writing Archives - Page 5 of 11 - Laurell K. Hamilton

New Blog – Happily Ever After is the Beginning

Twenty, our daughter Trinity is twenty today. There’s something about this birthday that seems momentous to both her and me. She’s no longer a teenager. Yes, she’s been a legal adult for two years, but somehow neither she, nor I, thought childhood had been completely left behind, but twenty is the end of the teens and the beginning of a decade that is absolutely, positively an adult number. But that’s not all of it, Trinity also attended her cousin, Kay’s, wedding earlier this month. Kay is already a mother of a baby girl of her own, and only a few weeks older than Trinity. I remember when I and both of my sisters-in-law were pregnant at the same time. All the girls were born within weeks of each other. Now one is a mother and married, another has decided on her career and is off pursuing that, and Trinity is in college; Trinity also caught the bouquet at Kay’s wedding.

People told Trinity that she would be next, and she loved that so romantic idea. She’s always been of a more romantic turn of mind than me. I double checked that she wasn’t dating anyone seriously, so a wedding was unlikely anytime soon. I remained calm, though what I wanted to say, was over my dead body would she be getting married anytime soon. Then, my daughter, who I thought of as fairly logical, proactive, and level-headed in most situations, just beginning to explore all the possibilities of her life, talked about her wedding day. She’s talked about her wedding day after every wedding she’s seen since she was about six. I guess it’s normal for most little girls, but when she was six I didn’t worry about it. Now she’s twenty and suddenly it’s not cute anymore, its a little frightening to me. I’m the mom, I’m supposed to worry.

I had grown up never planning to marry, so I had never dreamed of my wedding day. I was too busy writing my stories and collecting my first rejection slips, because I was going to be a writer. I didn’t have time to plan weddings, or moon over boys. Trinity had never done much mooning either, so I never worried about her falling into the trap that marriage and romance are the biggest things in a woman’s life. I’d shown her that men and weddings were not the be all, end all, for her life. She understands that, but suddenly the whole wedding thing seemed a little too real for me, and for the first time I thought of how differently she had seen marriage than I did growing up.

I had fallen in love for the first time in college and married at twenty-one to her father. It had certainly surprised the hell out of me. I’d planned on being a happy writer without any of those complications from “relationships.” They just distracted an artist from their goals. I actually didn’t let marriage distract me from my goals and was a successful novelist by the time we divorced sixteen years later. I vowed never to marry again, and then promptly fell in love with Jonathon. We are now blissfully happy at thirteen years and counting. Was it the fact that I had married twice and was actually happy that had made Trinity feel more positive towards marriage and romance? Trinity had been one of the flower girls at our wedding, so this more romantic attitude might be my fault. Was it letting the flower girls ride in the horse-drawn carriage with us? Don’t blame fairytales, because I was raised on those, too, and the romantic bug didn’t get me. But then, I had only my mother’s unhappiness in the brief marriage to my father, and was raised on tales of my grandfather beating my grandmother, who she had divorced after twenty years. Marriage didn’t seem that great to me, and men seemed like extras I didn’t need in my life. My grandmother and I got along fine without one. I did the heavy lifting around the house, what the heck were men needed for? Then I fell in love, and married, twice, and Trinity grew up seeing that the right man with the right woman could be pretty awesome, so in a way it was totally my fault. My happiness had actually fed into the social message that romance and marriage are important; damn it.

I took a few days to think about why I’d had such an issue with her innocent, and perfectly normal, remarks about weddings. I finally realized what I wanted to say not just to Trinity, but to all the young women everywhere.

I hope my daughter’s wedding day isn’t the biggest and most important day of her life. I hope that she has so many days that make that one day, pale in comparison. I hope she finds someone so wonderful that their days together will be full of such happiness that the wedding is what it’s supposed to be, the beginning of an amazing adventure and a real life love story that will rise in action from that day forward. I hope for her a person at her side that brings joy to her life, everyday. I know they will fight, I know she’s not perfect, nor will her spouse be perfect. The trick is to get enough good stuff from the relationship to offset the irritating stuff, because that’s all it should be, just irritating stuff. If it’s truly bad stuff; addiction, abuse, I trust my beautiful, strong daughter to understand that you can’t love them enough to change certain things and not to ever marry someone who is cruel when they say they love you. True love is not cruel, or controlling in a way that hurts you.

When you fight, and you will fight, remember that list of things you know would hurt them the most, don’t say them. Don’t say the unforgivable list, because once uttered it can’t be taken back, and though you say, I forgive you, you never forget and it damages your pair bond.

