Category Archives: WIP

No, no, NaNo!

Stuff from my yard. CC BY SA 3.0 — Image by Natania Barron

So I’m not saying I’m not doing NaNoWriMo. And I’m not saying I am. I’m going to be mercurial and special about it, so there.

Life is moving in about a thousand different directions as we speak (I haven’t written much this weekend but… I collected pine cones from the yard, and spray painted them and made a wreath and a tree sculpture thing and designed and painted the Steve head from Minecraft for my eldest kid, while he critiqued every brush stroke and also dealt with his total meltdown at AC Moore–all while still trying to process that he’s likely got Asperger’s and “something else” and there’s nothing that I did wrong, but it’s still going to be this way for a long time, and it’s never going to be “easy” and how the hell am I supposed to get everything done with this teething baby and… oh, look… shiny pinecones!), and while writing has been happening in some capacity it’s not exactly, um, as fluid or as streamlined as I’d like it to be (read: I wrote 7K this last week, and deleted 2K, and… most of it has happened after 11pm). I just got over one of those humps during the editing process. You know what I mean. I just got tired of my own writing. I started to contemplate abandoning ship, taking up the mantle of another job altogether, and moving on. Of course this is natural. Just a few days ago I was contemplating how great the book is, how much I love it, and how I can’t wait to share it with the world.

This is why I started using the #writecrazy hashtag this week. It’s been like that. Also scotch. And wine. And chocolate.

Anyway, writing for the month of November won’t be NaNoWriMo numbers. I’m mixed, to say the least, on the approach, but I can’t say it hasn’t worked for me (considering my only published novel started its infancy as a NaNoWriMo book, even if only about 20% of that original draft made it into the final round).

But! What I’m doing for November is changing the tape. Flipping the disk. Going to side B. I’ll be putting down Rock Revival and starting up again with The Other Country. I had been stuck for quite some time with TOC, and I let it go during my pregnant months. Then, last night, awake while I was supposed to be sleeping, I started “playing the tape” of the book in my head and seriously considering where it might go. And lo! Just like that, I knew the next scene, after months and months of scratching my head. It’s going to take some heavy lifting. Unusually for me, I’m having a tough time with the main character. The current draft has his name as Charlie, but that’s totally not staying. Or maybe it is. I don’t know. I have to get to know him better.

And maybe that’s one of the reasons I’m choosing this book. I feel like Charlie and Kate from Rock Revival would like each other. They’d get each other. Right after I finished Queen of None I started working on Pilgrim again. And I had this odd hitch where I felt like Maddie and Anna hated each other. And I was seeing Maddie with Anna’s eyes and… yeah. #writecrazy all right. That’s not to say that everything is connected. But I think it’s perilously important to choose complimentary work when you can. Charlie and Kate’s stories couldn’t be more different, but they both still are my “kids” if you will. And I need to make sure everyone plays nice. Especially at this moment when Real Life and Everything seem too big and pressing and overwhelming to be of much help.

So, anyway. I’m not not doing NaNo. Not exactly. Good luck to those who are. Or aren’t. Here’s to those telling stories every day and those who do it just one month a year. The most important part is the telling, after all.

Rock Revival: Draft Zero

Composition. Image by Natania Barron. CC BY SA 3.0

I’m very happy at the moment. This weekend I finished the first (zero) draft of Rock Revival. Now, I know, I’ve written books before. I’ve figured out “the method” or whatever of “being a writer” and all that jazz, sure. Except, since having my surgery in 2010 I hadn’t actually finished a novel. Yeah, there was that pregnancy thing that accounted for nine months. But about three weeks after the baby girl was born, I started Rock Revival to my own surprise. I mean, I had other books to write. Speculative books. Good books, surely! Yet, for whatever reason, it’s the story that wanted to be told first (in spite of my attempts to write other things).

I’ve had to change the entire way I write. Much in the same way I can’t play guitar, I can’t just sit at a computer or a laptop. All those great writing tips for busy folk and moms and whatnot? Yeah, not much help. I can’t take my writing somewhere else; I can’t write by hand. I can dictate some, but I’m still learning how to do that. And since my surgery, I hadn’t been able to adapt that into any personal longterm projects.

So for this book, I had to retrain myself how to write. Now it’s not about numbers, it’s about endurance. And, at last, I’ve figured it out. In some ways it’s really the NaNoWriMo approach. I try to clock 200 words a day, on the short end (the “no-matter-what-is-happening-do-or-die” number) and 1,000 on regular days. And now, four months later, I have a book. No to say I was perfect every step of the way, because I wasn’t; but all in all it was pretty damned successful.

The book ended up a little more than 70K, but it’s already up to 72K after deleting and rewriting a bunch over the weekend. I tend to do a Draft Zero Re-read immediately after finishing, and it helps me tie the end to the beginning more solidly. I had a lot of epiphanies toward the end of the book and it’s bee really satisfying to go in and tidy things. There’s one scene I’m dreading writing because it’s really rough but essential to the story. Then, once I’m finished with the DZR I’ll be putting everything into Pages and doing a major edit. Then comes more writing, filling in the blanks–interviews, Wikipedia articles, Tweet exchanges. Seriously fun.

But that’s not all. I mean, I see now how important this book has been to me, personally. Not only did it help me prove something to myself that I’d been living in fear about (not being able to do this again) but it helped me remember something that I’d been neglecting a while: my love of music. For a long time my dream was to be a singer/songwriter. It was an encompassing dream that I gave up only when life got too busy and I said things like, “It’s too competitive” and “Who has time?” Not that I’ve ever stopped playing music, but it became a monthly thing rather than a daily thing.

These days, I’ve been steeped in music. I even wrote a song for the book, the first I’ve written in almost five years. And it’s even good. I’m not saying I’m changing courses to become a rock star, but I am recognizing that it’s a much bigger part of me than I’d let on for a while. I played my dad’s Gibson 339 this weekend, through an honest to goodness amplifier, and hot-damn if it didn’t feel amazing.

