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Becoming an atheist of the muse.
That’s it. I’m over it. I don’t believe in muses anymore. I’m sorry. Does that sound harsh? I know, we have such romantic notions about muses, how they lovingly whisper inspiration and buoy us along with creative power. But in the end, they’re just not worth the trouble. And you know what? They’re fickle, they’re never there when you want them to be, and you really can’t base a career on them. You’re silly to think that you can become a writer by relying on some magic alchemy. It’s not alchemy. It’s just work. That’s all there is. And sometimes, the work comes easy. But let’s face it: it’s you…
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Gatehouse Gazette #8, with Dr. Adderson’s Lens
Gatehouse Gazette #8 is out and, even more exciting than usual, contains my story, “Dr. Adderson’s Lens”. This little story was originally slated for a place in The Willows Magazine, but we all know how that ended. I don’t write short stories that often, but I really liked this weird little piece. I contacted the folks at the Gazette about the tale and they liked it enough to put it in their next issue! I’ve always loved the Gazette–as well as their fabulous forum and site–and it’s definitely exciting to be a part of it. It’s always nice to have a story find a home. This is also the Halloween…
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Where I’ve been all week
Well, hello again. A week has passed. And what a week it’s been. Last Monday’s post resulted in the formation of an entire organization: The Outer Alliance. Suffice it to say, that’s kept me quite busy. Coupled with a huge freelance (entirely non-creative) project, my brain’s a little on the fried side. Tripled with that, my husband and child and I accidentally took a two hour tour yesterday; our “little hike” ended up being an up-the-side-of-the-mountain-with-three-year-old-on-back kind of thing. My body is mad at me, I think… I worked on a piece that’s owed, which is an amusing concept to me. A short story. I have a very odd relationship…
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A SF/F writers LGBT alliance group?
I’m not going to talk about what happened this week. But I am going to talk about what should happen, and what needs to happen. Immediately after reading the rant by said individual, I went on a search. I wanted to find a group of SF/F writers, from all walks of life, who support LGBT issues, particularly in SF/F literature, and join up. I didn’t think this would be hard to find, and assumed that there was some magic place for support, celebration and the furthering of such material within the community already. I was surprised not to find anything. And it occurred to me that if we’re actually going…
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It’s not about the destination, it’s about the… lemurs?
(Warning: a late-night caffeine-infused post-word-binge rant.) I’ve had friends tell me that their favorite part about fantasy literature is the journey. The part when the characters are tromping through the forest, drinking from waterskins, gnawing on jerky, and sitting around campfires telling stories. Yes, there is a certain amount of charm in that but, well, let me tell you something. I seriously hate writing it. At the moment, ironically, it is just where my characters are. While much of the first half of the book is, technically, a journey, this point is where the marshmallow toasting and night watches come in. It’s the build-up to the big end, the culmination,…
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Falling in (and out of) love with fantasy
Occasionally, I still have moments where I look at a scrap of dialogue or a descriptive phrase, and I feel a little self-conscious, writing what I’m writing. It’s fantasy, sure. It is epic? Sometimes. It is heroic? Yeah, a bit. Does it have magic and all that? Of course. Am I way hung up on defining it? Not really. Okay, maybe a little. But it’s also not a lot of things. There are no elves, dwarves or, really, even wizards. Magic is… ordered, in a way. Effectively I’ve written out a great deal of the things that define the genre for other people, and even for me. Sometimes I forget…
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So, that finally happened…
If you follow my Twitter feed, you’ll know I was on something of a writing binge this weekend. Every few months this happens. It’s like my own personal NaNoWriMo, where the book I’m writing takes on an absolutely powerful life of its own, and I’m kind of strung along. While it sounds kind of cool, and in some ways it is, it’s also quite exhausting. Usually, it means I can’t sleep, and every spare moment is at the MacBook, clacking away. Time slips, stars move, and I remain rooted to the keyboard. At any rate, after clocking just about 13K in a day and a half or so, my mind…
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Nothing to see here, move right along.
Yeah, haven’t been posting much. I just have this thing, see, where I like to be interesting when I post, and honestly, I don’t have a lot of interesting stuff to say at this particular juncture. I’ve started and stopped a handful of posts, and they all just feel rife with ‘eh’ to me. Having been blogging about writing for the better part of 18 months or so, I fear I’m repeating myself occasionally… I sincerely don’t mean for this to sound whiny. It’s not. It’s just sometimes, I think, people get quiet for a bit. I’m trying to focus on writing Peter of Windbourne right now, and even I…
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The words that linger… so you can laugh at them later
I used to have a rule: never throw away writing. For some reason, I believed that the writing of yesteryear was more important than just about anything else. So, if I dig through the boxes that still remain from college, high school, and elementary schools, what remains is lots and lots of writing. Last night I was stricken by a need to organize and to downsize, so I hauled two boxes down the attic stairs and rifled through a strange amalgam of stuff. I’d say it was half art and half writing. Most of the art was Tolkien-inspired. Lots, and lots, and lots… and lots of hobbits. And if it…
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The self-conscious fantasy epic.
This morning I read a piece in the Guardian called When the Lord of the Rings doesn’t cut it: Confessions of a fantasy junkie, and found it rather amusing. In particular this bit (which makes us all sound a bit like Gollum, I think): I understand the pain of the addict. At the turn of a page, weeks of total immersion in a fantasy world come to an end and mundane reality is waiting. Fantasy is epic because that is how we like it. But like any narcotic substance, fantasy operates on the law of diminishing returns. Once you’ve see a few dozen dragons, you’ve seen them all. The fantasy…
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Notes on the woman warrior, fantasy literature style
The first woman warrior I remember reading was Eowyn in The Lord of the Rings. That image of her standing before the Nazgul Witch-King, her sword brandished, her blond hair spilling down her shoulders and catching in the wind is probably one of the most vivid early memories I have of fantasy literature. And I remember feeling a swell of pride, too, that this woman had done something so remarkable in a world so dominated by men. Just the other day, my husband remarked to me how surprising it was that Tolkien chose to have Eowyn act so. On the surface it sure seems that way; she’s a rare spot…
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Glut, glut, glut.
I am trying to be candid here. I have too many words. Not counting finished drafts, I have somewhere around 230K of unfinished business. This is either work in process (currently I am writing two separate books) or words that need to be edited. This morning I thought I’d total it up, for reasons of amusement. But now? Looking at it I’ve got to wonder what the hell it is I’m getting at. This started when I got frustrated editing a first draft. Then I decided to do something else; which lead to something else… which means, ah, what the hell? Self: Stop this grumblefest. You need to look on…