I hope my daughter understands that it is the every day joys that make life worth living, not the big moments. The big stuff fades and cannot last, but the joy of waking up beside someone you love and renewing that love every day in a dozen small gestures that say, better than any fancy dress, or church full of flowers, I love you.

I hope she understands what that means, love, to her may not be the same as her spouse, and that part of the challenge is to find out what their language of love is both individually and together. To some men, playing their favorite video game with them means you love them enough to try. To others dressing in their favorite outfit is love. To some women helping with housework means love, and to others sexy naked time is love. For Trinity, I hope she finds another video game and anime Geek and that she never falls in love with someone that rolls their eyes and belittles what she finds such fierce joy in, and the same for her future spouse. Let them honor what each finds joy in, and understand that it doesn’t always have to make sense to you, you just have to understand that the love of your life adores fall mornings, or bird watching, or sleeping in late, hitting the gym, scuba diving, or watching cheesy horror movies. Whatever fills their face with light and joy, honor that, and honor the things that fill your own heart with the same light. Do not give up your hobbies, the pieces of yourself that bring you happiness, because your spouse fell in love with the girl, or boy, that thought Pokemon was cool; don’t lose that. Don’t let the idea of love and being a grownup steal yourself away. Love, true love, honors who you really are and never makes fun of it. Honor each other, care for each other, be kind to each other, have fun together, and above all know that there will be moments when you fall out of love, or are so irritated by that small thing they always do that you just want to scream. Remember in those moments how much you love that thing they do that always makes you smile. Remember how they held you when you were sad, or how they cry at Christmas commercials, or how hard they work at their dreams, and how they help you work at yours.

I hope that my daughter’s wedding, when it comes, if it comes, because if she never marries that’s okay with me, as long as she’s happy, but if she chooses to marry, I hope she looks back and thinks it was a beautiful beginning to an even more beautiful life in partnership with someone she loves, and who loves her as much as I do. It’s not about a certain ceremony, or a certain goal, or milestone, those will come and go, it’s about the day in, day out, are you there for me – do you have each other’s backs? That’s what it’s about, I hope my daughter and all the young women out there understand that is more important than a thousand designer dresses, or the perfect flowers, or how many bridesmaids you have – your wedding day will pass, but if you all work at it, and are lucky, then it just gets better from there.

New Blog – When I grow up I want . . .

From the time I was twelve-years-old I never planned to marry. I would live on an island with lots of animals and write my stories, because writers could live anywhere; right? At twenty-one I left my grandmother’s house to marry my first husband. I never owned my own apartment, never lived alone, and then suddenly I was part of a couple. It had been just my grandmother and me, and now it was just my husband and me. It seemed not that different, and yet entirely different. I think if I’d come from a bigger family that I might have had more trouble transitioning to this two person system, this couple, but two seemed familiar, seemed right. By the time we celebrated our first anniversary we had one Yellow-naped Amazon parrot, a hand fed luntino Cockatiel, and a canary that would come out of its cage and play on the parrot playground. I was writing and trying to sell my stories when I wasn’t working in corporate America. We’d moved to California, so I was at least by the ocean, I was part way to my island.

Fifteen years later we were living in St. Louis, Missouri, the middle of the country, and I’d almost forgotten that island dream. I was a best-selling novelist and I was separating from my soon-to-be ex-husband. I got my first apartment that was just mine. I was able to pick out a kitchen table and chairs without consulting anyone’s opinion but my own. It was GREAT! I reveled in the freedom of just me. Well, not just me, because one room of the apartment was for our daughter, Trinity. I let her pick the color and the decor. She was five-years-old and wanted a totally pink room. At her age, so had I, and she wanted a pink canopy bed, and so had I, so who was I to argue with her? Besides, I’d already told her she could pick everything, this would be a promise that I would never make to a child this young again. The pink paint was called Candy Pink, or something equally innocuous, but we, the painters, the people who delivered the furniture, all of us, dubbed the color Eye-Bleed Pink, because it was so bright it made us nauseous to be in the room too long. One of the men who delivered her pink and white canopy bed declared the color made him dizzy. But Trinity loved her room! The rest of the apartment was mine to decorate as I saw fit, and I loved being on my own. I was never going to marry again, it hadn’t worked for me, monogamy with the wrong person is a trap I never wanted to fall into again. My ex-husband got to keep our remaining parrot and I got the two dogs; we shared Trinity.

Six months later I would be engaged to a friend I’d known for eight years, Jonathon, and we’d be planning our wedding. My first husband swept me off my feet in a gentle, geeky kind of way. Jonathon and I snuck up on each other, just friends until the moment we realized we weren’t. I’d done the big wedding once, but he hadn’t, and what my sweetie wanted, I wanted to give him, so we did it up big. Trinity and her best friend were our flower girls and they got to ride in the horse drawn carriage at the end after we were pronounced husband and wife, because if you have a little girl and you have a horse drawn carriage they get to ride in it too, that’s just a rule somewhere, or should be.