This has never, to my knowledge, happened before. A book has never given me something so lasting and profound in return. And I’m grateful for that.

Anyway. The baby is asleep and there’s a thousand things I need to do before picking up my son, but I wanted to take a minute and smile and pat myself on the back. That elation will only last as long as that big red edit marker lays dormant. I’ll be singing a different tune in a few weeks, perhaps.

Interview with Jesse McLaren, rock journalist:

Tell us about your relationship with Tom. How did it shape your music?
Kate Styx: There’s not much to say that hasn’t already been said. I mean, I’m pretty transparent in what I write, and you don’t have to listen to much of our catalogue to hear what I have to say on the matter. I don’t usually talk too much about it, y’know? To me, it’s a short story. We were together a while, it didn’t work out, but we’ve both moved on. He’s a dear friend, one of the best things in my life.

You’ve said that “Lost and Loving” best reflects your relationship. Why is that?
KS: (laughs) I was really mad when I wrote that. We’d just broken up for good, and he was so calm about the whole damned thing. Me? I was a mess. But that song just sort of fell in my lap one night when I was feeling really stupidly sorry for myself. I had a working demo in two hours and woke James up at 4am to get his take on it. He loved it, tweaked it a bit, and we laid down the track two weeks later. Tom really is like a river, as hackneyed as that reference might be. I could tell he was sorry we’d broken up, but he just kept moving on. I wasn’t so good at it. I don’t like to talk too many details, but I still feel that same way in the song. I probably always will.

That was your second number one hit. Do you feel strange having to revisit that raw emotion every time you play live?
KS: After a while, it just becomes a song. Sure, I bet if we broke up and didn’t play for twenty years and got together again, it’d have some meaning again. You know, like the way Stevie Nicks and Lindsay Buckingham did with “The Chain” during their reunion special. The air is charged, man. The way they look at each other. I think that’s part of going through something like this with someone and then having to continue working with them. Time is weird. Distance is important. Perspective changes. But I don’t think you ever stop loving someone entirely. You share something special with them. The first few times we played the song live we had to rewrite the background vocals for Kurt so he could sing them. I couldn’t manage it. But now I don’t really think about it.

You famously ousted Sara Plummer and brought aboard your childhood friend Kurt Bastian to replace her. There’s been a lot of speculation about that. Care to set the record straight?
KS: There’s nothing to be set straight. Listen, all my music life I’ve been collaborating with bassists. Before Sara, there was Kurt. When Sara left—and she did leave—I needed someone I could trust, musically and personally. Kurt’s been playing music all his life, and he’s solid. After all the drama of the last few years we really wanted someone strong to root us through the last album and tour. It wasn’t a hard decision to make. But he’s with us for the long haul, and we’re excited to see where we go.

He’s said some unflattering things about James Vayne in the press. How do you respond to that as his friend?
KS: [pauses to think] Listen, I’m not here to gossip about my bandmates or apologize for what they say or pick apart their motivations. They are who they are. No, we don’t always get along. Yes, sometimes we say stuff we don’t mean. But in the end, it’s the music that matters. And right now, we’re as good as we’ve been in years. Ever, really. I think our earlier dysfunction was keeping us from our potential, and now we’ve moved on and we’re making progress. We’re growing.

Tell us something about the new album.
KS: Well, we’re taking a much slower pace, for one. The first three were sort of done at the speed of light. We had crazy schedules and all these big early successes. Not to say we’re not thankful for the fans or the support, but it’s been taxing on all of us. So we wanted to really take the time with this album this time around to do something that takes us back to our roots. I’m really happy with where we’re at right now.

Have the Revivals settled down? You and your bandmate Tom have made some intriguing headlines in the past, especially Tom’s battle with drugs. 
KS: Tom’s doing better. He really is. I’ve had my wild moments, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. It is rock and roll, after all.

Words are flowing out like endless rain inside a paper cup

Image by Natania Barron. Ben Folds Five – Live in Cary. CC BY SA 2.0

Fall is here. This makes me happy giddy in a thousand ways since it’s my favorite time of year, and here in the South we’re getting a final respite from a very humid summer. “They” (as my mom says) are calling for a cold winter. And by cold winter, that probably means it’ll snow once. Or maybe twice. And we will dub it the Frostocalypse.

But I have been doing lots of fall stuff, including harvesting persimmons from two trees on our property (and amusing my son by climbing a ladder) and making exactly one jar of persimmon jam.

Exactly one jar.

I have been meaning to work on The Wind Through the Wheat, but my brain and the characters in Rock Revival are telling me otherwise. While I initially had plans to finish this at the end of August, it now seems highly probable that it will be finished at the end of September. It’s been so long since a book took hold of me that I figure I need to pay attention. It’s never happened with non speculative fiction, and as a result every time I get in the car and listen to music I’m getting new ideas about the next scene and strings of dialogue just start running through my brain. I fall asleep thinking of hot lights and chord changes. It’s pretty amazing and wonderful.

At the moment we’re in the lull before the end. The band has just played their first live gig in more than a year, and Kate is still trying to figure herself out and how to live without drinking everything away. I started this book thinking about religion and rock, but it’s become a lot more about addiction and rock. It’s more a “revival” in that, well, Kate nearly dies. The band nearly dies. Two of the principle characters are raging addicts, and that really puts a whole different spin on the central themes of the book.

The live show is a disaster, from Kate’s eyes anyway. She has no musical chemistry with their temporary bass player, and she’s got zero confidence (and really, very little of an idea as to how to perform while totally sober). This rough bit is sort of at the heart of what Kate’s journey is about. Finding herself, expressing herself, like a normal person, instead of running away:

For years I thought I’d only cried when I was angry. But then I realized that, when I was drinking, I basically boozed it up instead of let myself feel sad. Or boozed up while feeling sad. See: nearly dying a few months back.

