A Big Decision

I am considering putting all publishing attempts on hold.

I still have queries out, so I have not made the decision yet. But I am questioning whether, at this time of my life, it would even be a good thing to get a publishing contract. Whether I even want one at all. Sound strange? Read on for an explanation.

I am 43 years old. When I was 35, I had my first child. She has Autism. I don't talk about it much here because I consider it an invasion of her privacy. She has a high-functioning form of Autism, which means it will be possible, with a lot of hard work, for her to lead an independent life.

Assume I get a publishing contract. If she fails to become independent, do I really want it on my conscience that I didn't work with her enough because I was trying to meet publishing deadlines?

I write in my spare time, mostly when my daughter is in bed, and odd hours on the weekend. After all, I don't have to spend every minute at her side, and my Neo makes it possible for me to write and still be accessable to her. I don't think I'll ever stop writing. What I'm considering changing is my attempts to publish anything I write. Like Emily Dickenson, I'll just let my writings accumulate. Unlike Emily Dickenson, I hope I don't die before any of it is published.

It's actually a pretty exciting thing to contemplate. I could finish Metamorphosis, which is the temporary (and probably defunct) title of my Forging a Legend trilogy. I've been sitting on Book Two and Three in my brain all this time, hoping for a publishing contract--or at least an agent--before I write the rest. Were I to unleash the muse, the words would just flow from me. I could also write several books in the Starcaster series (which is the name of that series, as well as the name of the first novel). In seven years, I will be fifty and my daughter will be fifteen. How many novels can a stifled muse write in seven years? I'm thinking five or so. Add that to the books I already have, and that makes three Metamorphosis titles and four Starcaster titles. So I wouldn't have all my eggs in one basket.

And my beta readers--the ones who have been wanting to read the next books--would be able to read them as I write them.

Far from being disappointed in this line of thinking, I'm finding it oddly liberating.

Character Origins

Inspired by Lisa Shearin's post today, I thought I'd write about how I thought up my characters.

Abriel is almost seven feet tall, but I actually thought of her after encountering a little person. He was an engineer at a job that I once worked at, and I used to watch him in a gaggle of other engineers, trekking from one end of a quarter-mile long hallway (not kidding) to the other, and keeping up despite his short legs.

It occurred to me that I could remember every encounter with a little person that I ever had. Think about it. They're that rare. Since George R. R. Martin had already come up with Tyrion Lannister (my favorite character in that series, by the way), I decided to go to the other extreme. Abriel has a condition called Gigantism, where she does not stop growing. Andre the Giant had the same condition.

I test-drove Abriel as a character during a role-playing session with my husband. The original Abriel was extremely promiscuous. That was one feature that I didn't keep when I transfered her from the game to the novel.

Tory--or Victoria--was actually born as a character during another role-playing game years ago. Tory's origin character was a super-hero named Elizabeth Lawrence. I played Liz with a very outgoing, gregarious personality who made friends with everyone. This sometimes bit her in the butt. When I came up with the Starcaster world, I realized that this was the perfect role for Liz, except I wanted her to be named Victoria, after my daughter. (My daugher, with her baby-talk, gave me the idea for Starcaster.) I kept Liz's last name as a sort of template to help me glue her character in my mind.

Tory evovled to be very different from Liz. Liz could kick butt and was a mental fortress. Tory is almost pure thief with the personality of a morning news anchor.

I'll do the guys in another post. If you write, did you come up with your characters?

The Antidote for Waiting

While waiting for my marked-up manuscripts to get back to me, I've been a bit restless. I was working on my query for a while, but I decided that sort of job needs to be done when I'm doing the final polish. My muse didn't hit me with any new short stories, but I did get a couple of sentences that might start one someday:

She was a plump housewife with three small children and a sick husband--so what was she doing going out to fight trolls?

Because, she mused as she clutched the ancient family shortsword, I have three small children and a sick husband.

And that's it! That's all I have. And it has a dreadful cliche with the trolls.

So anyway, I decided that the best way to conquer my waiting doldrums is to package up and send off a short story. Therefore, "Petroleum Sunset" (the new title of my hick science fiction) is now on my side table, waiting to embark on its journey to Asimov's.

