Ramblings of an aspiring writer

Last Sunday’s Academy Awards caused quite a stir in my online writing group, especially in regard to The Hurt Locker winning best picture. One of my group members, Ken (www.bulletwisdom.com), is a Major in the US Army and has done tours in Iraq. His chief complaint (though he did itemize for us) was that the film was unrealistic and disrespectful. On the one hand, I get it. For him, the film was personal and tapped into his recent life experience.

But to be fair, this isn’t a new complaint about films. How many movies come out where the history is less than accurate? (Braveheart and Gladiator come to mind immediately.) Police commonly argue that the speed with which Hollywood solves crimes would have every criminal behind bars in a fraction of the time an investigation really takes. Doctors wish they could perform medical miracles at the rate film and television makes it happen. Hollywood makes those careers look simple, which makes the people who really do the job appear less than their Hollywood counterparts.

The thing is the movies and television shows in question don’t purport themselves as fact. Documentaries give us facts. The rest of what Hollywood sends out is entertainment. Even if it is “based on” whatever, it’s fictionalized. That’s because, with some rare exceptions, straight facts don’t sell tickets. Things need to be spiced up in order to draw viewers, and like it or not, Hollywood is in the business of making money.

This problem isn’t unique to film though; publishing receives its own share of backlash regarding “truth”. The first example that comes to mind is The DaVinci Code. Regardless of what you may think of Brown’s writing ability, the book sold a lot of copies and was under a great deal of scrutiny. Reportedly, people left the Catholic Church because of what Brown presented in The DaVinci Code. I would argue that those people were just looking for a reason to leave.

You see, right on the front of the book it has these two very important words: “A Novel”. By definition, a novel is fiction (as agents like to remind us, “fictional novel” is redundant and a no-no). Those who speak most vehemently against The DaVinci Code bring up the page where Brown mentions the “facts” he used in his research. Those “facts” have been rebutted time and again.

Here’s the thing. Regardless of whatever facts he might have gotten wrong, The DaVinci Code was published as a work of fiction. My work is fiction too, and I’m sure I’ve gotten things wrong. The animal rooms in the biology building at Purdue might not be in the basement. They might not even do research of the type I use in my novel. But at the end of the day, it doesn’t matter. It is a work of fiction, and no matter how much we, as authors try to get our facts right, we’re allowed leeway because of that fact.

So, yes, The Hurt Locker may well be the most inaccurate depiction of the war in Iraq ever put on film, but it didn’t claim to be a documentary any more than The DaVinci Code claimed to be non-fiction. And to tell the truth, when I go to the movies, I want my heroes to have issues, I want my action larger than life, I want to see people do stupid things that lead to bigger problems. I want fiction.

I mean, there have been a lot of films about teachers too, but as a former high school science teacher, trust me when I say that you wouldn’t want to watch something about a real week in the life of a teacher. Or writers. Or…

I’m nearing the end of my current WiP. In the last couple weeks, the story has undergone some changes. First, I finally ditched my old working title, To Die For. Even on first choosing it, I knew it wouldn’t stick. Though it fits certain important aspects of the story, it was too generic. On the surface, it didn’t tell anything about the story or even give a hint at genre. The name had to go.

The path to the new, still imperfect, title was a strange one. The novel was very thoroughly plotted (or so I thought). When I started, I didn’t expect a lot of surprises. Then as I examined my plot points, I realized that certain things I’d thought made total sense were missing pieces. How was the character who swoops in at the end to aid my MC connected to the bigger picture?

So I spent some time really thinking about this pivotal character. She was important from the minute she came on the page, but I’d never considered the why of it. I was taking a shower (yes, many of my best ideas happen there) when I had one of those moments when I would swear a little cartoon light bulb showed up over my head. As soon as the answer hit me, all these little pieces fell into place. Tiny niggling questions had answers!

I ran downstairs after my shower and probably annoyed every one of my friends who was online. I have a new title! I have answers! I have ideas for more stories in this world! I even have a series title! Every person I talked to that day must have had their finger poised over the button that would let them ignore me.