And you know what? It felt strangely cathartic when I was done crying. The night had not gone well. We were off to an inauspicious start. But we’d failed, and I’d felt it. I hadn’t numbed it away, I’d let it just happen. No one came to rescue me, but the cold drizzle did enough to wake me up and remind me that I’m not the only one in the band with problems, nor the only one who screwed up the chords and forgot to sing.

Now, personally, I’m not an alcoholic. And really, it’s only by virtue of missing out on genetic Russian roulette, because both sides of my family have their share of them. My  mother’s brother even took his life after struggling for decades. I’m acquainted with the power it has over people, how it can utterly change them. And this book–since it’s told in Kate’s voice–has a lot to do with her exploration of the world outside of her own addiction, trying to find out exactly who she is now that alcohol isn’t always in the mix.

As a writer, writing a first-person, I’ve done a lot of thinking. Musicians do write their memoirs. But this isn’t a memoir. It’s not about setting the record (pun intended) straight. For Kate, it’s the act of telling her story that’s important. It’s putting  it down in something more lyrics, to piece it together. She’s a writer, too, but she’s different than I am. I’m obsessed with the role of women in rock and roll and she doesn’t care. I’m generally a warm, inviting, friendly person; she’s extremely guarded and hesitant. She’s not a very reliable narrator sometimes because, even though this is written after the fact, she’s struggling to make a story out of her life. And I think that’s one of the challenges I’m  having as a writer. Sure, it’s a contrived plot. But writing this as something written by a “real” person, I don’t want to force plot points into submission. I just want to tell her story. Which, by extension, keeps going well after the book is over. But I also realize that as the storyteller I need to maintain certain narrative expectations.

Anyway! If you’re curious, I’ve been building the playlist for the book, and I’m up to over 450 songs. If you’re at all intrigued as to what’s been playing a lot around here lately, take a listen. I swear, the book’s written between the notes.

I’m working on another post about bassists brought on by watching Ben Folds Five last weekend in Cary (see the photo at the top) and remembering (and hearing) just how amazing Robert Sledge is. Bassists are a big theme in this book, and I think it’s probably the most overlooked instrument in any given rock band. But it can really make or break the success of a group, and really can define (like in Ben Folds Five) a certain sound that can’t be replicated (like on Ben’s solo stuff).

“You and your bass players,” James said as we left the practice space the studio provided the night before the Roundhouse show.

We were walking the rainy winter streets, and in spite of the copious holiday decorations draped over every possible surface, it still felt cold and lonely out there. Especially leaving the warm comfort of a well-rehearsed set.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked.

James laughed into his scarf, elbowing me. “You think you’re a gentle instructor, but really you’re a pop music dictator.”

“Am not.”

“Did you see Azir’s face? Love, you treat him like he’s six.”

“He was being sloppy.”

I had to defend myself, but I knew James was right. The problem with Azir was that he wasn’t Sara and he wasn’t Kurt, and as much as I hated to admit it, I missed both of them tremendously. Neither of them required much in the way of schooling when it came to getting the music right. As it was, constantly hearing the wrong notes from the current bassist made focusing on my own playing really difficult. I had sort of snapped at one point and told him I’d just sample the right bassline and play it on the synthesizer if he couldn’t get himself together.

I may have been a little bit of an asshole.

Rock Revival:

In the trenches between pain and progress.

Image by Natania Barron, CC BY SA 2.0

So. This is me trying out the new dictation for Mountain Lion. Why am I dictating? That’s a good question. You see, I had a lot of fun in prose. Too much fun.

It’s definitely a mixed bag. I’m really excited to be writing again, but it’s been difficult. Just when I started getting in the groove my hands gave out. Thankfully there is such a thing as dictation software. But it’s far from perfect. It isn’t so bad that writing has come to a complete stop, but it’s enough that when it comes to things like blog posts, I figure it’s probably worth it to save the fingers (and wrists, shoulders, neck, etc.). Not to mention dictation is notoriously bad with fiction, especially anything remotely speculative.

Anyway, on the writing front things are going pretty great. I can’t really complain that there’s any kind of  imaginative drought like I experienced after I finished the last novel in 2010. Yes, for those of you following along at home, that’s two years ago. I have a list of excuses a mile long, including full-time work, children, pregnancy. But the fact of the matter is: it was too hard. It’s not that I wasn’t writing at all, because I have been. It’s just that fiction wasn’t happening.

Work was a big reason. I eluded to it on the last post, but the big life decision that I made last week was regarding a possible job. I had a really great opportunity to take a professional, high-paying position, but it was something that I knew would take up a large amount of my time. My last job really left no room for writing and minimal time with my family. And right now, my kids (particularly the boy) need me. The stress of the last job, along with being the single breadwinner for much of the last two years, really put a dent in my imagination. At a point, it’s just about money. And that isn’t a good enough reason to change your life. Again.

So, in a way, it’s really good to be back. I have about 60,000 words written in last few months alone, almost 8,000 in the last few days. Most has been written in what I call “the fringes”. Trust me, it’s not like time comes in battalions these days. I just write whenever the hell I can find time, which is usually snippets in the morning and late night. I have two kids. I keep house. I wash lots of diapers. Some days I don’t even get to shower, let alone to “schedule” me time. At very least I’ve committed to 200 words a day for the low threshold and, ideally, 1,000. And it’s been working really well, and goes to show that the drought earlier had nothing to do with time and, in theory anyway, brain space. Or lack thereof.

Anyway, this progress rocks. But after writing about 5,000 of them the other day, I realized something. The pain makes me afraid. It’s hard to exactly explain. The thing is, what I love doing most in the world causes me pain. Physically. No matter how you look at it, that’s depressing. In spite of my best efforts, including surgery and massage and vitamins and ergonomics, the pain is just something I have to live with. And that’s really challenging. I don’t want to admit defeat. I want to be strong, I want to be able to write until I fall asleep with my head on the keyboard. I’ve already had to give up playing guitar, and that’s felt like a huge sacrifice. Anything more seems kind of hard to swallow.