Jonathon and I celebrate our thirteenth anniversary next Monday. We are happier now, more in love now, than when we started. Having been through a marriage where ten years in, that was not the case, I value this love and our life, all the more. Trinity is happy, healthy, and off to college. We have three dogs and about twenty koi in the pond. We still live in the middle of the country, so no closer to that island I wanted at age twelve, but I am now a #1 New York Times Bestselling novelist (my agent always insists I write it that way *waves at agent*) so part of my childhood dream is on track.

Four years ago, Jonathon and I were in love with another man. He was our third, and I’d hoped he might be a live-in third someday, but the situation was too complicated. No one’s fault, just not enough honest communication and grownup straight forwardness, I think. But our ex-third introduced us to a woman and her partner. The woman was Genevieve, and her partner doesn’t matter much to this story, because two years later he would be an ex for both of us. But Genevieve would be my first girlfriend ever, and she dated both Jonathon and me. Even more than our ex-third she loved us both, equally, and I hadn’t realized how much I, we, needed that until we had it. She was states away, and we settled into a long distance relationship, LDR, most of our polyamorous relationships have been LDR. She met another man. We knew all about Spike from the beginning, because poly has only one hard rule: that everyone is honest. Spike would talk to us for hours as he planned her engagement ring. Who knew her better than we did, after all we’d been dating her a year longer than he had. We were part of the party where he planned to surprise her with the proposal. I got to help distract Genevieve so that when I turned her around he was just down on one knee with the ring held up to her. It was wonderful and we’d worked as unit to pull it off.

Next week, just after Jon and I celebrate thirteen years of wedded bliss, Genevieve and Spike are moving in with us. They are bringing their two dogs, and yes we have introduced our packs with the help of a local “Dog Whisperer”. Genevieve will also be bringing her fifty-five gallon aquarium of fish. She and I have already talked about a possible lizard, and more fish. Both Spike and I are terribly allergic to cats, and that is a blow to her, but she loves us both, even enough to risk never owning a cat again. I am getting shots, and hope to find a way, someday, for her to have her beloved felines again. She has also asked about parrots, but I am allergic to feathers, which was one reason I had to give up the parrot to my ex-husband. I miss having birds, very much, and hope to find one type I am not allergic to. I’m the writer I dreamed about being, and we will soon have as many dogs as I envisioned as a child, and I hope, nearly pray, that we may add more animals as time goes on, now all we need is that island. Some place tropical, Genevieve?

New Blog – We have a Title! And Two Winners!

And we have a winner!

Okay, technically we have two winners, which is even better!

When my editor, Susan, came up with the idea to ask you, the fans, to help give a title to the next hardback Anita Blake novel, I thought, “Okay, that’ll be fun.” I had no idea how enthusiastic your help would be. *laughs* Eight thousand-two-hundred and fifty-four; wait, lets see that in numeral form: 8,254. Six hundred pages, yes you read that right, 600 pages of entries were received. There was a glitch in the spacing and for a bit it was 1,200 pages; wow! Ah, gremlins. Those numbers were just between 2:40pm on Monday, September 8th and 8am on Friday, September 12th, some of you kept posting ideas after that, but in fairness to those that made the deadline, we considered only those that made the time frame as stated. That amazing number doesn’t count how many people gave multiple ideas per each entry. Media Minion Jess estimates it would be well over nine thousand if every idea was counted separately. Thank you to everyone who participated, you are all awesome! I mean that, I am continually floored about how much you love my writing, my characters, and my worlds; thank you.

I personally went through the lists after Jess weeded out repetitions, or things that were inappropriate (you know who you are). She left some in that were just fun, but couldn’t work as the book title. Some of those made me laugh out loud, for real, and some of you wrote essays about why your entry should win, or just your reasoning behind your choice. There were a lot of repeated ideas and in that case the person who got the title in earliest got to be the one that was considered. Some title ideas just didn’t work for this Anita Blake novel, but will go in a file for possible later use. If I use your idea later, I’ll mention it. Some titles will work better for short stories than novels, you can be longer, or more esoteric, when it’s not smacked across the front of the cover. Who knows maybe one of the saved more short story friendly titles will inspire a brand new story, again, if that happens I’ll let you know who got to play muse for me. 🙂

Without further ado, here are the winners:

Next Anita Blake hardback novel – Dead Ice.

Thanks to Peter Orca for that one.