After my excitement waned a bit, I discovered that all these answers meant some big changes during revisions. Along with a lot of little ones. That deflated my joy a teensy bit.

Until last night.

As some of you know, I started knitting in the middle of November (and NaNoWriMo). A few days ago, I started my first project with cables — you know the pretty twisty things? It’s pretty, but for me, it is also really complicated. Last night I finally thought I was getting into the rhythm of it when I realized I had just screwed up an entire row (one of the cabling rows at that). I stared at that row for a long time, wondering if I could get away with leaving it. After all, it was just two stitches. Did I really want to tear out the whole row for two stitches? Especially with how bad I am at getting things back on the needle right?

So I stared and stared.

And then I ripped it out. It took me forever to get the previous stitches back on the needle right, but eventually I did and knitted the row properly. As I was re-stitching (and cursing at myself for screwing it up in the first place), I reminded myself that in the end it would look better. Then it hit me that those revisions I was dreading weren’t any harder than re-doing that row. Sure, they would take longer, but they served the same purpose — making the story better and stronger, and yes, prettier.

My faith in the story is renewed, along with my faith in myself. Today I said a lot more whens than ifs. What more can one ask from a mistake?

/rant on

I’m not querying right now, but something happened on Twitter last night that has my panties in a twist. Not unlike when Colleen Lindsay did #queryfail, the backlash on Michelle Wolfson’s #queryquotes has started.

For those not in the know, #queryfail was a day when agents on Twitter live tweeted their queries. In 140 characters (less the tag), they told aspiring authors what made queries get the dreaded form rejection. Some people got pissy about it and whined and tried to make the agents into the bad guys.

Recently, with #queryquotes, agents have tried to do similar things. A made up example: “I just finished my first novel.” They then say don’t say that because it gives the impression that you just typed “the end” the night before and are querying without any editing or revisions. If the quote isn’t so general, the agents make a point of removing any blatant identifying words (title, character names, etc). The only way to know if it’s your query is if you recognize the wording — no one else needs to know unless you choose to tell.

Yesterday, a best-selling author tried to hijack the #queryquotes tag because he thought it belittled aspiring authors. He went on to talk smack to the agents who participated in it. When those aspiring authors he was standing up for (sic) argued that they LIKED #queryquotes, he went on to insult us, essentially saying that we were only sucking up to agents because we didn’t have one.

I am sick and tired of that attitude. Most of the agents I follow on Twitter do not follow me back. I still read their tweets because *gasp* they teach me things I might not know. They are a wealth of information about a business that I reside on the outskirts of. As for the agents who do follow me back. I actually like them. They are funny; they are nice. They are (heavens forbid) people I wouldn’t mind sitting down for a drink with at a convention sometime. Can I call them friends? Maybe, maybe not.

The point is when it comes time for me to query again, I won’t expect preferential treatment because I follow someone on Twitter or because they follow me (or even because at some point we might have had drinks together). Crazy as it sounds, I look at writing as a business. Yes, in the long run, agents work for the author. But aspiring authors need to remember that agents get job offers from hundreds of people a day. A day. They aren’t going to choose to work for someone who can’t write, can’t follow directions, is unwilling to learn, or is a rude and arrogant jerk.

I can’t speak for anyone else, but I’m going to keep following agents on Twitter, and I’m going to keep learning from them so that hopefully, next time I query, I do it right and several of them want to work for me. As for that bestselling author, I’m a big girl and can make decisions for myself. If I don’t like what agents have to say, I’ll stop following them. Dude, you don’t know me, and I sure don’t want your arrogant ass standing up for me. Thanks.

Long live #queryquotes and bring back #queryfail

/rant off

As most of you know, I write young adult novels. They deal with all sorts of things, but family, love and friendship play key roles. I figured that as an adult, I’d had enough years to have a solid grasp on the friendship thing. Life has a funny way of kicking me in the teeth to let me know just how wrong I am.

I’m not quite Dr. House in my belief that everyone lies and it screws up their lives, but I do expect even the best of my friends to screw up on occasion. They are human, and people are faulty at best. So, when my friends do some thing stupid or thoughtless, I let it piss me off. Then I get over it. Because they are my friends.