But people have it far worse than I. And I need to stop complaining and feeling sorry for myself.

Finishing Indigo & Ink was really a big deal for me, even if it ushered in a period of the doldrums. I was plagued with some of the worst pain in my life during that time. But I kept writing. Even when it prevented me from sleeping. It’s no surprise that one of the main characters is tortured! I really felt like that. But sometimes when you get in that fever pitch during the writing process, stopping feels impossible. And I fizzled for a while. I can’t let that happen again. Slow and steady… that’s my mantra.

So I guess this post is kind of meandering. I’m still wrapping my head around dictation again. But the gist of it all is that I am elated that the writing is happening, but frustrated that it’s not as fast as I like it. I will say this: never take for granted your time or your health.

And one more thing. Writing advice is well and good, but the truth is that you’ll find what works for you. When I first started writing my blog was chock-full of how-to pieces. Maybe I helped some people, I don’t know. But really I was just talking out loud. When it comes down to it, no one can tell you how to write. Everyone’s life is different. Everyone’s imagination is different. Thankfully.

The truth is there’s only one rule: write. And then write more. Lather, rinse, repeat. Even if it’s 10 words a day. Even if it just describes the view outside your window. If you want to be a writer, if you want to get published, you just have to write.

Escapism of all stripes

The view of the Lucky Strike tower, Durham, NC – Photo by Natania Barron, CC BY SA 2.0

It’s been a busy weekend here in our household, with my husband away at the Escapist Expo most of the time, and me wrangling the babies. I did have a panel there yesterday on geek parenting, and it went rather well–a great audience and, as usual, more questions than we had time to answer. The Expo is really impressive for a first-year con (reminds me of ConTemporal that way) and I’m super excited that it’s right around the corner! This area of the world is quickly becoming home to some fun geek conventions, and I highly approve.

Anyway, once the kids have been in bed I’ve used the time for writing because, well, let’s face it: it’s escapism, I’ve been incredibly stressed, and I need to get back in the groove. Not to sound selfish or anything, but sometimes one’s own endeavors have to take precedence (especially, I may add, when one’s state of pregnancy last year pretty much eradicated any fiction creation to speak of). Especially considering this week which was full of OMGHUGELIFECHANGINGDECISIONS.

Rock Revival is once again shoving its way to the forefront–so instead of fighting the tide I decided (partially since it’s moving so fast anyway) that I’d move The Wind Through the Wheat aside for a few days until I get through the next few scenes in the full novel. I’ve been listening to a ton of music lately (primarily Mumford & Sons and Starsailor) and it’s just been impossible to put Rock Revival aside. Driving around with the music going and the novel starts writing itself in my head, and since I’m a terrible outliner I know if I don’t write it down immediately I’ll lose it. Which is the short way of saying that between the hours of 10pm and 1am, I’ve been typing furiously away at the keyboard.

A few cool things. Since relocating the band to the UK, I’ve been able to explore a few of the places I visited while I was there and learn new fun tidbits. The last scene I wrote took place at The Thekla, a rock club that’s on a boat in Bristol Harbor. I mean, I just happened to be Googling rock clubs in Bristol (since I know the music scene there is generally considered quite cool) and like the sound of the name and, behold! What an amazing setting. Not to mention that I made Tom’s house in Kent an oast house which has been converted into a home and studio. Until two days ago I had no idea what an oast house was, let alone that it would prove so perfect. I found it, literally, by “walking” around Lamberhurst, Kent, in Google Maps (my dad lived there briefly as a kid and my family visited in 2000, staying at the Chequers Inn and walking to Scotney Castle on foot–one of the most amazing days in my life) and noticing an old house with odd architecture called something or other “oast”.

Anyway, the fun of writing a place you know (and, I should add, desperately want to visit again) definitely helps lift through the mid-to-late book slog. The drama of the book is mostly over, and all that remain in the band’s original lineup are Kate, Tom, and James. Yes, this book is about a band breaking up. But it’s about more than that, too. I’m sort of hitting the blaze before the fall as the meteorite crashes through the atmosphere. It’s going to be great for a while, the band will go on tour, the album will sell, but then… well, things will change.

Today we’re heading back to the convention–I almost sold out of Pilgrim of the Sky books at the Bull Spec table, so that was exiting. I also had a great time chatting with local author JL Hilton about everything industry, bookish, and girly (in a good way).

Anyway, here’s a sizeable chunk of the Lamberhurst stuff in draft mode, followed by the word count.

We drove along the windy, hedge-high roads and through Lamberhurst itself—charming brick houses stacked along the side of the road with their squat little chimneys—before taking a sharp turn down a dirt road. It was horrifically bumpy, and just the thing for my motion sickness to start kicking in. We drove about half a mile before I noticed the house in the distance. It was about as typical as you could imagine, white washed and sprinkled with ivy and chimneys and roses. Except there were three conical parts to it that I couldn’t quite make sense of, painted white and black at the top. Not quite a castle, not quite a farm. Something else?

There was a Bentley in the driveway, which had to be James’s, and some kids playing games with sticks in the adjacent field. I noticed some outbuildings, too, with other, smaller, practical British cars, and wondered if there was an actual staff. Not that the house looked big enough to accommodate it, but I sort of figured it might be the way Tom had structured things.

And someone did meet me at the car. He was in his seventies, or so, with a cap and t-shirt and dirty jeans, sprigs of curly white hair over his sizable ears.

“And you’re Kate,” he said, laughing. He peered around me and into the car. “And here I was expecting someone else along with you. The other lad.”

“Kurt,” I said, for some reason looking into the car after him, as if somehow Kurt would still be there. I cleared my throat, trying to stifle the emotions rising up. The house, the air, the birdsongs, it was all a little much. In the distance, the sun was starting its descent, and the tall grasses behind the house were dancing in the breeze. Seriously, you can’t make this shit up.

I realized I hadn’t answered the man’s question. “I mean, Kurt went back to London. He’s… got another gig.”