Jewelry store creating Anita and Jean-Claude’s rings: Étoile du Soir, which is French for Evening Star, or Star of Evening.

Thanks to Isis Maria Hess for the name.

Étoile du Berger is also listed as a synonym, but it translates to guiding star, so I stuck with the original entry of Étoile du Soir. Anyone who is a native French speaker, particularly France as opposed to Canada, if you find anything incorrect in the above, please say something soon. There is still time to make changes to the actual manuscript, but the title is set today; why?

The first two chapters and a partial chapter three of Dead Ice will be in the back of Jason coming December 2, 2014. Jason went to the printers today, and the Dead Ice excerpt is in the back of it. You get a brand new adventure featuring Jason, with more on stage time for Jade than ever before, in time for the holidays, plus the beginning of the next adventure; how cool is that?

Both our winners will get a signed edition of Dead Ice as soon as I have them in my hot little hands. They will also be listed in the acknowledgements of the book. Thanks again to everyone who participated, you guys rock!

New Blog – Did Technology Kill the Muse?

The picture with this blog is from our recent vacation. Look closely and you’ll see the hummingbird hovering near my hands. The bird was so enamored of the flowers that it brushed my hands and wrists in it’s boldness. Jon and I took our daughter, Trinity, and my sister, Pilar on vacation. It was a glorious trip, and I’ll blog about it eventually, but tonight I want to introduce you to Jess, my new media minion. The job title came out of some brainstorming and was mostly her idea, which says something about how fun she’s going to be on the job. But why do I need a media minion, at all?

One of the most valuable thing any writer has is their muse. Contrary to the television show, “Castle”, most writers don’t have flesh and blood muses. When I say, muse, I mean the creative spark, that part of us that sees the real world and translates it into a fiction. The care and feeding of an artist’s muse means different things to different people, because the “muse” is as variable as the writers themselves. What is happy activity that will send one writer to their keyboard eager to create, may drain another and leave them empty of words, ideas, or just stopped dead in the water. Some writers are extroverts and love people and activity. Some writers love work in hotel rooms, or on trains, and some need the same room, the same desk, and the same everything day in and day out. Some writers listen to music, others need dead silence, and sometimes those needs change from book to book. Charles Dickens supposedly served drinks at his parties with one hand and wrote with the other. That level of activity while I tried to create would have driven me mad, but Dickens & his muse must have thrived on it. I need a certain amount of quiet time to stare into space, and let myself think. I knew too much in person socialization stole that solitude, but what I’m beginning to wonder is does electronic socialization do the same thing?

I love interacting with all of you online, but even happy interactions may be messing with the alone time I need in my head. I need to be thinking about the current book I’m writing, but I often find myself thinking, “That would make a great Facebook post,” or “Hmm . . . what should I blog about next?” or “How do I get that down to a 140 characters for Twitter?” I’m beginning to wonder if my subconscious is being sidetracked from creating stories so that it can manage my social media. I remembered on our vacation that getting out of the house, and seeing new things can feed my muse and refresh my subconscious, but talking about it online as soon as I have an experience maybe sapping the “magic” out of an event for me as a writer. It’s almost as if writing it online takes the impetus away from me wanting to translate things into fiction.

Now my real life is not a one to one translation to my fiction, but the experiences I had on vacation fed parts of me that had been starving for awhile. I can’t explain it precisely, but I’ve been needing to go to the woods, the wilderness, for awhile. It feeds something in me as a person, and that part gives energy to my writing. But thinking about sharing that experience online, before it’s had time to sink into my subconscious and sit for awhile in the quiet, I think is hurting part of my creative process. So, I’ve decided to get off line for awhile, but I didn’t want to leave you guys hanging, so Jess’s job as a media minion was born.

I’ll still be blogging. My posts to Facebook will either be texted, or emailed, to Jess for her to post for me, but they will still be my posts. Or Jess will be posting as herself. She will also be wandering around Facebook to answer your questions and being far more social than I have time, or inclination to be in the new Facebook landscape. She’ll be running her answers by me & Jon, but I’m hoping you’ll give her a warm welcome & appreciate her input. Twitter is actually the most problematic, because I actually enjoy and understand Twitter more. I may try to stay on Twitter for awhile, but if I feel that it actually is still distracting me from my writing, then that may have to change, too.

