Fairy Revel

(As you can see if you’re here, this blog has moved to it’s new location at fairyrevel.com. Please update your bookmarks and newsfeeds. I’m excited to be at a domain that better reflects my creative spirit! I’ll be going through and cleaning out old links and other artifacts from the old location.)

Right now I’m sitting near a window on an overcast day, looking at a grey, melancholy sky, but my heart is an ocean away. Thinking of the destruction and suffering taking place in Japan, a place that for many years has been my heart’s desire, I’m hardly aware of what’s going on around me here. I’m working on things that need to be done, going ahead with my plans for the future, but I feel like my own life here has stopped, that I’m over there, but unable to reach out to help or to do any good. I keep thinking of familiar faces, wondering whether they or their families are okay, and of the lives and livelihoods lost in the earthquake and tsunami.

I don’t have the words yet to say too much about it, but I couldn’t let such a thing pass without making some kind of comment. Let it suffice to say that I am constantly watching the news, constantly praying, and still planning, with even more fervor, to get to Japan as soon as I possibly can.

If you are able, please donate to the Japan Earthquake and Tsunami Relief Fund at GlobalGiving.

There’s an excellent essay in Booklife called “Permission to Fail”, and in it, Jeff Vandermeer says,

To be great, we must attempt so much that we not only are in danger of forever failing, but that we do fail, and in the failure create something greater than if we had set our sights lower.

Whenever I’m working on a novel, I get a sinking feeling at some point, sometimes at multiple points. “This is too weird,” I think. “No one will like this character. This setting is too alien to me. This novel is way over my head.” The feeling of biting off way more than I can chew is familiar to me, and I usually end up putting the novel away. It’s a coward’s way out: “I’ll just work on something else for a while.”

Here, Vandermeer is giving me a different perspective on that feeling. Maybe that feeling of being in over my head is a good sign, a sign that my ideas are exactly the right ones to inspire me to write something dearer to my heart, which I believe is the real way to reach for literary greatness: write something that matters to you. He continues with a quote from J.T. Glover on Elizabeth Kostova’s The Historian and Susanna Clarke’s Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell:

‘Both were big, ambitious books, and from a fearful-of-failure standpoint horribly risky. What happens if you spend ten years on a novel, only to find it doesn’t work?’

All I could think of is how much Kostova and Clarke learned while writing those novels — how at times, for whole years, their lives must have revolved around work on their respective novels, and much of everything they did had some relationship to those novels. The risk factor is incredible, and yet even if those two books had never been published, I find it unlikely that either novelist would have said they’d failed. the failure would have come from never attempting what had appeared in their imaginations. The failure would have come from thinking what if I had tried?

Surely if I write something that’s frightening in its peculiarity, but that speaks to me on a deep level, it will speak to someone else, too. Even if it doesn’t, does it matter? By writing from my heart, I will have written the thing I needed to write, the thing that made me get up in the morning and throw myself into the work with abandon, and isn’t that better than writing a sure bestseller? How could I regret something like that?

The downside to this is that there’s every possibility that when you devote that much of yourself to a project, give everything you’ve got to it, there’s no way of knowing you’ll write more than one. When Vandermeer says, “You might be of a more cautious temperament than other writers so it might take you longer,” I feel a twinge of apprehension. On the other hand, is there a cost to planning a ten book series, in that you may rob Book One to pay Book Two, and so on down the line, never really reaching your full potential in any of them? Is perfection really the enemy of the good, or do you have to shoot for perfection to ever hit greatness?

I don’t know. While this advice gives me inspiration for those beloved projects that once seemed too big for me, the part of me that dreams of being a prolific working writer is skeptical. I don’t know what the results will be if I aim for a middle ground; my personal conviction is that everything in life has a cost, and the greatest rewards have the greatest cost.

I’m also reminded of a favorite quote of mine, by Annie Dillard:

One of the things I know about writing is this: spend it all, shoot it, play it, lose it, all, right away, every time. Do not hoard what seems good for a later place in the book or for another book; give it, give it all, give it now. The impulse to save something good for a better place later is the signal to spend it now. Something more will arise for later, something better.

Just got back from a trip to see a niece graduate. A fun time was had by all, but I’m glad to be back home.

Before I left, something happened (a relationship thing) that left me devastated . . . yet somehow rekindled the creative fire at the same time. It’s as if letting go of this situation cleared away the distractions and sharpened my vision. The decision to stop pining for him and create solely because I need to, instead of in preparation for a future too far away to see, gave me a sense of purpose I didn’t have before. I still have the Dream, it’s just put away for now. I imagine I’ll take it out from time to time, when it helps more than it hurts.