The man nodded. “Oh! And my manners. But I’m Mr. Chesley. Tom’s dad, as it were.”

Of course it was Tom’s dad.

“Glad to finally meet you,” I said, being as polite as possible. Tom really hadn’t spoken to me much about his parents in the years we’d known each other, but I certainly had never expected this veritable hobbit of a man. It was then that I noticed that Mr. Chesley’s old t-shirt was, in fact, a Revivals tour shirt from 2004. Our first tour together. It was so faded that it was almost impossible to tell, but you could still see the second half of our name and the triangle logo.

“Well, let me show you ‘round. The boys are locked up good and well, and I’m sure you’ll be wanting to join them soon enough.”

I followed him into the house, which had to be hundreds of years old by the look of it, and it smelled like cider and sawdust. The renovations were extensive; I mean you could just tell by a glance that things were new, it’s just that they kept with the old style. I wasn’t sure how much of a hand Tom had in it, since this was a place in his family and all, but the outcome was pretty spectacular. White walls, dark wood, a smattering of antiques, posters, statues. It wasn’t the cluttered coziness of James, that’s for sure. Almost like a museum, or a house out of some architectural digest (which, I think was actually in an issue a few months later).

“What kind of house is this?” I asked Mr. Chesley as he took me down a narrow hallway.

He looked over his shoulder and said something that sounded like “oats” and, not wanting to sound stupid, I just nodded and laughed as if I knew exactly what he was talking about.

“This is yours,” he said, opening a heavy latched door and gesturing inside.

Apparently, my room was in one of the cones. So, basically, I had a ceiling that went up like forty or fifty feet. The walls were white painted brick and crisscrossed with thick wooden beams. In the middle of the room was a bed with blue linens, simple and elegant. There was an upright piano, a guitar, and a bookcase fit to bursting with books. Plus, a writing desk and some chests of drawers. The floor was sealed concrete, a sort of brownish gray, and carpeted toward the middle of the room with a rustic yellow knotted rug. I’ve never been a decorator or cared much one way or another how a room looks, but it was impressive, nonetheless.

I went over to the bed and smoothed my hands across the bedspread. There was a note, scrawled in Tom’s childish script: “Make sweet music, Cakes!”

“Been in the family for a long time, but none of us has ever had the time or the money to do much about it. When Tom told me he was thinking of turning it into a live-in studio, and that he’d be coming back home for a bit, well…” he trailed off, clearing his throat.

“It’s amazing,” I said.

Rock Revival:

Burning down the house. Again.

Image by FEMA – public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

If you’ve been following this blog for any amount of time, you may notice that I occasionally redecorate. Well, I did it again. The last template was okay, but I wanted something cleaner that had a similar look without the clutter. I’m happy where it is, now! It’s not finished completely, as I’m working on a nice custom header graphic and whatnot. But the layout works, the fonts make me happy (which is a big deal) and… I even changed the blog’s tagline. It’d been a long time coming, and I wanted something that represented the multitude of things I write and post about. So, voila!

Writing has been slower, due in no small part to raising a baby and a very challenging six year old (you can read a little about what we’ve been going through here). I’m still not entirely back into the groove, but thankfully I had a few hours to myself yesterday in which I actually cleaned up my office space to allow for sitting. Even though I share the office with the baby now, it’s still as close to a place of my own that I’m going to get (she says typing as quietly as possible while the baby naps).

I’ve been writing in Rock Revival rather dutifully, and I’m proud of where I’ve gotten — while I wanted to be done (*insert maniacal laughter track*) by now, I realize that’s not possible. And that’s… deep breath… okay. I’ve got a novella to write which, potentially, could actually generate revenue and it’s a nice trip back into the world of the speculative. Also a nice trip back into the world of The Aldersgate which, hasn’t been traditionally published, was really the book/project that got me a foothold into all this to begin with. The novella is a prequel, taking place fifteen years before, give or take, before. There are a few familiar faces, but the majority of the novella follows Robin Creekwise, the diminutive inventor otherwise known as the Professor, and how exactly she got herself excommunicated from Queensland to Vell, a backwoods town in the middle of the Territories. It also tells the story of Queen Maelys and Kaythra Bav, and how their love and subsequent hatred tore things apart both politically and theologically. Tentatively it’s called The Wind Through the Wheat.

Anyway… Rock Revival currently stands at 37,000 — just under the halfway point. The band has boarded a plane for Kent, and they’ll be finishing up the album there. It feels like a natural place to pause while I work on this other project, and I’ll pick it back up in November.

Other things? It’s almost autumn, and I could not be happier about that. Yesterday I made pumpkin flax bread which, for my sister and I, is as close to summoning up the spirits of the season as can be. Filling the house with the scents of cinnamon and ginger and nutmeg? Yeah, it makes me want to dance around in a field of crisp leaves or something.

Rock Revival:

The Wind Through the Wheat:

The Middle Eight Manifesto or; Behold! The Secret to Writing!

Photo: Natania Barron, NC Botanical Gardens

Well, I’ve reached the middle eight. Almost. At least, I’m cruising just about to the 30K mark, a little more than a third of the way through Rock Revival. Musically speaking that might be where I put a bridge. Or a pre-chorus. Or something interesting. Certainly we’ve established the verse and chorus, and now we’re shaking things up.

And hoo-boy are we. It’s been so long since I’ve been this deep in a novel (I did the math; it’s been over two years, between day jobbery, health issues, and pregnancy…) that I’ve absolutely forgotten how characters can throw you for a loop. I had this planned, damnit. WTF?!

Maybe part of me really thought the magic was only apparent in speculative-flavored books, because this last scene (written about 12 hours ago, during the wee hours of the morning) really threw me a punch in the gut. You’d think a first-person narrative wouldn’t be so unpredictable, but you’d be wrong. Kate just took me down an alley I didn’t anticipate going down, and it’s horrible and wonderful and perfect for where the book is going.