The first novel I wrote was typed on a computer, and I’ve finally really embraced the technology. I’m typing this on my iPad, and I feel naked without my iPhone. I’ve started to enjoy it all, but I’ve become less productive as a writer as I’ve become more productive in posting on line, so time to back up and put the actual writing first, and the social posting second. I need to hike in the mountains and truly be in the moment, absorbing it and letting it sink deep into my subconscious like a rock thrown into a still pool. I need to let the ripples flow out and see what muck and mire that metaphorical “rock” stirs up. I need to do all that before I think, “I’ve got to tweet this, or Facebook this, or blog this,” I need to think of my fiction first, not my social media. Thanks for your patience while I try this little experiment. I’ll see you on Twitter, at least for awhile, and you’ll still get to read the blogs, but for the rest I’m saving it for my muse, for me, for my family, and for the new adventures to come.

New Blog – Show, don’t Tell

Writers are always being told – show, don’t tell. That’s great advice, but what the heck does it mean? It took me years to figure it out as a beginning writer, but once I did it became a filter I ran scenes through whenever my writing felt flat, or lifeless. If you’re a beginning writer thinking, great for her, but how does that help me figure it out, just be patient, because I’m going to give you some examples from the book I’m currently writing. It’s the twenty-third novel that I’ve written in my Anita Blake series, and my thirty-sixth novel counting one short story anthology, called Strange Candy. Why not tell you the title of the book I’m going to use as an example, because it’s still untitled.

Jean-Claude was first introduced in, Guilty Pleasures in 1993. One of the true challenges of being a series writer is to keep long running characters fresh for you as a writer, and for the readers. Both the ones that have been reading from the beginning and for the ones that have just discovered your books, and jumped in at the end. If you’re just starting out and haven’t got first book published, you may think, why should I care? Well, hopefully years from now you’ll be writing your twenty-something book, and then you will care, or I hope you will care as much about your characters as I do mine.

I wrote Jean-Claude’s first introduction in my current novel like this:

“Jean-Claude sat behind that huge desk and that gleaming display of matrimonial treasure, but none of it was as pretty as he was, and I didn’t think it was just me being in love with him that made me think that. He had been a ladies’ man for more centuries than our country had been in existence. He still occasionally appeared on stage at Guilty Pleasures, the strip club he owned, and had managed for years. On nights when he was billed as the star attraction we couldn’t get all the customers in the club, even if we were willing to make the fire marshal unhappy.”

It’s not a bad start, but it tells you Jean-Claude is attractive and sexy enough to be a stripper and a seducer of women, but that doesn’t tell you anything about what he really looks like. People have very different ideas of what attractive means, so the reader may fill in the blanks with the a totally different looking character from the above, because I’ve told them he’s handsome, even sexy, but I haven’t shown it, I haven’t proved it to the reader, and that’s really what showing vs. telling is, proving to the reader that the character is handsome, sexy, or whatever. You have to make your reader, see, feel, taste, touch, believe.

So I rewrote the scene:

“Jean-Claude sat behind that huge desk and that gleaming display of matrimonial treasure, but none of it was as pretty as him. His black hair curled softly past his shoulders mingling so perfectly with the velvet of his jacket that it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began. The shirt that peeked from the jacket was scarlet, a red that looked fabulous with the hair and that unearthly white skin of his, a perfect whiteness that no living skin could rival. he was very pale tonight, no blush of color to his face at all which meant he hadn’t fed yet. There was a time I couldn’t have told, but I’d been studying his face and moods for years. Once I had refused to be food for any vampire, even him. Now the thought that he hadn’t fed, and that it could be part of our foreplay tightened things low in my body so hard and sudden that I had to reach for the edge of the desk to steady myself, and I hadn’t even gotten to his face.

I raised up to finally look into that face and that near perfect curve of cheek, the kissable lips, and finally the coup de grace of his eyes. They looked almost black in the overhead lights, but some gleam always seemed to show that swimming blue like deep sea water where the monsters swim, and there are wonders to behold. His dark eyelashes were actually double-rowed on top so they looked like he’d used mascara, but he never had to, and then the perfect arch of black eyebrow . . . he looked too beautiful, too perfect, like a work of art instead of a person. How did this man love me? But the smile on his face, the light in his eyes, said plainly that he saw something wonderful when he looked at me, too. I didn’t know whether to be flattered, amazed, or ask why me? Why not a thousand more traditionally beautiful women? he could have had movie stars, or models, but he’d chosen me. Me, too short, curvy even with my gym workout, and scarred from my job, still struggling to heal all the issues life had saddled me with, and yet, he smiled at me, held his hand out to me. I went around the desk to take that offered hand, but I didn’t feel like the princess to his prince. I felt like the clumsy peasant to his very, regal King. ”

Do you see what happens when you show, rather than tell? The above didn’t just show that Jean-Claude is gorgeous, but it also revealed Anita’s character and inner world, too. It also says something about Jean-Claude that wouldn’t have been on the paper if I hadn’t shown his appearance through Anita’s eyes, and let her show her feelings about him and herself.