And I expect them to do the same for me.

Maybe that’s where I go wrong. Not everyone is wired like me, and I need to accept that. That means that I need to make a decision about how I live: do I strive to be the perfect friend who never messes up or do I teeter on the edge of sanity, knowing that people I care about can drop out of my life without warning?

I can’t do the first. Perfection isn’t realistic; I will inevitably screw up. I’m a person, not a machine. As for the second, I can’t live like that, not if I want to be able to have real relationships with people. I need to believe to a reasonable degree that people who say they care about me are going to stick around.

So, I’m stuck with staying just the way I am. (And hell, I wasn’t willing to change my core personality for my husband; I don’t think it’s fair for other people to expect it.) I will still dip my toe into the friendship pool with trepidation, and then dive in head first when I get a sense that it’s something real. And my heart will still break into a thousand pieces when I screw up, and things go sour.

Because that’s who I am. And in many ways, that’s who my characters are too. As authors, we like to think that our characters aren’t us or people we know, but I think that’s a lie. All of my characters have little pieces of me, and sometimes characters you think came entirely from your head are actually friends in disguise. I think that’s why we love them as much as we do.

It’s time for me to go take superglue to a thousand little pieces and then spend some time with my fictional substitute, because I still adore Bryce Owens (whichever face he’s wearing).

Those of you who know me personally (or really pay attention to my blog or twitter) know that things have kind of gone into a tailspin over the last month. When I started on my current WiP, it was flying along. Then, life happened (as it so often does), and I stopped moving on it at all.

It isn’t the curse of the plot bunnies. My plot is there (and I’m still excited about it), I just couldn’t seem to write anything. It felt like life was telling me to quit, and some part of me thought “okay” was the appropriate response.

Over this past weekend, one of my critique partners received a revision request from an agent. And just today, another of my dear friends (and beta readers) signed with a fabulous agent. I am ecstatic for both of them. But I have to admit a part of me asked where that left me. Was I considering giving up because I’m not good enough or just because things have been tough lately?

It hit me that the second one was the real answer. I might not be good enough, but that’s another issue. My problem right now is one of mind-numbing pessimism. And that’s not okay.

So, today I’m saying fuck pessimism. I refuse to let myself be that person. My inner pessimist has a nice corner of my brain where she’s supposed to live behind a tightly locked door. I’m shoving her back in and adding a couple deadbolts.

And the successes my friends are seeing are going to help me do that. Yes. I am using their happiness to jumpstart my own. I suppose there’s a chance that they won’t like it, but I hope they’ll realize it shows just how happy I am for them. Because the truth is, if I was really resentful and jealous, I’d be wallowing deeper. Instead, thanks to them, I’m striving for the surface and the first breath of air in several weeks.

Then, as Dory the little blue fish reminds me whenever I need a kick in the ass, it’s time to “keep on swimming”.

By the way, congrats again, ladies (you know who you are)   =)

I’m really sorry about the lack of blogging, but I doubt it’s going to pick up anytime soon.

2010 has sapped my positivity. I started the year full of energy and excitement. Good things were coming my way. Now, I still believe that last part, but the six weeks we’ve spent in 2010 seem intent on beating me down until I give in.

I rang in the New Year with the tail end of a nasty virus. I beat it, but it was still a while before I felt good enough to start tackling exercise again. Around that time, the family squabbles started.

Somewhere in there, I received feedback on Pretty Souls that was spot on. Sadly it also meant I would have to re-write almost the entire thing. I’d just finished the super-rough draft on Partly Human, and even the thought of tackling my girls again filled me with dread. Don’t get me wrong, I love them (and I adore the person who gave me the feedback — better to know now and all that), but I just couldn’t handle starting over again.

Even though it hurt, I hung up my PRT querying shoes, pulled up my big girl panties, and moved on to a new project. The first week, I churned out 10,000 words in four days. Then I was informed that I needed another leg to my plot. Again, this was a GOOD thing to find out, especially so early on. The only problem was it killed my momentum. So, I went back and worked in the threads of this other part of the plot. I was ready to roll again.

