Hmm. Maybe even 7 PM PST, depending upon when the troops want dinner.
It’s proving to be a crappy weekend for writing. I wonder whether my block indicates an unhappy muse. But if she doesn’t like the direction I’m taking things, why doesn’t she suggest something different? C’mon, babe, talk to me!
Anyway, apologies to my patient readers. I know how frustrating it can be to beta-read installments which don’t come when expected . . . and then, by the time you get it, you’ve forgotten where you were. I think I’ll send out what I have, two chapters instead of three. Plus, I fixed the dearth of kissing in the last sex scene. I can’t write kissing as well as Kate Le Rothwell or Jennifer Crusie, but I did my best.
Despite the lack of writing (and, oy, Eugie has been very patient with my latest Tangent assignment), I’ve gotten a lot done on the cooking, cleaning, and laundry front. And mouse-killing. Can’t forget mouse-killing.
See y’all later, I hope.
D.
I’m reluctant to begin the last phase of my romance. You know, the bit where Boy and Girl meet obstacles, stress out, and (eventually) overcome said obstacles before doing the monkey dance. I’m looking forward to the monkey dance, I really am, but the “stress out” part has got me down.
I mean, I’m seriously bummed about what I need to do. It sucks. I don’t want to torture these two. But when I consider my options:
A. Boy & Girl meet Strife and kick his ass, or
B. Boy & Girl have clear-sailing to their HEA,
the only good thing I can say about (B) is, It’s certainly the less trite option of the two.
But as I mentioned on Tam’s blog the other day, maybe things are trite because they work so well . . . i.e., there’s a reason some things become part of the formula. They’re really necessary. (Don’t think that’s true? Let’s have that “romance without an HEA” discussion again.)
I’m resigned to it. I have to write the difficult stuff, I know, but it upsets me. This is why I can’t write horror, or at least when I do, it comes out comical or understated. The one time I wrote an edgy, balls-to-the-walls story (something called “God’s Claw,” about a cannibalistic feral child who happens to be the tale’s hero) I felt sick to my stomach for days.
My writing affects me. I’m mature enough to avoid writing for catharsis, so the bile does not drip into the page; but I can’t seem to avoid absorbing the nastiness of the story itself.
Sometimes this works in my favor. Writing a romance has done wonders for my mood, and those sex scenes were like methamphetamine to my libido. (“Your libido didn’t need any help,” the wife told me.) But I guess I have to take the bad with the good.
So, writers of the blogosphere, speak: does this happen to you? How do you make your characters suffer without suffering yourself?
D.
Many thanks to Kate for refreshing my memory on this. I plugged Swordsmith before, but that post fell off the front page of the blog — and when it falls off the front page, it drops out of my mind, too.
I’m looking forward to Swordsmith’s posts on self-promotion and finding an agent.
The series so far:
Part 1 – Why bad things happen to good books.
Part 2 – Avoiding publishing scams.
Part 3 – Literary conventions (with an emphasis on SF Conventions).
Part 4 – Book packagers.
Part 5 – Submitting a manuscript.
I almost forgot! Part 6 – Publishing lists.
Dead weekend, hit-wise, so I doubt anyone noticed the sudden appearance and disappearance of my story, “Heaven on Earth.” See yesterday’s post for details.
Here’s another entry for Paperback Writer’s eBook challenge: Sprouts.
It’s cute and nasty, but it lacks heart. On the upside, it’s brief.
And here’s another one: Ear, Nose, Throat, and Soul.
This one has heart but it could be funnier.
If you read either story, let me know what you think.
D.
I’m also challenging all you writers out there to do the same: write and publish a new short story, novellette, novella, or novel of your own in e-book form* and post it for download on your weblog, web site, or any host site on October 31, 2006. I’m using Adobe .pdf format because that’s what I’ve always used. You’re free to use alternate formats, but I’d go with something that allows everyone to read it. Your e-book can also be any length and any genre; the only requirement is that you provide free access to it (it doesn’t have to be a permanent addition to your weblog; if you have file storage issues I suggest leaving it up for a week or two.)
She’s offering prizes, too, so check it out.
Here’s my response: “Heaven on Earth,” a story I wrote almost two years ago and still love. It’s semi-autobiographical, inasmuch as my grandfather almost certainly had multi-infarct dementia. As for the science fictiony stuff, well, who knows. Papa was such a storyteller, I found it fitting to make him the star of his very own bubbe-meintze*.
We’ll use this post as the comment thread for those of you who decide to read my story.
D.
*Fairy tale, tall tale. Literally (I think) “Grandma’s story.” In our family, bubbe-meintze meant, “What horseshit are you asking me to believe now?”
Edited to add:
I received this in my email today:
I’m afraid we have an awkward situation here. Perhaps I should say I have an awkward situation. In fact, WORLDS APART #1 has been published and includes your story “Heaven on Earth.” I was aware that not all authors had received their complimentary copies, but after searching my email files, it appears that I never even sent you an author agreement.
All I can do is include the agreement (found below) and hope you will be pleased that your story has in fact been published. I have already printed a substantial number of copies and have planned to print more to take with me to LACON IV (World SF Convention) in Anaheim later this month. I have reserved a table in the dealers’ room.
You are certainly free to self-publish, but I would hope you might hold off a while.