Telling is literally telling the reader what they should believe, but showing let’s them see it, feel it, experience it for themselves much more viscerally. Telling skims the surface like a bare brush of lips, the way your aunt kissed you when you were a kid. Showing digs deeper, it’s a lover’s kiss, that presses so hard against your mouth that you have to open our lips to them, and let their tongue slide inside you. Telling is having to kiss someone; showing is wanting to kiss someone.

I don’t want to tell you that Jean-Claude is hot, and Anita is uncertain of her own beauty, I want to show you.

Show, don’t tell.

Jean-Claude by Brett Booth from the comic adaptation of Guilty Pleasures

New Blog – Of Typewriters, Computers, & Bitching

First, my website at https://www.laurellkhamilton.com is finally updated and a bit more user friendly for us and all of you. The Anita Blake books, and the Merry Gentry books are now in order of publication, for all who have asked. Second, I’ve answered some of the questions that were prompted by my latest blog.

A lot of people have been bitching that I do page count, rather than word count on my daily writing quota. First, why should you even care one way or the other? Second, I think everyone forgets that I’m 51, which means when I wrote my first short stories at age 17 it was on a manual typewriter. There was no word-processor to show me my word count at the bottom of my page. If I wanted a word count I had to do it the old fashioned way by counting average lines per page and then estimating words/characters per line, and then adding your pages in, and by the end of a writing session I wasn’t up to the math. I did it before I sent a story out to a magazine and put the word count at the top of the story as was professional format at the time, but my daily writing quota was pages, not words, because the math seemed laborious after my brain was fried from actually writing, or I’d had a really good writing session and my brian was euphoric with endorphins and I was too happy to do math. Math at the end of a day of wonderful creativity seemed like punishment to me, and still does. (Sorry all you math lovers, but it’s not my cup of happiness. )

But that’s why I do page count, instead of word count for my daily writing quota. Most writers form habits early on and if it works most writers, and artists, are loath to change it. I think we’re all a little superstitious as if changing one small thing will somehow make the magic go away. I know it sounds silly, but if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it, and setting myself 4 pages a day works better for me than saying I owe myself four thousand words before I can take a break, or quit for the day.

And onto my typing speed – I posted my typing speed in a bid to help some of the beginning writers feel better about not hitting my page count on my best days when I can do 20-40 pages in 6-8 hours. That’s counting only the pages I kept, not the ones that didn’t work. The pages that are completely unsatisfactory as I type are usually just toggled lower down on the page so that all my rough drafts have this enormous garbage section at the end of manuscript file of writing ideas, plot twists, or character breakthroughs that just didn’t work. I don’t delete it, because sometimes I find the scene really did work and I need it. If I deleted the “garbage” at the end of the day I’d have to rewrite the scene. (This was learned the hard way early on when I switched from typewriter to computer. It’s too damn easy to delete on a computer screen, at least with typed pages the pages are still in your office to dig through.) I wouldn’t type 200 words a minute on a standard typing test, because that’s not me writing my own fresh words. I have no idea how fast I type when copying, or taking dictation, because why would I bother copying someone else’s words, or take dictation from anyone, but my own imagination? But using my own writing as the speed test on the online tests it did come out to 200 wpm, and that is subtracting for mistakes. I spent years with computer buffers unable to keep up with my typing speed. The blinking cursor would sit at the end of the line beeping and complaining at me, and I would have to wait until the text on screen spilled out what I’d just typed, and then I could continue on, until I out typed the buffer again, and again, and . . . I love how fast computers are now, and that they don’t complain with noise that I’m typing faster than they prefer. (The picture attached to this blog is me today with my very first typewriter. We found it as we sorted through things recently. I’d totally forgotten where it was. Thanks to my Aunt Juanita, who loaned me the machine when I was in high school. Without her kindness I couldn’t have sent stories in for publication. I owe her a typewriter, but I’m keeping this one out of sentiment. )

And, yes, I actually have had writers with long standing and lovely careers of their own ask me how I produce so much in one writing session. (Writers are like all career people, we talk to each other. We share tricks of the trade, and talk shop, even those of us who are all bestsellers.) Most writers find that 2-4 hours is the maximum usable time for them to be writing, or trying to write. If they stay longer, it gains them nothing and makes it even harder for them to write the next day. On some glorious muse-driven days I can get 10-20 pages done in 2 hours, but usually it takes me 4-6 hours to do 4-8 pages. I’ve timed it and the first two hours of my writing is usually not very productive for pages to be kept at the end of the day, which are the only pages that go into my daily page count. I actually get the lion’s share of my pages done in the last 2-3 hours of the 5-8 hour session. I’ve tried to skip that first unfruitful 2 hours, by shortening my writing sessions to only 4 hours, but my process needs that 2 hour window of noodling at the keyboard, staring off into space, and basically banging my head against the computer, before something breaks free and the words flow. I hate that my writing process works this way, because it means that if I can’t get a huge block of uninterrupted time to write that my productivity suffers, a lot.

