Ragged Feathers

It’s Friday! And Ilona Andrews has pictures up from our recent Powells Pwnage. You can see me looking slightly-less-terrified, and Devon is always beautiful. Also, I promised to announce the winner of the RECKONING contest. The winner is…

…Reader Heidi F. from Eichenau, Bavaria, in Germany! Heidi, I will get your prize to you as soon as possible. (She gets to read a chapter of RECKONING before anyone else in the world, aside from my agent and editor. Lucky lady!)

Thank you to everyone who entered by pre-ordering signed books from Powell’s. And thanks to all the wonderful Readers who came to the event! We had a great time.

Today is nice and sunny, and I’m due out at the track for a couple miles before long. I even got a watch that’s supposed to help me track my times, but in order for it to do so I must:

1. Remember to wear said watch
2. Hope that the battery in it doesn’t give out within the week, like every other watch I’ve tried to wear
3. Remember to check the watch while running
4. Decode what the watch says while running
5. Do basic math to figure out my speed…while running

Needless to say, I am not sanguine about this. Normally, while hauling my silly ass along at anything faster than an amble, my higher-brain functions pretty much shut down in protest. So, there it is. I’ll report back next week. If I don’t trip over my feet and hurt myself trying to check the watch. Which would be embarrassing, but not exactly surprising.

Catch you later…

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I’ve been receiving a deluge of questions lately, some of which I can answer in the upcoming podcast (still hard at work on that, in between Other Stuff) and some I can just answer here.

* Are you going to be at X convention? Or, when will you visit my town? Unfortunately, I don’t travel much. This is not solely because I do not wish to be pawed by a stranger, though that is a consideration. A more compelling consideration is that my kids are not at an age where I can leave them for overnight trips, childcare is expensive, and I can’t afford multiple trips for all of us either. So, for the time being, I am extraordinarily limited in the conventions or signings I can attend. This may change in the future–I wish I could travel and see you, dear Reader–and when it does, I’ll let you know.

If you would like to get a book signed by me, there is a way to do it! Just contact Cover to Cover Books. They can ship signed copies of anything out on the shelves; their shipping is quite reasonable. C2C has sent signed copies of books to the Philippines, Australia, Britain, and numerous other places. Plus, they’re indie.

* Is there an excerpt from Defiance yet? You bet. It’s right here, courtesy of the fine folks at Penguin AU.

* Who is the model on the cover of the Strange Angels books? I don’t know. Authors generally have very little (read: no) control over their covers. I don’t know the model’s name, who she works for, or what kind of sandwiches she likes. All I know is that she was a professional model we picked out of a laydown–there were three choices, and I think the other two were blonde, so they weren’t Dru, and that was it. If you like the covers, tell the good folks at Razorbill. They’ll be happy to hear your feedback.

* Can you send me an ARC for review? I hate to break it to you, but I only get ARCs (Advanced Reader Copies) for the first book in any series, and even then I generally only get one or two for my reference shelf. If you want to get on a publisher’s review list, go to the publisher’s website and find a link for their marketing/press department, and make your case to them. I can’t get free books sent to you.

* Can I interview you? I try to respond to all interview requests. Sometimes they fall through the cracks–if you don’t hear from me within a week, ping me again! I get 50-100 emails a day just through my website alone; unfortunately I can’t answer all of them and sometimes an interview request will get buried under the landslide.

There are more, but I think that’s about it for today. I am itching to get back to the gryphon stables and get my characters in some more trouble. Plus, the next scene involves capacitors. BIG FUN. I am actually wriggling with delight while writing this book, it’s amazing.

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I’ve received a lot of very good advice in the last six months. Some of it I can’t keep in my head because too much has been swirling around. The remainder I repeat to myself daily. Like this:

If you must worry, don’t worry in quantity. Worry in quality. Worry well.

I am a champion worrier. Apparently a key component of my makeup is the phrase, “why be happy when you can brood?” I wouldn’t even hesitate to call my propensity for worry downright Olympian. Or even pathological.