And then my dog, Bailey, started getting worse. For those of you who don’t know, Bailey suffered through an array of problems over the last year. She got a pacemaker in March, but the increased blood flow didn’t help the problems she was having with her legs. In November, we started taking her for acupuncture. It helped a little, but in December, she lost almost all control of her left hind leg. Whenever she walked, she dragged it along after her.

While the acupuncture helped, it wasn’t a cure. Throughout the last month and a half, she began losing control of her bodily functions. Watching her like that and trying to care for her taught me some stuff about myself, and none of it was very pretty. So along with coping with her decline, I was trying to accept some harsh things about myself.

Last Friday, we put Bailey to sleep. My heart breaks a little bit still every day. I know we did right by her, but I wish I could have been better. I wish I could have been stronger for her. But I wasn’t.

I suppose just like we accepted all her personality quirks over the years, she probably accepted me for who I am. It doesn’t change the fact that I feel like she spent fourteen years giving me unconditional love when I didn’t deserve it. I’ve heard it said that the best friends are the ones who teach you things about yourself that you never knew. In that case, Bailey was and always will be my best friend. The sad truth is, I will probably never live up to the person she thought I was, but I’m trying.

I miss you, Bailey girl, our lives are so much emptier without you here.

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The craziest thing happened today.

I woke up to find that Katee (http://redqueen1.livejournal.com/) had given me the Kreativ Blogger Award. I was stunned. Then I found out I had to blog seven things you might not know about me, and I panicked a teensy bit. Refusing wasn’t an option though, so here we go:

1 - I tend to be very Thornton Wilder on rough drafts. Setting is pretty much non-existent. I have to go back and add it in during revisions. It’s one of the main reasons I prefer to have something done and revised (at least once) before I send it out for public consumption.

2 - The title of the first novel I started writing was Wars and Wishes, Disasters and Dreams. It was this sweeping epic love story about a pair of teenage runaways. It had (as I recall) this beautifully twisting plot that kept ripping the characters apart and throwing them back together. Sadly, I was in elementary school when I started it and never thought to write an outline. I believe I have the ten or so pages I managed before quitting in a trunk somewhere.

3 - I started college majoring in aerospace engineering, but switched to chemistry sophomore year (graduated with a 3.46). After college, I did data entry at Pharmacia-Upjohn (now Pfizer), temped in an environmental lab (I have a scar on my left index finger from that job), worked as a test lab tech at an injection molding plant, then went into teaching (high school science and careers).

4 - I have this crazy love for writing challenges. So much so that I have to be careful how many I take on because it has interfered with my novels in the past. I organize the writing challenges on Kelley Armstrong’s website, have participated in NaNoWriMo three years running, and keep being sucked in by these crazy little writing prompts people toss at me. It’s a sickness. It really is.

5 – My penchant for honesty causes confusion sometimes in that I’ll forget whether or not I’ve told a particular person something. I’m beta reading for my friend Jodi (shameless plug #1: http://jmeadows.livejournal.com/) and there is a snippet that perfectly mirrors something my mother did to me. No idea if I told her that story and she found a way to use it (if so – YAY!) or if she came up with on her own (in which case, it’s creepy that she inadvertently wrote my mother as a character).

6 - Paul (shameless plug #2: http://strugglingwriter.wordpress.com/) said knowing my favorite album/artist would be very telling. I have to admit that I haven’t listened to it in years because I owned it on *gasp* cassette tape. Because of Paul I looked up songs on youtube. The winner? The Eddie and the Cruisers 2: Eddie Lives soundtrack (the movie was bad, but I still love the music). My favorite artist changes about once a month, so I can’t name only one. There are American Idol alums I have mad love for though, especially Chris Daughtry, Adam Lambert, and David Cook (in fact, several of Cook’s songs inspired scenes in later PRT novels).