So as far as fiction writing is going for me? Happy days are here again. Glad to report, this lady’s got her groove back. Quite literally. I even started putting those lyrics from yesterday to music! I’m basically squeezing every moment of time possible for myself between diaper changes, errands, cooking dinner, and loads and loads of laundry. Yes, that’s me. Covered in spit up and wearing pajamas for most of the day. Glamour!

Anyway, after talking a bit last night with Paul Jessup, a writer who’s been a friend since I started going on the Internet and referring to myself as an author, I decided I wanted to offer a few words of wisdom about becoming a successful writer.

So I wrote a little manifesto. I’m indebted to a few for this, because not all this is new (in particular Jeff VanderMeer’s Booklife and Stephen King’s On Writing). These are just the things that I’ve learned that are helpful especially for newer writers.

1.) There is only one secret to writing. And that is writing the best book you can possibly write.

2.) Writing well for you is not the same as writing well for others. Learn to figure out what it is that you write, and why it’s important to write it. Know your strengths and weaknesses. You’ll never be perfect, but awareness is the key to growth.

3.) No how-to book can teach you how to write. The only way to write is to read. And then write. Then read more. And more. And write more. Ad nauseum. You have to be in love with words and stories and characters and process. You have to be prepared to be alone, to sit up late at night and stay in love.

4.) Don’t follow agents and publishers on Twitter/Facebook/whatever until you’re ready AND until your book is ready. In some cases, I’d say to steer clear in general unless you know them personally. While their insight is helpful, I’ve seen it be more of a hindrance than a help for most writers who are too tempted to submit (unprepared) manuscripts in the face of all that social media influence. Not to mention, it’s a distraction you don’t need when writing. (After spending the better part of the last two years unconnected to the writing Twitter feeds, I’ve got to say there’s a lot less noise in my head; I keep it limited to my friends now, and very few industry folk. You can’t let the floodgates in, you’ll drown.)

5.) If you think you’re book is ready, it’s probably not. Edit it again. Share it with more friends. Leave it in a desk for a year. Let it cure. Like good bacon.

6.) Don’t even think about writing a query if your book isn’t ready. (Also, don’t even think about pitching/pestering/following/paying attention to agents/authors/publishers, either.)

7.) Make friends who are writers. Make them diverse, across genres, backgrounds, experiences, genders. Learn from them. Be kind to them. They will lift you up, connect you, support you when you need them most. Those relationships will help build your (and their) career.

8.) Don’t measure your success by your friends’ successes. Your career isn’t theirs. Keep going. While you’re at it: Focus on your own goals, and makes sure they’re realistic.

9.) Throw out your definition of success and think of a better one. It’s never what you think it is.

10.) Grow a thick skin.

11.) Grow a thicker skin. Everyone gets bad reviews. People will inevitably, somewhere along the way, hate your book. They might even hate you. If you’re not ready to face that, you’ll crumble. You’re allowed a meltdown now and again (I can speak to experience on this one) but you need to learn to bounce back, and remember that you’re a writer and you are putting yourself and your work out there because it needs to be shared.

12.) Be kind. Many writers don’t have 10 & 11, and never do. Also many writers are not kind or nice in any way. And they might be successful. Still, don’t burn bridges with reviews/commentary/criticism unless you’re prepared.

13.) Go to conventions as an attendee, then as a guest. Repeat.

14.) Enthusiasm is required. However, understand that there is such a thing as too much PR/self-promotion/spam. People will stop listening if you flood the channels.

15.) There is no easy way out. There is only one secret to writing. And that is writing the best book you can possibly write. 

A few notes. Personally, I’ve struggled with 10 & 11. I’m really bad at getting back up on the horse following rejections. Even nicer ones. Part of my problem is that I’m a very non-competitive person, and it’s honestly easier to be inactive than to get rejections. Once this current book is at Draft Zero, I’m going to be evaluating the current trunk full of novels I’ve given up on.

And listen, social media is great. I’ve made some of the best connections through it. But it’s become a mire. Half the people who follow me are self-publishing zealots spamming their feeds with their books (on sale for .99!). I mean, props to them. They’re making this a business. But their approach is not my approach. Yes, miracles do happen. Unexpected books break free and find huge popularity. But popularity isn’t success. Not for me. My biggest moment of success? Getting an awesome Library Journal review for Pilgrim of the Sky. Quite literally, I’ve never felt so downright euphoric in my writing career, ever. I was sitting in the car at a supermarket in Boone, NC, about to leave cell service territory, when I got the email from Kate at Candlemark, and I had to read it over twenty times and I couldn’t stop giggling. That made all the work feel so worthwhile.

And sure, most agents and publishers are well meaning. I don’t know. I don’t know their motives personally. But a lot of them come across as if they’re on power trips or use social media as their personal griping boards. Sure, it’s nice to know what agents are looking for. But you shouldn’t write for them. They are not your audience. They’re the gatekeepers, in some instances (though less and less so as the face of publishing is changing so quickly). And just because you get an agent doesn’t mean you’re happier. Some of the saddest people I know are authors with representation who are still going nowhere.

The thing is, the industry can and will change at the drop of a hat. The only constant is you, the writer, the content creator. Which is why the secret/no-secret is in your hands.

So go write, already! The world’s waiting for your best.

As Graceless as a Three-Legged Baby Elephant

The lovely Martin guitar. Image: public domain

The title of the post comes from the last scene I worked on last night. Kate’s first night with Tom, as she falls out of bed with no memory of finally snagging the guy she’s been pining over for years. Ah, rock and roll.

So yes: writing continues apace! And with seven hours of sleep last night, not to mention a most fantastic wine discovery (the tannat grape is one of my new favorites, and ideal for sipping in the summer for those of us who really can’t deal well with white wines–I drank the unoaked Pueblo del Sol, 2009, and it runs only ten bucks… I want to buy a case it was so good) I’m in a rather delightful mood. I’ve been a big fan of South American wines for some time, and this was a big surprise for me (there are over 270 wineries in Uruguay, which was news to me; most of what I know about Uruguay has to do with the No Reservations episode with both Bourdain brothers in search of their lost family history). Also? The husband’s had some very good news on the job front, the kids are doing well, and aside from our eldest removing our youngest from her crib without our knowing, there have been no issues.