I hope it does better on its journey than the copy of Starcaster that Lisa tried to send back to me. Check out the tracking history:

Processed, October 09, 2008, 2:27 am, JACKSONVILLE, FL 32099
Processed, October 06, 2008, 3:17 pm, CAPITOL HEIGHTS, MD 20790
Processed, October 04, 2008, 9:48 pm, JACKSONVILLE, FL 32099
Processed, October 01, 2008, 8:00 pm, SPRINGFIELD, MA 01152
Acceptance, September 29, 2008, 12:33 pm, STOW, MA 01775

So it came to Jacksonville, wandered north, then came back south again. What on earth?

My Writer Story in Two Parts - Part 2

Part 1 of my writer story is here.

I didn't write much prose in high school, but I did write some poetry. In the eleventh grade, I attempted to write a story about a young woman named Gwenyth who was somehow transported from the dark ages to the 20th century. It had no plot. The story fizzled.

Fast forward five years. I was in the Air Force and I got my first typewriter. I wrote a story about a young girl who lived among a band of highwaymen. It had no plot. The story fizzled. (However, my typing speed shot to 60 WPM and there it stays.)

Later, I tried to write a novel about a young knight who participated in the First Crusade. It had no plot. The story fizzled.

Are we noticing a pattern here?

Determined to finish something, I wrote a story about a young girl who grew up as a feral child in the forest, and who turned all the animals loose in the king's menagerie. It had no plot. I wrote it anyway. I sent it to a fantasy magazine that was popular in the 80s, run by a certain well-known fantasy author.

She sent me the most brutal rejection I've ever received. No, I didn't feel all special that she sent me a personal rejection. It was mean. I tore the letter up and threw it away.

I sent other stuff to other magazines, but soon gave up. Obviously, I had no idea how to write a short story. Instead, I worked on another novel.

It was called Oath of the Songsmith. It was about a minstrel and a young woman who take on a witch. I had the ending nailed before I wrote the beginning. I did everything right. Except, the plot wandered all over the place. Oh, and it used every fantasy cliché imaginable. I did try to breathe new life into those clichés, but still. I had 40 chapters spread out over 40 files. When I sewed it all together, its length shocked me--230,000 words.

That's not one novel, it's two. Two long novels. It even had a nice point in the middle where I could break it up into a duology. I sent it to one agent. Rejected. I put it away and never sent it anywhere else. I didn't think it was sellable or even worth trying to salvage.

I turned my attention back to short stories. I received a few "nice writing, but" rejections from JJA. I also got a few without the "nice writing" bit.

I had a baby. I stopped writing fiction and sold some nonfiction to help support the family while I worked a 3/4th time job. Several years passed. I went through two brutal periods of unemployment. I learned that my child was disabled.

In 2005, while once again gainfully employed, the Michael Jackson trial made all the pieces click in place for a fantasy that I long wanted to write based on mythology. It took 18 months to write and refine the 115,000 word novel. I sent it to 33 agents. One agent read the full, but passed.

I started writing my third novel. I wrote 80,000 words in 6 months. I got some great feedback from Kristin on Novel Number 2, and rewrote it. I sent it to 35 or so more agents. The agent from attempt number one reread it, and passed again. Another partial and several queries are still pending. I've had some invitations to submit other stuff. I seem to be getting closer but still, no cigar.

I started writing short stories again. I trashed the ending of Novel Number 3 and started working on a rewrite. I wrote the first three chapters of Novel Number 4 and I have thought a lot about Novel Numbers 5 and 6. My genres started wandering. Here they all are:

Novel 1: light epic fantasy
Novel 2: epic fantasy
Novel 3: light espionage fantasy
Novel 4: Hollywood romance
Other, unplotted novels include a Christian thriller and a Ancient History mystery (hey! that rhymes!)

It doesn't seem like much of a writer's story because it's not over yet. When will it be over? 1) when I die or 2) when I give up writing.

My Writer Story in Two Parts - Part 1

Kristin wants writer stories. So here's mine.

As a young child, I was a terrible reader. The written word was my enemy. It just didn't click in my mind. I struggled through the 1st, 2nd and 3rd grade, grateful each year just to pass. In the third grade, I had two teachers. One accused me of playing with my fingers. She punished me for it and mocked me in front of the class. The other teacher wondered why I would play with my fingers. After all, it's not a usual thing for a child to do. When she noticed me peering at the blackboard through a tiny triangle formed by three fingers, she realized that I was doing it in an attempt to see.

You see, when you're nearsighted, you can push away the blurriness by peering through a tiny hole. I have no idea how I figured this out. It only works up to a certain point. I'm too nearsighted nowadays to be able to do this.