Part of the problem is that I was trained as a child to anticipate and care for the needs of everyone around me before even thinking about my own. Part of it, I suspect, is inborn. Another part is my habitual insomnia. Sleeplessness breeds worry like food and oxygen breed Tribbles.

There’s been a lot of changes lately, not the least of which occurred yesterday and involved a metric ton of paperwork as well as some serious cash. I collapsed at home afterward and thought, my God, what have I done? My writing partner saved the day: “It’s called buyer’s remorse, and you should ignore it. This will make you and your kids safer. The way things were before wasn’t sustainable.”

She was right. This is just another instance where I have to worry well.

I often worry that my career will evaporate and I’ll be left with two little ‘uns to support and no means of doing so. It takes a physical effort, sometimes, to remind myself that pessimistic thinking has never really gotten me anywhere and can be downright unhealthy. I have to tell myself, sometimes out loud: If you think about that, Lili, you also need to think about what you’ll do if it doesn’t tank. What if you have a long, successful career? Focus on that, and what you need to do for that. This is healthier and strengthens your odds.

It’s that last part that really convinces even my muscular, overworked Inner Sceptic. I strongly believe that I got published because I work damn hard and I’m willing to learn. Discipline and teachability (in other words, the ability to admit I’d made a mistake and do better next time, which is critical if you’re thinking of getting published) are things I have some control over, and they’re incidentally things that up my chances.

I can’t control what happens tomorrow. I really can’t. But I can control how hard I work today, what priorities I set, and I can definitely control whether or not I admit I’m wrong. Those things happen to maximize my chances of having a good career–or, if the writing tanks, they prepare me to do other things.

I don’t honestly expect my writing career to tank. Sure, tomorrow the publishers could decide I’m not a good risk or readers could decide en masse I’m a hack who isn’t worth the cash spent on a paperback. It could happen. But it’s far more likely that if I keep my head about me I will eke out a living by the written word, seeing as how I’ve come this far. And there is a great deal of this that is up to me.

You see, worry is only very rarely about what you’re actually worrying about. Just like anger is most often about perceived or real helplessness, a lot of worry revolves around control. (Which is, I guess, another response to perceived or actual helplessness.) Realizing that is a huge component of worrying well and effectively instead of flailing around at three in the morning, exhausting yourself and just generally being an idiot.

So now I have to go worry well over these revisions. The book doesn’t suck as much as I thought it might. Then again, I’m only halfway through and there’s plenty of time for things to go wrong…

…or really, really right.

See what I mean?

Over and out.

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The first day back from a vacation and already I’m looking at the pile of work in front of me and feeling like…oh, weeping would be an alternative, wouldn’t it? No, of course not. And besides, I worked all the way through vacation, so it’s not so bad. True, I did put some things on the docket for the first week back because, well, it was supposed to be the holidays. So, today and tomorrow are for short stories and wordcount.

Since it is the first day back, I should take this opportunity to answer a few questions. Yes, I do read all the mail my Readers send me. I can only respond via email rarely. If enough people ask a question, I answer it here or put it on the FAQ.

Let’s see:

* A few of you asked when the next Jill Kismet is out. I don’t know precisely yet. I do know that it’s in the revision process, and as soon as I have more concrete information I’ll update the site and announce it. Fear not, there are two more Jill books forthcoming.

* Many of you are intrigued by the words “Latin self-study”. It’s like juggling more chainsaws; I’ve had some luck with it but not much. More than finding a Latin class in my area that doesn’t require an hour of driving either way, that’s for sure. For those of you interested, I recommend Wheelock’s, and also Artes Latinae. Rosetta Stone also has a good program, if a bit spendy.

* Loyal reader TP recently asked this very interesting question:

Why read at readings? Yes, the name of the event answers the question but really, why is it that you, or any other author, must read passages from the book (doesn’t it get boring?)? I have always thought that reading a book is immersing oneself into a new universe but seen and heard through the filter of one’s own mind. Hearing the author reading does neither good nor ill to that universe, I just haven’t found that it adds much to it (then again, I have gone to perhaps only 4 in my life, one in which the author didn’t read but just talked to and with us). From your end, as the author, does reading passages do something for both you and your interaction with the audience that I’m missing?