I picked up Foxglove again before I left, and made some breakthroughs that I think will really open the story up and take it into unexpected avenues. The process I’m experimenting with is working beautifully so far; I printed out what I had of the manuscript (about 100 pages), sat down with it and cut up everything into scenes, did notecards for each, and took notes on where the story was pointing, and where I wanted it to go. I’ve got some subplots in development, and my Sentence finally seemed to come together in a way that it hadn’t before. So it’s going extremely well. I can’t wait to get back to work on it!

Right now I’m reading Whose Body by Dorothy L. Sayers for The Classics Circuit: The Golden Age of Detective Fiction on Tour, and still working at The Iliad. There’s something pleasant about reading it, even if it’s not exactly a book I’d choose to snuggle up with.

I’ve been working on some reviews, and once again I’m coming up that question I struggle with every so often: Is it really appropriate for a writer to critique published books by other authors? Being unpublished and maintaining a fairly small-time blog, it’s not like I have a ton of influence, but every time I write a review, positive or negative (but especially negative) I hear Jason Lee in Almost Famous calling the kid “The Enemy”. But Patrick Fugit’s character wants to be a rock critic; I don’t want to be a critic, I want to write. So is it wise to make myself The Enemy?

Ideally, I’d like to write only recommendations, and I could do that. The added complication is that I’m an Amazon Affiliate, and I don’t want to appear to be unethical. But I’m not into blasting other writers publicly, and right now I think I could only post a negative review if the review was solicited. That’s why if I received the book for free from a publisher for review, I’m actually more likely to post a negative review. (In otherwords, if I read a book on my own time and don’t like it, I’ll probably just pass on giving the review.)

The position I’m in feels sort of awkward and uncomfortable. I like writing reviews, I like reading reviews, but I’m not sure it’s good form for me to write them. The other problem is that when I write reviews, I think I sound like a total Big-Mouth. I hate voicing opinions; I feel like it gives the impression than I know more about something than I do, when really I feel like I don’t know much at all.

As much as the internet is supposed to break barriers and connect us with strangers from all over the known world, more and more I get the feeling that the internet is actually pretty insular. There are still all kinds of people who don’t use the internet, or who use it as little as possible. We also form groups (sometimes called “fandoms”) and cliques online, and each group may have its own jargon, apart from more “mainstream” netspeak.

I’ve been thinking about internet jargon, especially the jargon used by the tech-savvy, and fandom-specific jargon, and how it further serves to create an insular web. The jargon we use keeps out imposters, allows us to pigeonhole new arrivals, and sometimes even lets us pass judgement on those who use it incorrectly, or not at all.

I’m reminded of a G.K. Chesterton essay about the eating of asparagus with one’s fingers:

“We will not exaggerate. Eating soup with the fingers, the young student should not attempt; and sauces, custards and even curries are no field for the manual labourer. I would not eat stewed rhubarb with my fingers, or, indeed, with any instrument that science could devise. Even with things involving treacle, I have not a good touch. But, while strictly avoiding anything like exaggeration or frivolity, I still note that the point of asparagus is that it is not the food, among other foods, specially fitted to the fingers. In other words, the principle could not have been deduced from abstract reason, or have grown out of the general instincts of men. It could not have been custom: that is why it was etiquette.”

Intentionally or not, the jargon we use daily serves to keep out the unwashed masses, and the more often it changes, the better it works.

“Do you tell me they don’t eat asparagus with their fingers now? Do I not know that in some of the best houses they have little tongs for each person, which are charming? Have I not heard that asparagus is now lowered into the open mouth on a string, or shot into the mouth with a small gun, or eaten with the toes, or not eaten at all? No; I do not know, that is what I wish to point out. They have changed the password.”

To be fair, I don’t think most people use jargon this way on purpose. More than anything, I think overuse of jargon creates an atmosphere of exclusivity that is probably unnoticed by its users.

Debbie Ridpath Ohi interviews Christina Katz (Writer Mama) about time management for writers.

What advice do you have for writers who are “time management”-challenged?

I’d tell them there is no such thing as time-management challenged. What we are probably talking about is that most left-brained time-management techniques don’t work for right-brained people. So people are not actually “time-management challenged.” They are likely right-brained trying to live in a left-brained world.

What I think what we’re dealing with here, Debbie, is a classic permission issue. If a right-brain person is waiting to be more like a left-brain person before they can master time, they are going to be waiting for a long time. But if they explore and experiment with what works for them within their current work context, and strive for their own definition of time-management success (assuming it harmonizes with those around them), they will start to thrive and be more productive.

This is something I’ve been dealing with for years, and I’ve only recently found the key to routine and time management. I really think it’s down to having a “do it now” attitude, and taking the small steps—consistently—toward getting a task accomplished. I’m not always consistent, I still have times when I blow it or something comes up that throws me off for a few days. But it doesn’t take long for me to get everything back in order.