She sent home a note suggesting I get glasses. They helped a lot, but not with reading.

In the fourth grade, I had the worst teacher in the world. I don't credit her at all with my figuring out how to read that year. I credit my father.

In the fifth grade, we moved. I had the most wonderful teacher in the world that year, Sr. Clair. She was Irish and about 25. She had us memorize poetry. At first I hated it, but then I realized I could do it and I started to enjoy it. Then, toward the end of that year, she issued a challenge. Anyone who memorized Hiawatha's Childhood would get a special prize and extra credit.

I took on that challenge.

It is 165 lines long. It seemed impossible. But I knew Sr. Clair wouldn't have us try if it were not possible. So I did it, and I recited it in front of the class. Only one other girl was able to do it. I didn't recite it perfectly, but I got about 95 percent right. I got the extra credit and prize anyway. I didn't realize then that Sr. Clair wasn't looking for perfection. She was looking for the effort.

It was a wonderful boost to my confidence. The prize? A copy of The Wizard of Oz, signed by my teacher. I wish I still had it.

The next year, I had the same teacher. I almost won the class spelling bee a few times. That same girl who memorized Hiawatha's Childhood with me always beat me. At about that time, my mother was making lots of trips back and forth to Orlando for medical reasons. One day, for reasons I no longer remember, I was alone with her for the trip back. In a family of five children, moments alone with her were rare. I decided to compose a poem. Aloud. It wasn't my first poem (Sr. Clair was always having us compose poems), but it was the first time I ever let anyone see the writer in me.

Coming up in part 2: my not-so-angsty high school years and beyond.

Sundry Subjects

I'm back in the swing of things with Starcaster. I've worked in my new opening scene, and I think I've smoothed out all the plot wrinkles. I'm now on the fourth chapter, which is the second chapter I've had to rewrite.

I'm now on my third official draft. Forging a Legend took five drafts (or maybe six), and I expect to be able to take one fewer with Starcaster. I could be wrong--the plot is much more twisty and complicated.

Backspace is interesting, and the boards are inactive enough that it is reasonable to visit one time each day. You can easily catch up on all the threads that have changed since then, which usually are about twenty. The writing crowd is not as diverse there as at Absolute Write--they seem to have a more literary and mainstream crowd. There's a query workshop coming up with some well-known agents; it might be worth joining just to take part in the workshop. I plan to submit a query for Starcaster, since one of the judges has already responded positively to my query for Forging a Legend.

I finished a debut that just blew me away. It's called Elom, written by William H. Drinkard. Sometimes when I read someone's writing, I'm just awed. He came up with some really great stuff for Elom--what an imagination! He's an older guy, judging from his picture, and you can tell from the depth of his writing that he ain't no young thing. If you're interested in the review, just click the Fantasy Debut link, over there to the left somewhere.

Goals for the week:

• Resubmit "Spin" (carryover from last week)
• Get halfway through rewrite of Starcaster
• Send more queries

Zapping Myself with the Inspiration Gun

I've been feeling icky, which has made me feel somewhat uninspired. When I'm feeling uninspired, I turn off the radio on my way to and from work, roll down the window, and just think. My thoughts go something like this:

First, I use my mental Plot Hole Prod to find weak points in my plot. Then, Real Life intrudes when spot a gas station and note that the price of gas is now 3.59 a gallon. I wonder what our electric bill will be come July.

I shove the thought aside and try to dream up connections between characters. My stomach growls and I wonder what we'll have for dinner. I drag my thoughts back to my plot. I stop for a red light. Big truck rumbles up beside me. I get in a groove, imagining a great new twist. Then, with a deafening hiss, the truck's air brakes blast the twist right out of my head. With an annoyed glance at the truck, I roll up my window and put on the air conditioning. Once I clear the intersection, I turn off the AC, let the cool air run out and then roll the window back down. In the meantime, I try to recapture the great twist, which now lingers like a ghost in my mind. It was once there for real, but now it lacks substance. As I approach the last big intersection before home, I ponder whether I should take the railroad bridge or the shorter route, where I risk getting stopped by an incredibly long, Florida train. I thank God that my choices are so mundane. I gamble on the shorter route. It's a lucky day.

I'm so unfocused!

This week's goals:

• Make my new Starcaster opening make sense.
• Work on downgrading poor Sam.
• Send "Spin" to another market (you know what that means)

Many thanks to Katie, who read "Spin" and found a few small yet significant problems with it.