One thing I’m coming to realize, however, is that though I’ve managed to kick carpal tunnel’s ass when it comes to writing (due to a combination of surgery, vitamin B6, and never EVER using a normal keyboard) it appears that playing guitar for any long amount of time just doesn’t agree with me. The problem lies in my left wrist, which has always been the poorer performer anyway. After two days of playing guitar, I found old symptoms returning last night (which were alleviated somewhat by that awesome tannat). Still, writing this book is putting me in an overwhelmingly musical mood, and so I’m contemplating finding a used digital piano so that I can compose a sort of soundtrack as I’m going along. The eldest is already showing proclivities for the keys, and I can comfortably say that having a piano in my house as a kid was one of the main factors in my picking up music to begin with. Between my birthday and payment for the GeekMom book, I’m figuring I owe myself a present. Also, I went through childbirth and brought a human being into the world. I owe myself a little something, I’d say.

Anyway, overall I’m pleased with where the book is going. Kate’s POV is really easy to slip into, and the more music I listen to the more things about this particular story come to the surface. I had my first totally rough writing patch, where I just wrote a scene to put it in there (even though I know that’s not the final scene) just to get through to the next section. But hey, that’s what editing is for. The book is told in a combination of the main narrative and the narrator’s memories, so there’s plenty of space to move back and forth to restructure later.

My favorite bit of what I’ve been working on follows, as Kate’s examining the one-year relationship she had with the lead singer of the band, Tom. As Kate puts it: The math is sad and simple: four years pining, one year in love and suffering intensely, and two years regretting every bit of it. 

I’ll always love Tom Chesley, and at this point I’m finally okay with that. It’s stupid to think that you can move on in life and just leave people behind, people who come to define you. And it’s worse for people like me and James, songwriters who fold our biggest hopes and fears right into the fabric of our vocation. It’s like tattooing the heartbreak on our souls, then being forced to show each other the scars every night on stage. Sure, sometimes it gets monotonous. At a point, songs become songs, and after you’ve played the tune seventeen nights in a row, it gets a bit watered down. But there still some nights when we’re playing “Lost and Loving” or “Midnight in London” when I look over at Tom, hearing him sing the words I wrote for him, that I get choked up.

Look, Ma! I’m Writing!

Fender Rhodes. Image: public domain

I had a post written up a few days ago that I never managed to get published. Which kinda sucks, except that I’ve increased my word count in a major happy way. I hit the 10K mark which, as I mentioned on Twitter, is really not reason to celebrate for some folks but, for me, considering the pregnant brain block and the fact that I have a four week old, is pretty damned awesome. I feel like my brain has been restored, and once again, I’m walking around with a book writing itself. It’s been a long time since that happened, and it’s reminding me just why I love writing so much.

That said, I’ve also had a little guilty twinge now and again that what I’m writing isn’t speculative fiction. I mean, that’s a stupid sentiment, I know. But I’m such a fan of spec fic that it feels really odd not incorporating fantastic elements somehow. Though, if you go back, music was my first passion before spec fic, before Tolkien. I picked up the guitar when I was 12. And there’s so much in this current book that’s cathartic for me, that expresses thoughts and experiences I’ve been carrying around with me for decades. There isn’t much in the book that happened to me, but the characters draw on things that I really went through.

The most fun part of writing is creating documentation. I’ve been reading interviews of my favorite artists and using that to integrate into the book. Faux interviews with an imagined band during a fictitious recording session. It’s no end of fun. Not to mention, Wikipedia articles and Rolling Stone interviews are great backstory, even if they’re entirely fabricated.

Plus, I’ve been singing and playing guitar again. To the point where my fingers hurt, reminding me of days in the recording studio when I had to slather SuperGlue on my fingers to prevent the skin from breaking through…

What’s working…
Like any good band story, it’s about relationships. The Kate –> Tom / James –> Sara relationship is becoming fantastically complicated. Kate, who’s telling the story, is not your average romantic lead. And I like that. That their stories play out in music, which they then perform, is pretty neat for the tension. I’m also digging the setting (Nashville, currently) as well as the friendship between Kurt and Kate. Their scenes tend to write themselves.

What’s not working so well…
So, there’s a drummer in the band named Paul. And so far, he might as well be wallpaper. The only thing I know about him so far is that he doesn’t live in Nashville with the rest of the band, but with his family in the DC area, but he’s about to arrive on the scene to do his sessions. He’s the only member of the band that has a family and is settled, and while the rest of the crew would rather that he hangs out with them more often, he’s been distancing himself from them. But I guess not every character has to be such a huge personality. I’ve got enough of that going already.

What’s coming up…
There’s some fun stuff coming up, including Tom’s crazy ex-wife Maeve, as well as a live gig that’s going to have Kate rethink the future for the first time in a while. Also, some songwriting that goes in a rather curious direction and a death in Kate’s family. We’ll also learn more about what exactly happened when the band kicked out Sara, and what she’s up to. Also, a trip to England.

Some first-draft excerpty goodness. It’s two weeks after Tom’s told the group he’s been born again, and Kate and Kurt are trying to get into the groove before they go back to the studio:

“… And it’s not just that she can’t sing,” he was saying as he pushed around his huevos rancheros. “It’s that the production level is pushed to the limits of digital intervention. I mean, at a point, why don’t we just let robots do all the singing? It’d be a hell of a lot more entertaining. It’s like Mr. Roboto taken to the next level. The musical singularity!”

“Not everyone has a Tom Chesley,” I pointed out, which was my usual defense. Just saying Tom’s name made me want to barf up breakfast. Every morning since his born again “event” I’d woken up, convinced he’s up to some elaborate prank.