Now, I’m talking exclusively about housekeeping in this case. I still don’t manage to get writing time in every day, but it happens more and more. It’s become a matter of discipline rather than fighting off the procrastination that is a response to constant nagging guilt over the state of my kitchen.

I don’t know exactly what Christina means by right-brained time management techniques, but I know how it feels to wrestle with left-brained techniques; I’ve been doing that all my life. Understanding that I need to take a fluid approach to tasks has opened my eyes, and I’m a lot more able to get things done, including writing. Writing scenes as they come to me instead of sticking a one-line scene idea into an outline, planning for a few minutes at a time, putting the story in order once it’s all there in front of me instead of writing from beginning to end, are all ways I’m working with my right-brained modality instead of against it.

I frequently ask myself the question, “Why do I have to write?” I think it’s a crucial question if one wants to survive the ups and downs of the writing life for the long haul. As a visual, tactile person, who sees strange visions of the story and feels the emotion of it before getting “ideas”, someone who is more inclined to create things that can be picked up and touched, why do I feel this burning need to write stories? I’ve always been a storyteller, ever since my days as an overly-imaginative kid running circles in my parent’s living room, telling stories out loud to myself (I never said novelists weren’t crazy). But why?

I hit on the reason awhile ago, but typically for me I’ve struggled to articulate it. It had to do with expressing ideas and beliefs, with drawing people into another world, and by doing so, putting them off their guard, so they might be willing to examine my admittedly odd ideas about the world, what it is and what it should be, with less prejudice. Not that I would necessarily change them, but that they might become willing to open their eyes and see something outside of themselves, at least while reading my work. In a recent email to her list, Holly Lisle said:

“My job as a writer is to create the best work I can, to raise the level of dialogue, to challenge my readers to see the world in new ways and to think new thoughts, to present to them worlds and ideas they have not met before in ways that make them hungry to discover more.”

There it is. She summed up my main reasons for wanting to write. I want to be able to say to other people, “The way you see the world, your fundamental premises, may be wrong. Why do you assume the segregation of children and old people is ‘normal’? Why do you get all your food from cardboard boxes or plastic tubs? Is the big, important job they promised if you went to school really big and important after all, or are you a wage slave?”

Another reason I want to write is because I am endlessly fascinated by other people and the inner workings of their minds. Visual arts can express the internal state of the artist, and possibly of the observer of the art, but it is limited in its ability to reach into the mind of another person, or many persons, and explore their every thought and feeling intimately, to uncover what drives them and what makes them laugh or shout or go quiet with awe.

I feel some tension with the writer’s life. Words are not my first language; feelings and dream-symbols are the language of my mind. But nothing fascinates me more than people and all the many puzzles that make them up.

© KY Craft

http://www.flickr.com/photos/adobemac/ / CC BY-SA 2.0

Since Harry Potter ended, I’ve been looking for a series to love. I’ve tried a few but have yet to find any books that hold me captivated like Harry. Twilight was fun at first, but apart from being poorly wrapped up, the surrounding media hype felt like the series was being force-fed to me. Sherlock Holmes is a new obsession for me, but since most of the series is short stories, it won’t be long before I’m in this same boat once again.

I’m searching for a series that will grab me, that I can fall into with abandon and feel like I’ve lived it. Fantasy is my preference, but any genre will do. Here are the top five things I look for in a series. While these qualities are important for any book, I think they are crucial for a series to really be great.

1. Characters who are like real people.
   The characters in Harry Potter feel like old friends. Even minor characters have first names and last names, and you get the sense that they all have lives beyond Harry and Voldemort. They also all have flaws that are just like the flaws of real people: Harry is judgemental and a tad egotistical; Hermione is a know-it-all who sometimes falls apart under pressure; Ron is thick about emotions in spite of his good intuition. They do and say funny things. They have misunderstandings that make sense and jump to conclusions due to prejudice. They are just like real people.
2. A developed setting that is more than just set-dressing.
   I’ve read books in which you can tell that there’s nothing beyond the room the characters are standing around talking in, or the castle they’re about to attack. I don’t need Tolkien-like development (though that is nice), but I should sense that if the characters went through that door, a real, functional world exists on the other side.
3. A good hero and an evil villain.
   Everyone has virtues and flaws, but I like heroes who try their hardest to do what’s right, even when they suffer for it. I don’t want to be confused about who should win and who should lose, and why. I don’t want the villain’s excuses to be treated as justifications. If I’m going to read this series for 3+ books, I want to experience a world that is basically moral, if complex, where tough decisions are made and the hero earns an appropriately happy ending.
4. Story threads that flow from book to book.
   I’m not much for cliffhanger endings, but I do like some threads left loose to be picked up in future books, and I definitely like at least one story arc, even a background one, to flow through all the books in the series, only to be resolved in the last book. Many series (mysteries especially, perhaps?) tend to resolve all plots and subplots before the end, so things are sort of “reset” at the beginning of the next book, but I prefer connecting threads.
5. A believable romance.
   I don’t know about anyone else, but I struggle to stay interested if there are no racing hearts or at least some blushing. Give me a romantic story that develops over the course of the series along with everything else above, and you’ll have given me a series I can fall for.