Germinating Idea

I started working on a idea for another epic fantasy trilogy. This one is still in the character-sketch phase. I have no plot. I just have characters. What's different for me is that this is a group of people, not just one person. Both of my previous books really only have one main character.

With this novel, I hope to do the some things that are different. For example, I want to write a love story between two people in their 60s. Why should the 20 and 30 year olders have all the great love stories? I'll also have parents and children involved in the same quest. Oh, and grandparents. This story involves people from 60 to 16. There will be a prophesy. There will be gypsies, tinkers and knights. Yes, it's a medieval fantasy, something else I have not done in ages. (No elves, though.) I'm thinking of an eastern European-type setting. Lots of brooding castles.

However, before I write this novel, I have to finish Starcaster. Then I have two other novels I want to write, and then a mystery (possibly paranormal) set in ancient Rome. So unless this idea really starts to excite me, it's pretty far down on my list of things to write.

In a Funk

I have not been writing for a few days, ever since I mailed off "Spin", and that's unusual for me. I think I have writer-fatigue. I have not been forcing it; instead I've been taking it easy, reading some good books and working on my query (the latest of which is at my novel website, if you're curious). I wrote some ideas in a notebook, but nothing has caught fire. I think I just needed to give my imagination a break.

Tonight, I watched I am Legend with my husband. I've also been watching Enchanted with my daughter. What a long movie! I thought two hours would be enough tonight, but my daughter lost interest and I finally turned it off. I'll watch the ending tomorrow. I've also been reading two novels, but one has sort of overpowered the other.

What do you do when you have writer-fatigue?

Why I Love to Write

I had a weak moment the other evening. It went something like this:

Why do you keep doing this, Tia? Why don't you shut off the computer and stop trying so hard?

The answer to myself was:

What else would I be doing?

Well, there's all sorts of other things I could be doing. I'm never one to be bored. But my weak moment only lasted about thirty seconds. Why? Because my answer to myself was, This is my leisure time activity. It's better than watching TV.

And it is. If it pays one day, great. If not, I'll self publish about 20 copies and distribute it to my family. Maybe one day, one of my descendants will enjoy it. Maybe they'll even enjoy it before I die.

Why do I write? I'm 42 years old. I've been doing this for about 20 years now (late bloomer). Here is why I love to write.

• I have stories to tell. Role-playing games help me get some of these stories off my chest. I always have an audience for my novels because my husband reads every novel I write (except the first one, which I didn't inflict on him). I suspect when I'm old, I'll be telling stories to the other old folk in the old folk home.
• I can be whoever I want. When I'm behind the eyeballs of my characters, I can cast off my Tia-skin and wear someone else's. I can be a black girl. I can be a kick-ass warrior. I can be a sneaky thief. I can be a mystery-solving slave. I can be a god. I can be a movie star. I can be a virtuoso violinist. I can be a twelve year old girl.
  
• I can fall in love again. And again. And again. Romance does not play a heavy part in my novels (except one), but it's always there. Everyone loves a love story. When they made the movie Top Gun, they realized that something was missing. A love story. So they wrote one in. I always think something is missing from novels if there is not at least a small love story. (Notice I'm not using the word Romance, which I think is different.)
  
• I can be a man. I have no desire to be a man in real life, but I simply love writing about one from a tight third person point-of-view. I always run it by my husband for a reality check. I think my background in Air Force flight shacks listening to men talk helps me out here.
  
• I can be 20 again. Or 30. Or 40. I don't know if I would be comfortable writing about an age much older than my actual age, but I can handle any age up to this point.
• I can go to space. I can go back in time. I can go forward in time. I can go to heaven or hell, or somewhere else, entirely.
• I can die without dying in person. Who knows what death is really like? But I can guess in my novels.

You get the idea. Why do you write?

Killing a Character

I'm about to kill a character in Forging a Legend. A major character. And I don't have very many characters that I consider "major". I've been thinking about it for several days, but I have not started writing yet. I don't think it's a good idea to force writing and the idea does not seem ripe yet.

I tried to pick up Starcaster while I wait for the idea to percolate, but I'm in a Forging mode now, and I find that I cannot work on both ideas in tandem. Too much of a mood change.

In the meantime, I'm beta-reading Kristin's rather excellent novel. Speaking of which, I think I've figured out how I'm going to spend my evening.