The short answer: I don’t know, I do what the bookstores (who are kind enough to invite me) ask me to do.

The longer answer: I think it does add something, and I’ve been asked by fans to read a certain chapter and do a podcast. (When I get a microphone, editing software, and some time, yeah. I love you guys, but the actual writing comes first.) Yes, reading the book invites you into the universe the writer has created, you can experience it through the filter of your own mind. On the other hand, your experience of that universe can be deepened and enriched by hearing where the author places emphasis. I’ve had people tell me they came away with a new understanding after listening to me read, especially from the Valentine books. (Hearing me “channel” Japh’s sardonic, flat tone is apparently hilarious.)

Then again, I enjoy reading aloud. I’ve done it a lot and sometimes I’ll read a sentence aloud a few times to get a handle on emphasis and pace. Being taught to stop at punctuation marks and to look for the natural “breathing points” in poetry or lines delivered onstage is far from the worst experience one can have when looking for hitches in the smooth reel of the written word.

Oddly enough, the things I’m most asked at events are either spoileriffic, or about aspects of the world I’ve thought about but couldn’t cram in the books because of space considerations, or about the act of writing itself. I think a lot of people view writing as a sort of Black Arte and are looking for the turn. The actual process is fascinating. It just becomes normal when one does it every day.

Hm. Long answer is long. But I found it a very, very interesting question. I’ve fallen into doing readings because bookstores ask me to, and I’ve found I enjoy them a bit. Except for the parts where I want to pause and correct/revise something on the page. ARGH.

And that’s all that I’m fit to blog today. I have a hot date with breakfast and some coffee, since I’m up anyway. Good luck out there.

Posted from A Fire of Reason. You can also comment there.

A few more things, since I’m still tender today.

* Luck is a skill. This makes sense–the luckier I feel, the luckier I am. Maybe I should grab Wiseman’s book and give it a go. It’d be better than sitting around feeling unloved, unwanted, and waaaaaaaah. (Much better.)

* Martha Beck on who to trust. This article made SO MUCH SENSE to me. In a “why didn’t I think of it this way before?” way.

* How the books we save for posterity get selected.

So, today, an experiment. I’m going to focus on being lucky. I’ll tell you how it works out tomorrow.

ETA: I did get the best pictures up from the shooting expedition the other night. Here they are.

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* I’m cutting way back on my Internet usage. Way, way back–to the tune of putting parental controls on my laptop. The timer is working, but not enough. Wireless is just too easy. And with all the upheaval in my personal life lately, the feeling of being “connected” is acquiring a lot of importance–but how “connected” am I if I’m just aimlessly surfing? Work’s got to get done, and if it takes this to do it, well, then, this is what it takes.

I feel like an idiot weakling for reducing myself to parental controls, but if it works I suppose my ego can handle the blow. The words, like the spice, must flow.

* My friend Wolfinthewood commented yesterday that my linking to her posts on the Google Book Settlement brought back the search rankings for them. I’m still watching her LJ for updates. I’m wondering if anyone else writing about the settlement has seen their rankings/search results disappear?

* Slacktivist linked to an op-ed titled, “In America, Crazy Is A Pre-Existing Condition.” Both pieces are well worth reading. Speshul Snowflakery and Pathological Entitlement do not just happen in publishing. Oh, no, precious, they do not. And the best way of dealing with them? Slacktivist does a three-pointer from downtown:

Throughout Wise’s account, Stevenson comes across as unflappable. I picture David Niven playing the part. When a member of the IndigNation — Frank McGehee himself, actually — heckled and tried to shout down his speech in Dallas, Stevenson paused and said, “Surely, my dear friend, I don’t have to come here from Illinois to teach Texas manners, do I?” The crowd cheered.

Stevenson may often have been, as Perlstein writes, “earnestly confused” by the irrational claims and behavior of his opponents, but his response to McGehee and to the crazy woman with the sign don’t convey such confusion. He knew exactly what to make of those people: They were rude and irrational. The politeness of his rational response in both cases doesn’t blunt the implication of those responses — that these people ought to be ashamed of themselves.