If you know of a series with these elements, do tell! I am always looking for Mr. Perfect Series.

He who digs a pit will fall into it,
And whoever breaks through a wall will be bitten by a serpent.
He who quarries stones may be hurt by them,
And he who splits wood may be endangered by it.
If the axe is dull,
And one does not sharpen the edge,
Then he must use more strength;
But wisdom brings success.
~ Ecclesiastes 10:8-10

In otherwords, anyone can fail or experience difficulties in their chosen field of work, but starting out with understanding and skill increases one’s odds of success.

For years now, I’ve been alternately trying to hone my writing skills and chopping away at my works in progress with a dull axe. In fact, there are a lot of areas in my life where I’ve been working and learning at the same time. It’s frustrating, and I’m not sure how well it works to learn so many different things at once. As a married person, I never worried about making money; we didn’t have a lot but we had enough to get by with just my then-husband’s income. I squandered that time playing around, and now I feel like I’m fighting a battle every day to learn new things, and to learn discipline in my chosen path.

Another way of looking at it is that if I need money now, I should try to use skills I already have to earn it (research, article writing), while sharpening my skills in areas that need work (writing fiction). Instead of panicking because I haven’t finished a novel and my dream of being a published writer seems far away, I should write fiction for enjoyment and to learn, and try to make ends meet with non-fiction.

Sometimes, honing my skills means fighting the urge to get ahead of myself, chopping with that dull axe hoping to finally fall a tree with it and instead just getting a big fat splinter in my eye.

I keep forgetting what I’m supposed to be doing.

I keep trying to write a novel. I made a deal with myself that I would pull back from that goal for the time being, and yet I continue trying to choose one of the projects I’m tinkering with and force it into shape. Last night I tried to split Amaranth up into its original two novels, and it didn’t go well. Basically, there’s not enough left of the storyline I took out to make a whole novel, and I’d have to work out a plot from the ground up. I think the lifelong-love element I was missing from the current incarnation of Amaranth is going to have to wait for a different novel, because it just doesn’t have enough oomph to encourage me to start yet another unfinished novel from scratch again. My Muse is recalcitrant; it doesn’t believe I’ll ever finish anything, so why give me more ideas to just stick in a drawer?

I also promised myself that I would read. Here’s a sad state of affairs: Whenever anyone asks me, “Have you ever read so-and-so?” the answer is almost always no. I’ve usually heard of so-and-so, I’ve meant to get to so-and-so for ages, but have I read them? Nope. This is true both in and out of my genre.

When I was in high school I read tons of Romance novels. But that was quite awhile ago, so now I’m not even familiar with Romance. It’s a problem in two ways: Not only does my subconscious tend to produce Romance plotlines, even though I’ve moved away from Romance and don’t find writing it personally rewarding, but I’m almost completely unfamiliar with my own genre, Fantasy. The authors I have read extensively are Tolkien, Lewis, Rowling, and McKillip, along with a smattering of individual novels by other authors. I never have any idea what’s going on in my genre, except that vampire books are popular and I don’t care for them. I don’t think this is good.

I have to keep reminding myself that my purpose right now is to write for enjoyment, and to read to make up for lost time. I’ve learned that I’m a faster reader than I thought, but that I rarely take time to read. I feel guilty, I feel like I have to justify it, and it doesn’t directly make money, which is, you know, necessary to live. Especially now that I’ve opted only to recommend and not to review, it’s unlikely reading will earn me any coin. But still, I have a goal to catch up on Fantasy. I don’t know exactly what that means, except that I want to look around when I’m standing in Barnes & Noble and know what’s actually inside most of those books. I think that’s kind of ambitious, but I’d like to try.

It’s weird how I’m more resistant to doing pleasant things for my art than suffering for it. Intellectually, the suffering seems more likely to result in finished novels, but it hasn’t worked for me so far. Maybe it’s that whole carrot person vs stick person theory of rewards and punishment. It would be hard to say I’m “goal-driven” but I think you could say I’m “end result oriented”? Which may be saying the same thing, but in a less Type-A Personality sort of way.