Hi, denial phase. How’s it going? It’s me, Kate. Just wanted to let you know that you and I will be spending the next indeterminate amount of time together, hanging out, hashing out, you know, the usual.

The thing was, though, even with his newfound faith, it was getting harder to hate the new Tom. He was on time to the studio, his voice was consistently amazing, and he was actually involving himself in the recording process. Our last two albums had been strongarmed into submission by James and me, piecing together Tom’s takes with the magic of digital editing and a sincere hope that the label wouldn’t notice. Even sober, Tom was never the best in a recording environment. His voice was too big and wild. During his worst, drug-addled days, his live performances rarely missed. Once for “exhaustion” (read: near overdose) and twice for rehab-related issues. He was born to perform, and he rarely brought that energy to the studio.

Except now.

“And that’s the problem, isn’t it?” Kurt asked. “God. Remind me why I got into this mess?”

“Because Sara and James were going to kill each other, and I needed a bassist I could trust not to sleep around with the band.” I smiled when it said it. It had been two years since Sara had left, and while I missed performing with her every single day, having Kurt instead meant significantly less drama (if more complaining). “Also, the paycheck. Even if you did come after the big bang, you’re still doing better than you were in Atlanta.”

Kurt laughed. “Yeah, that’s a very attractive feature. But, well, between this Tom stuff and…” He sort of squinted at me, judging without words. “I don’t have to tell you that it’s cracking. You can feel it; hell, I can feel it, and I distance myself from everyone at all costs.”

“Except musically. You have no issues asserting yourself there, y’know. You’re a musical jackass.”

“It’s because I’m almost always right.” He gave me one of his brilliant smiles and hailed the waitress for more coffee.

Rock-a-Bye and Rock ‘n’ Roll

Tom Chaplin of Keane. Photo: Markus Unger via Flickr – (CC BY 2.0)

So! I had that baby I was talking about. Three weeks ago today, little Elodie graced us with her presence with the coaxing of medical intervention, past due at 42 weeks. In spite of my last horrid experience with Pitocin, this time went much better. After 12 hours of tolerable contractions followed by fifteen minutes of the worst torture of my ilfe, she entered the world in three pushes. (Missing deadlines early in life, I should add, likely means she’ll be a great writer.)

All in all, she’s a very agreeable little kid. The elder child is far more of a handful at this point; he makes up for his potty-training and ability to dress and clean himself with all sorts of fun challenges in his spirited way. The little peanut, on the other hand, is chill like her mom. It’s a blessing, to say the least.

It took a while for my brain to recalibrate, but for the most part I feel like I’ve returned to my default settings. Pregnancy, as I’ve made mention before, really does a number on your brain. It’s a sort of hormonal cocktail, and it really effects even the most basic thinking. Fiction writing just wasn’t an option, and after a few foiled attempts I finally gave in to what my body was telling me. It’s time for other stuff. My back porch is now a living attestation to that fact, as it’s filled with flowers and tomato plants.

In short, even though fiction didn’t happen much in the last year, I don’t consider it time wasted. Just life lived.

Anyway, the very good news is that I finally settled on what to write next. And it was as big of a surprise to me as anyone. While there are four novels in various states of progress staged on Scrivener (from magical realism to Edwardian drama to island fantasy), it’s another project that’s quite literally taken center stage. Tentatively titled Rock Revival (or… Revival or The Revival), it’s a novel that isn’t speculative in any way whatsoever. Instead, it’s fiction about another passion of mine: music. The whole book came crashing into my skull last week while I was listening to Keane’s new album, Strangeland (which is The Album I’ve Been Waiting For, you might say). All the characters showed up, the scenes were set. It’s breathtaking when that happens, and it had been so long that something happened to me creatively that way that I was dancing around with excitement.

Rock Revival is about two things: rock music and religion. In a very small nutshell, it’s a story about a successful band called The Revival (think a cross between Fleetwood Mac and Keane) and what happens when one of them finds Jesus. The narrator of the story is their keyboard player, Kate Styx, who’s the only remaining female member of the band. Kate is sarcastic and dark humored with a tendency to drink too much and loving too fiercely. She comes from Georgia, her birth name being Katherine-Anne Marshall Mendenhall, and her relationship with religion (and her father and band) comes to a head when Tom Chesley, the lead singer, becomes born again. Other characters include James Vayne, the guitarist and Kate’s co-songwriter; Paul Morningstar, the drummer and “quiet one”; and Kurt Bastian, the flamboyant bass player and Kate’s best friend since college.

Particularly fun is the fact that I’m interspersing the story with clippings of interviews and articles about the fictional band. This sort of writing, my friends, is no end of fun to write.

To be clear. It’s not intended to be a book that rails against faith. Faith is merely the catalyst for the action. I wanted to examine the relationship between music and religion, and the interplay of faith and friendship in a band setting. For those who don’t know, in my first life I wanted to be a singer/songwriter. Until college, that was the dream. In high school I was in a number of bands, Christian and secular, and spent many weekends playing live and writing songs (thanks to my dad, you can even listen to a track of mine I wrote when I was fifteen and recorded when I was seventeen or so...). Not to mention, I grew up Evangelical. Writing what you know? Yeah, pretty much.

But rock and roll is rooted in blues and gospel music, so even from a music theory standpoint there’s a certain interrelatedness there that can’t be avoided. The book isn’t about whether faith is wrong or right, it’s about how people change and how their changes impact the world they’ve built around them.

I don’t anticipate the book being horribly long. Probably in the 70K range. So far it’s moving very fast (at least I’m a few scenes ahead of the writing in my head — but life with a newborn and lots of goings on doesn’t make for a ton of writing time). So there’s no wizards or dragons or spaceships. That’s okay. Writing this reminds me of why music mattered so damned much to me, how hearing Led Zeppelin II changed my life, why August and Everything After feels like it’ll never leave me. It’s a reminder of how important music is, and what it’s like to create something with other people.

Well. That’s that. To make the kickoff official, I’m going to be logging my words. Accountability and all that jazz.