That’s an example of what’s often missing today in dealing with the IndigNation. These people are offended and outraged and so politicians and journalists respond by trying not to further offend or enrage them. As though that were possible. Indignation is their raison d’etre. They will take offense whether or not it is given. There is no point trying not to offend them. There is no point in trying not to make them angry.

An appropriate response isn’t to be more offended or more offensive, but it should involve going on the offense. The IndigNationalists are behaving shamefully and it is appropriate and necessary to point that out to them. It’s our duty to point that out to them.

The appropriate and necessary phrase when confronted by members of the IndigNation — by the birthers, the deathers, the baggers, the immigrant-blamers and homophobes and cryptoracists and misogynists — is simply to tell them the primary thing they need to hear: “You ought to be ashamed of yourself.” (Slacktivist)

I’m going to remember that.

* I went to Ikea this past weekend and got my very own potato ricer, magnetic knife-strips that I put up myself, and a skimmer. Plus, I saw more crazy than usual. I had to check to make sure the moon wasn’t full because, wow. Even the Little Prince stared at a few of the people. Of course, Coyote Boy (the UnSullen, for those of you who missed his “I am no longer a teen” moment) knows to take the kids and get some drinks as soon as we hit the kitchen section, so I have about ten-fifteen minutes to commune with cookware in peace. So I guess “crazy” is a relative term in this-hyere blog post.

Over and out.

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Three things:

* OMG! OMG! Volume 1 of Tanith Lee’s short stories is out! It’s called Tempting The Gods and I’ve been waiting for it for, I dunno, SIX MONTHS or something. I am so stinking happy right now. Must hold off reading it until I get the revisions done, though…

…who am I kidding? I’m already wanting another run through Tiger I and Anna Medea, both of which are in this collection. ZOMG.

* The morning started out problematically–you know, when the sales department starts overruling the editorial staff, you know there’s not so fun times ahead. Fortunately I thought before I hit the reply button, and I had another version of the work in question on tap. Thank God.

A few years ago this would have bugged me. Now I just muttered to myself on the treadmill and waited to see how everything would shake out.

* Three birthdays in the first half of this month, revisions to turn in, cakes to bake, and a mixer to attend and answer questions at. The gods are laughing at me. I know they are. I can’t afford to get sick–massive doses of fluids and Vitamin C seem to be working. Back, foul demons of the common cold! I will have no truck with thee!

And that, dear Readers, is that. I’ve got grocery shopping and more revisions to handle. Ugh. See you around…

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I am staring blankly at the walls this morning, so we have a Post Made Of Random. Five things about this morning, etc. You get the picture. I have a Big Music Post and a Big Post About EPublishing simmering in my head. But not today.

* I love Archie McPhee. I used to work in Ballard near the store, and ZOMG it was fun to go down there and play. If I could, I would furnish my whole house with Ikea for the big stuff and Archie McPhee for everything else. I mean, they even have squirrel underpants. Inflatable fruitcake! EMERGENCY YODEL BUTTON!!1! HOW CAN YOU NOT LOVE THIS?

* The UnSullen One is now the One On The Nicotine Patch. I have been quietly supportive of this endeavor. I’ll be very happy if this strategy works for him. So far he hasn’t been Mr. Crankypants. I am cautiously hopeful.

* Slight WoW moment. The other day someone was trying to tell me how to auction my blue drops. I was actually affronted and typed the words, “What, you think I’m a noob? Go sell your own drops.” Then I took a deep breath and backed away from my keyboard. I swear, trade chat brings out the worst in EVERYONE.

* I absolutely, positively cannot read books about the Leningrad siege right before bed. It’s just a bad idea. I’ll stick to my Norton Critical Editions. I just finished the footnoted Dracula and am about to read the supplementary material–looking forward to Bram Dijkstra’s essay, in particular.

* This morning our back yard was full of crows. I went out and scattered more bread for them after I finished my workout. One in particular, in the neighbor’s tree, eyed me with what I can only describe was a mischievous expression. This usually means Something Is About To Happen for me on a personal level. It’s nice to have the warning, especially when one can admire the blue sheen on crow feathers and listen to them racket back and forth. If I were forced to pick a favorite genus, Corvidae would be it.