Now, once I hit the groove of a book then things change. Sitting down at the computer means words come immediately. The words flow and it’s all I can do to type fast enough to keep up with my thoughts, but that doesn’t happen until between 150-250 pages into a book. For the those first pages its more brute force than muse-driven, but I’ve learned without that force at the beginning of a novel I’m never going to get to the happy, dancing muses at the end.

New Blog – My Page Count Sucked Today

Some writers work for a certain number of hours, or an hour, and when the time is up they’re done for the day regardless of how much, or how little, they’ve written. Others do word count, a thousand words a day, or four thousand, and when they hit that, they’re done. I’ve always done page count, and I work until I’m done, or until I’m too exhausted to keep going. I post my page count for the day on line, a lot. Okay, I post it on Twitter a lot. My minimum page count goal is usually eight pages a day, but sometimes I’ll lower it to four pages, because some books are harder to write than others. I routinely do over ten pages a day when I’m deep into a book. When I’m really in the zone I can do twenty-plus pages a day for a week, or close to it. I have a lot of beginning writers, and even seasoned writers chastise themselves, because they can’t rival my page count per day. First, I type over two hundred words a minute, so that helps, and no, I have no idea how I type that fast, it’s a gift. But since a lot of the writers on line seem to get upset, because they can’t do it, I wanted to be sure and post today’s page count. Two pages, yeah you read that correctly, I have two pages for the entire day.

When I’m in the zone I can get twenty pages in two hours, but today it took me about eight hours to get those two pages. They’re good pages, strong pages, but it was a very frustrating day. I worked in the morning for no pages, and then went back after lunch, because I knew I had gym in the late afternoon, so I wanted to work until I had to leave for that. That’s how I got my two pages, by going back for a second session after a completely fruitless one that morning. Sometimes when the morning is completely dry like that I’ll give myself the rest of the day off, because the creative tank is empty and needs to fill up by doing something else, or I’m not sure what comes next in the book, or I know what’s next but don’t know exactly how to get from point A to point B. At times like that a few hours, or even a day away from the book can let my imagination work, and when I set down again I’ll feel refreshed, I’ll know what comes next, or I’ll know how to write the next part. But sometimes I just have to keep slogging away, until the creative log jam bursts and the waters come rushing through, or in this case trickling through. If I had given up and not gone back after lunch I wouldn’t have the two pages which lets me know exactly what comes next, and precisely how to write the next scene. I don’t feel a single hour at my keyboard was wasted today, because I know I needed every frustrating minute to finally break through what was clogging up the creative pipeline. Would I have rather had a day of twenty pages flowing like water from the proverbial cleft rock? Hell, yes, every writer would, but I’ve learned that the “bang your head against the problem” days are valuable to me as an artist. I don’t know why they’re necessary, but for me they seem to be part of my process especially early in a book. Tomorrow should be easier, because I planted the seeds of success today with those two hard won pages.

I’ve written and published over thirty novels, and I still have days when the words do not flow, the pages do not add up to much, so for all of you writers out there that have been watching me post my page count on line and despairing, I just wanted you to know that not every day is a home run, not even for me. Sometimes I’m just happy to get a runner on first base, and still be at bat. If you got any writing done today, give yourself a point, whether it was a few sentences, or paragraphs, or pages, if you sat your butt down and actually wrote – congratulations! Because writers, write, so you write your bad self into the next paragraph, or chapter, or short story tomorrow and think to yourself. Laurell K. Hamilton only did two pages yesterday, I can do two pages. You can, you know, you really can. Happy hunting!

New Blog – images from the weekend

Sasquatch enjoying the summer weather with me this lovely weekend.

Jon and I had a couples’ day out Saturday at Asymmetrical Solutions. We took their, Basics of Tactical Shooting. Eight hours in the Missouri heat was grueling, but worth it. We learned an amazing amount. The picture is my Springfield Range Officer getting it’s well deserved & needed cleaning.

We managed to eat healthy this weekend, even fixed our lunch ahead for the tactical class. Roast turkey and a salad of heirloom tomatoes, carrots, colored bell peppers, and fresh leaf lettuce.

