make it happen. Choose Joy, and then work your ass off to get it, and keep it.