Bonus odd fact about today: the wind has slackened and I’m missing the sound of windchimes. But there are spatters of rain, which is almost as good.

Posted from A Fire of Reason. Please comment there.

Cross-posted from Deadline Dames. Go on over there and show some love–it’s chock-full of more writing advice.

Well, it’s Friday again. I don’t have a lot of time today–a short story came back with revisions I’ve got to eyeball and the new Watcher novel is heating up. So, I’m going to give you three things I wish new writers knew.

When I say “new writer” I don’t necessarily mean teenager/young person. I mean someone new to writing every day, someone just starting out. John Scalzi did his 10 Things Teenage Writers Should Know, which I by and large agree with. (And I won’t lie, I always get a slight sense of gratification reading where he says one should write every day.) But the “new” writer is not necessarily, well, young.

I am not sure whether it’s better to come to writing while you’re young and you think you know everything, or when you’re older and you’ve had the sh!t kicked out of you a few times and you think you know How Life Works, which is just about the same mental reflex. (Though vastly more useful.) There’s something to be said for pure exuberant youth, and there’s something to be said for the calluses of experience on the bum of maturity. (Or something.) But whether you’re young or old, there’s things I think every new writer could benefit from.

* Accept that your stuff is going to suck. Everyone’s stuff sucks when they first start out no matter how old they are. Just because you’re verbally fast or fluent doesn’t mean you’ll be fast and fluent on the page; you will not be automatically fresh and iconoclastic when you’re young any more than you will be automatically experienced as an old hack when you’re older. Every writer starts out sucking. It’s our gods-given gift.

With young folk starting out writing, I see a lot of, “I’m new and SPECIAL and you just don’t understand!” With older writers, I see a lot of “How hard can this be? I’ve been a success at other things!” Both are…well, not true. New does not equal better, I understand because I was new and speshul once too. And there is a special circle of professional hell reserved for people who think this job is so easy you can just sit down and squeeze out a novel like squeezing a pimple. It is not simple. This is a complex task, and like any complex task, IT TAKES TIME TO MASTER.

When you’re just starting out learning any complex skill set, you’re going to suck. Relax and take the suck for what it is–a gift. That’s right, it’s a bloody gift. Once you accept that your work will suck at first, you have automatically created the necessary precondition for it getting better. If you refuse to accept that new writing, zero drafts, etc., are going to be an unholy mess, there is no reason for you to think about ways to make anything better and the work will remain in stasis…as an unholy mess. That’s not good if you want to make a living at writing, or even if you want to get published consistently.

* Common sense and business sense are your best friends. They are also surprisingly similar. Yog’s Law and basic common and business sense will help you have a career instead of a boondoggle. With a plethora of author’s weblogs, publisher’s weblogs, and several other sites available to the public online, as well as the Writer’s Market and places like Preditors & Editors, basic business/common sense about writing has never been so accessible. You can learn from other people’s mistakes all over the Internet–and not just about writing either. I can tell you several fandom and internet wanks have made me very wary, providing amusement as well as the lesson of “Jesus Christ, I don’t ever want to be in that position…”

Treat writing like a job with professional consequences and perks, and you will be in demand among editors. Given a choice between a prima donna with incandescent prose and an easy-to-work-with professional with a solid product that is not so incandescent, editors will largely choose the professional even if the story is less of a heartbreaking work of staggering genius. Editors are people too, and they like dealing with reasonable people instead of flakes and fruits. Be reasonable, professional, and consistent, and thou shalt reap the rewards tenfold.

I have to note here that the proportion of new writers on the young and old sides of the spectrum who violate this rule is roughly the same. X amount of new young writers implode/never get published because it’s not about the writing, for them–it’s about some kind of weird, twisted emotional jolt or need in another area of their life. X amount of new old writers do the same thing. You learn to spot them a mile away at conventions or critique group meetings.

Don’t be them.