Choosing Character Names, part 2

Names are where characters begin to take shape for me, and its always been that way. I bought my first baby name book when I was fourteen, the same year that I decided that maybe, just maybe I could be a writer. I remember the bookstore clerk that checked me out glancing down at my stomach, and then quickly up at my face. I realized that she thought I was pregnant and looking for names for a real baby. I didn’t try to explain that I needed the book to help me name fictional characters. I was painfully shy, and had finished one story in my entire life. How was I going to say out loud to an adult that I was spending money on a book to help me write stories that I hoped to sell to real magazines, and earn real money, and maybe eventually make a living at this. I couldn’t explain, so I said nothing and let her think what she liked. I still have that first baby name book, Name Your Baby by Lareina Rule, and I still reference it constantly when creating new characters. The cover has actually come apart, but I saved it, kept it with the book. The pages are starting to yellow, but I still love this book. From the very beginning of my career when I knew the name, I knew the character. Sometimes the name comes first and a character just magically forms around it. Sometimes I have a character in mind, but it’s not fully formed so I’ll search through all my baby name books and makes lists of names. That’s how I named, Micah, Nathaniel, Doyle, just to name three. Sometimes characters choose their names without me looking anything up, like Anita and Jean-Claude. Anita chose her name and I knew enough to know it was originally a Spanish name, so she chose half her ethnicity without me deciding anything consciously. Though since all the people I grew up with that were Hispanic came from families that were originally from Mexico that’s where Anita’s mother’s family had to be from, because it was more familiar to me. Jean-Claude on the other hand, I wanted to be Spanish, because no one had done a master vampire from Spain as a main character. At that time I spoke and read Spanish. I wasn’t fluent, but I could get by. (Please, do not speak Spanish to me now, I’m so rusty it’s embarrassing.) But he insisted he was French, which I didn’t speak, couldn’t read, and my accent is still horrible according to my French translator. I tried so hard to force him to be what I envisioned and the character just didn’t work at all. Finally, in desperation I let him be French and suddenly he chose his name, his personality, and stepped on stage almost fully formed and just, well, Jean-Claude. I’ve been informed since then that it is not an elegant name in France, and not sexy enough, but he came with the name, this one I did not choose. Of course, it’s not the name that he was born with in France, but one that he acquired after he became a vampire, but that’s a story for another day.

Two other name books stay in the reference drawer with Rule’s book. Beyond Jennifer and Jason, by Linda Rozenkrantz and Pamela Redmond Satran. I found the book by accident in the grocery store over ten years ago. It has lists for boyish names, ambisexual names, handsome names, pretty names, names for standing out, names for fitting in, macho names etc . . . I don’t agree with every name on every list, but I find them all useful in their way. Multicultural Baby Names by M. J. Abadie is rare find, because it’s literally what the title promises, names that aren’t just white Anglo-saxon, Northern European, or German, which is the predominance of most English baby name books. There are chapters on Arabic names, Japanese, Chinese, Korean, Spanish, African, Hindu, Native American, and more. I try very hard not to have my fictional characters seem like they stepped out of a “Dick and Jane” kid’s book where everyone is middle to upper class and living in a white bread America that never existed for most of us outside of sitcoms from the 1950s and 60s.

Choosing Character Names, part 1

One of the most common questions I’ve been asked is, “Where did I get the Celtic/Gaelic names for the Meredith (Merry) Gentry series? Especially the baby names for, A Shiver of Light?” Below find pictures of the primary books I used.

Another name question I’m getting is, “Why did I use Alastair for the baby boy, since that’s the name of the man who attacks Merry in the first book, A Kiss of Shadows?” Honestly, at first I forgot that I’d used the name before. I tend to have names that I like and I will reuse them, or variations of them multiple times if I’m not careful. Apparently, Bruce was a favorite for a bit male character in the Anita Blake novels for a few years. It seemed my answer to John Smith. I also seem inordinately fond of variations of the name Nicholas. When I realized Alastair was actually a villain name from earlier in the Merry Gentry series I changed the name for her baby boy, but she, and he, wouldn’t let me. Merry wasn’t traumatized by that long ago Alastair, or if she was she wanted to reclaim the name in a positive way. As for baby Alastair, he totally refused to be anything else. I originally spelled it, Alastar, as a double entendre for the star-shaped spot/birthmark on his back, but even that didn’t please this very opinionated new character. It had to be Alastair, and he wouldn’t let everyone call him, Star. That was my original idea that he’d actually go by his nickname to the point where you forgot Alastair/Alastar was his legal name, but Alastair doesn’t like nicknames. I’m a little worried about this brand new character as he seems determined to have his way. I think he’s going to eventually give me a run for my plot-money and totally take over a book, or series, someday. I can’t quite imagine writing books about Merry’s children all grown up, but there are hints that the babies already have ideas that I wasn’t aware of. *laughs*