I am going to hold off, at least until I hear back from him on my suggested compromise plan. In the meantime, I’ll put up a different story, maybe one of my silly/erotic ones. Stay tuned.
D.
RWA attendees, did you miss me? Here’s a Smart Bitches Day post for y’all, to welcome you back.
Aside from our third trip to the beach for kite-flying (yay! Success this time!) (and the woman sunbathing in the nude — she’s worth a yay, too. Yay!) I spent the weekend writing 8000-and-something words, half of which comprised a chapter-long sex scene.
Beta readers, never fear, you’ll be getting it soon enough. But I have a question for the general audience. Being a guy, I like my sex scenes nasty and graphic. Are there any boundaries Which Shall Not Be Crossed? Writing this scene, I didn’t give much thought to the question. I merely tried to write a scene which worked for me. And, oh boy, did it ever.
What are the rules?
D.
Oops! Edited to add (so as to fit Beth’s theme, ‘What kinda romance will you NOT read’):
What kinda sex scene will you NOT read?
My answer: any sex scene in which, at the moment of orgasm, the universe is mentioned.
D. For real this time.
Here’s some linky love to go with your morning coffee:
Michelle posted a great list of editing tips. No matter how many of these lists I read, I always learn something new.
Michelle has also been infected by the cheesecake meme. First, Dean feted us with calories, and now Michelle wants to make me fat, too. But you won’t see me posting any cheesecake recipes. My son doesn’t like it and my wife never eats more than a slice. I’ll give you one guess who winds up eating 90% of the cheesecake.
I’m feeling loose this morning. Do you have a post you want hyped? Leave a comment, and I’ll give you some hot linky love.
D.
A random memory of an odd little woman made me realize something about my work in progress: I’ve never once asked myself what my heroine wants from a relationship. Guess I’d better think about that, eh?
I’ll return to Lori (my heroine) in a moment. Here’s the odd little woman:
She was in the College of Chemistry with us at Berkeley. Hong Kong Chinese, upper class British accent, tinier even than my wife, and skinnier, too. If you’d passed her on the street, you would assume she was a sixth- or seventh-grader. Not that any of that is relevant, but it did make her a memorable character. But what really stuck in my mind was a conversation I had with her during one of our chem labs.
Over at DailyKos, Swordsmith dishes on publishing. Who’s that, you ask?
A bit of background: I’m the author of nine published books and a former NYC editor, who still does a fair amount of work for various publishing firms. I teach writing and book publishing at the university level, and remain tied into the publishing world (particularly science fiction and fantasy) on various levels. I’ve written and edited both fiction and nonfiction, and I’ll talk about both in this series.
The series thus far:
Part 1 – Why bad things happen to good books.
Part 2 – Avoiding publishing scams.
Part 3 – Literary Conventions (with an emphasis of SF Conventions)
Part 4 – Book Packagers.
Good stuff.
D.
Yes, I know I should have consulted with Candy before buying Jennifer Crusie’s Faking It. Can I say anything good about this book? No. Fifty pages into it and I’m bailing.
Here’s why, in ascending order of importance.
1. Poorly written, poorly edited. If my internal editor is having more fun with a novel than I am, something is wrong.
2. Rush job. Close cousin to #1, I know, but here’s the thing: so many of the conversations leave me wondering, “Huh?” that I suspect Crusie zipped through this without re-reading. Or perhaps I’m just that thick.
3. An implausible story line which relies too much on coincidence. ‘Nuff said.
4. Forced humor. I loved Bet Me and What the Lady Wants mostly for Crusie’s sense of humor. I know she can do better than this.
But the most important reason I’m dumping Faking It:
5. I don’t give a damn about the H or the H, I don’t like them, and whether they hate each other forever’n’ever or screw like minks for the last 100 pages of the book, I don’t care. What’s missing is believability — they don’t feel like real people to me.
***
You want a book recommendation? Here’s a book recommendation: buy Carl Hiaasen’s Basket Case. Read it for pleasure or study the man’s technique; he’s a master.
I really ought to write a full review on Basket Case, and perhaps I will some day soon. For now, though, I’m spent. I slept poorly last night, then worked until 5 PM in the OR. (More tonsils. And more tonsils. And more tonsils.) I squeezed in 45 minutes in the gym, then popped back over to the hospital for Surgery Committee Meeting. Oh, the horror: it lasted until just past 8:30. Forgive me if my muse is chattering like a Hellraiser cenobite.
I’m torn over whether to write a crappy Thursday Thirteen or bag it altogether. I think I’ll leave the decision until tomorrow, which means I’ll probably bag it altogether. Ah, well. You’ll live. I have a terrific idea for a TT, but I don’t want to ruin it by writing a tired rush job tonight. (Here’s the idea: Thirteen Horrible Diseases. One of my top picks would be PAM. I’ll let you puzzle over that one.)
But back to Basket Case, and the giveaway: I’ll send a copy of Carl Hiaasen’s Basket Case to one randomly chosen commenter. Lurkers, this is your time to come out of the woodwork.
Suggested topic for comments (if you’re a lurker who doesn’t comment “because I never know what to say”):
Think about a book that you stuck with for a short while (say, less than 100 pages) then gave up on. Why did you stick with it for as long as you did, and why did you finally give up?
Wish me luck getting sleep tonight. Insomnia can be a real bitch sometimes.
D.