* Read, read, read. I am amazed by new writers who confide in me that they “don’t read” but they expect to produce a readable work. Omnivorous reading provides grist for your artistic mill and a thousand little tiny lessons you just can’t get any other way. Lessons about pacing, voice, word choice, structure, what works and what doesn’t on the page. Reading gives you a range of fine gradations to your basic tools of grammar and structure.

Reading a lot will initially set you on fire with trying to write in someone else’s voice. Books that affect you strongly will have an effect on your own writing. This is a phase every new writer goes through, and there is only one cure: writing and reading more. Get it out of your system before you start submitting. Your editors will thank you, and when they do, that is a good sign.

Don’t worry about your work always sounding like someone else’s. Sooner (if you keep writing on a consistent schedule) or later (if you lay about and don’t write as much) you will discover your own voice naturally, and things you read will no longer affect it as much. The period of imitation is necessary and natural for developing your own creative style. Don’t try to avoid it, and don’t get stuck in it. Just recognize it as a normal phase and enjoy it while it lasts. And when it goes, enjoy finding your own voice.

I could go on and on, but I’ve got actual work to do today. No rest for the weary and wicked, eh? Still, I love this job. I wouldn’t want to do anything else.

Peace out.

Posted from A Fire of Reason. Please comment there.

Today I've got the page proofs for Redemption Alley to go through--gods but that book is getting close to having its cotillion. (Or being presented at Court, or whatever way you want to view it.)

It probably says something for my mood that I'm comparing a book to a debutante. *snerk* RA was exceedingly hard to write, but I've written so much else in the interim I've kind of forgotten the bloody chunks of the book I had to pry out of my cerebellum. (I am unsure if this is where the books actually come from. My vote goes for the lizard-brain, actually, but cerebellum sounds so much nicer.)

You can't wait for inspiration. You have to go after it with a club
--Jack London

That was the Quote of the Day. I laughed until I was sick because it's so TRUE. You can't sit around waiting, you have to do.

Finishing the last YA book (still pretty much untitled, that's why I keep calling it "that second YA book") was hard on me. The hardest thing was that it seemed to vanish without even a splash in the murky sea of my life. I wanted pats on the head from the people at home around me, and nothing...happened. Because I didn't open my mouth and say something. So you see, it was my own damn fault--but I'm still feeling a little snivelly over it. I saw the Selkie afterward and she patted me on the head--which I needed--but the feeling's grown into a "waaaaah nobody loves me I'm not special waaaah..."

Sometimes I don't want petses after a book; sometimes I do. The trouble is, if I don't open up my mouth and demand them, I don't get them. It would be nice if people could read my mind and serve up the peeled grapes and fanning (not to mention bonbons and the waiting hand and foot) when I wanted it. But in a house full of oblivious children, that's not gonna happen. And I should set a good example by asking for what I want openly.

You'd think I'd learn that this type of reaction ("waaah, pet me!") is normal after the huge emotional investment in a book. There's a lot of delayed (or, let's face it, never-arriving-at-all) gratification in this field. You wait to get read, you wait to get accepted, you wait to see it in print, you wait to get paid, you wait to see reviews...and some reviews aren't the kind of gratification you're waiting for AT ALL. On the one hand, it's good training for life.

On the other hand, it's bloody annoying.

Also, today I'm getting my hair dyed in preparation for the train wreck that is going to be my new author photo. I hate getting my picture taken; it's a flaming passionate hatred I reserve for few things. But, my friend Make Me is going to dye me up, and Alluring Images promises to make me look, if not pretty, then at least less of a total blot upon the face of humanity. I don't think it's doable, but they assure me it is, so I am supposed to trust them. Make Me in particular is twisting my arm like it's going out of style, and I'm glad and grateful she is.

I think I'm better off with proof pages, but people have been asking for an updated author photo for months now. Eh. I might as well.

In short, I am a big heaving ball of neurotic today. Even the workout didn't help, though I should feel good about achieving a state where I can steadily and consistent run for more than a half an hour. If the infrastructure goes down and the zombies start chewing on people, man, I'm ready.

Over and out.