7 - Another friend, Rayna (shameless plug #3, even though I’m 99% sure she isn’t interested in what I write: http://raynareads.blogspot.com/), wanted to know what book changed my life. For a lot of writers, that’s an easy question. Not so much for me. EVERY book I read changes me in some way. But I refused to take the easy way out, so I thought about what books led to what I write and why. My first thought was Anne Rice since she humanized vampires and made the monsters sympathetic. Then I realized Frankenstein did that for me first (maybe not you, but I’m just special like that). And I started spiraling. What about that book I read as a kid with the talking dog? That made me want to write stories. What about The Velveteen Rabbit? It still makes me cry. Ultimately, I realized the book that changed me in the biggest way was the one that led me to developing my writing and putting myself out there. For that, Kelley Armstrong’s Bitten gets the big shout out.

That’s me. You might have known some of this, but somehow I doubt any of you knew all of it. I can only hope you enjoyed learning something new about me.

So, backtracking a couple blogs in an attempt to figure out how this thing works, I can apparently give the award to up to seven people. Therefore, in addition to the people I shamelessly plugged above, I wish to give the Kreativ Award to Michelle (http://michellemuto.wordpress.com/) and Nikki (http://bookwyrmknits.wordpress.com/) from OWG. I’m sure I forgot people, but I tried to spread the love around so that it could get to some of my other friends too.

My best friend left for home this morning, so I’m a little sad. Then I figured, what better way to get over that than talking about goals for the year. It’s a topic that came up a lot last week, but I wanted to have mine in one nice central place so people could readily beat me over the head with them. I’m so masochistic considerate that way.

• People: I want to spend more time with the people I care about: play with my kids more, spend more time with my husband where we actually talk, be there more consistently for my friends. It isn’t that I don’t do these things, I just want to be better about it.
• Health: Sure, I want to lose weight, but more importantly, I want to be healthy. So rather than some stupid number goal, I’m just going to work on watching what I put in my mouth and exercising on a regular basis again.
• Writing: I hate to give numbers, but I’d like a solid 3000-5000 words and/or 50-100 pages of editing a week. That means finishing/editing Partly Human as well as writing/editing the new project that has been percolating, and then doing some more. I also want to keep growing and learning as a writer: honing skills, trying new things, and meeting people in the business. Of course, I also want to sign with a fabulous agent who loves Pretty Souls as much as I do
• Reading: Throughout the past couple years, I’ve found that I have a much more difficult time reading for fun. I critique everything I read, and it’s slowed down my reading speed. I want to make reading for pleasure a priority again. Whether that means I find a way to shut off that editor or I become much more choosey about what I’m reading, I don’t know. But I love books, and I don’t want reading to be an afterthought anymore.

What does all that mean for you? It means (as you may have noticed in the past couple months) that my blogging won’t be incredibly consistent. I will still shoot for a weekly post, but I’m not going to feel guilty if I don’t. I’m not abandoning the blog (not by a long shot), but I’m also not going to post just because I “should”. Trust me that I’ll be here when I have something profound/wonderful/funny to say.

May 2010 be the best year yet!

My wonderful beta reader, Katee, directed me to this. Another blogging writer came up with the idea to celebrate the season and the joy that is mistletoe by having a bunch of writers post kissing scenes from their work.

This is my excerpt from Pretty Souls. Elle, the werewolf, thought that her crush, Jaxson (a fire half-demon), had a thing for her foster-sister, Cass. She’s just found out otherwise, and in typical Elle fashion, punched him and knocked him on his ass.

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“That was for letting me go on thinking you had a thing for my sister.” I held out my hand. “But if you’re still interested…”

He grabbed my wrist and let me pull him up. “I suppose as long as you promise to keep me on my toes and not let things get boring, then I’m still interested.”

I twined my fingers with his. “I’ll do my best. And I vow to knock you on your butt whenever you get out of line.”

Jax pulled me close, and the nearness of him woke the beast and sent her rolling about inside me. He leaned over and breathed along my neck, whispering, “You can try it, but you won’t get rid of me that easily.”

I met his amber gaze and wanted to lose myself in those eyes, in the comfort they promised. His hands slid under my coat, taking up position just above my waist, his fingertips finding the spots he had burned into my memory only a week earlier. I didn’t know if the warmth that flooded through me came from his hands or if being so close to him brought a heat that had nothing to do with demon blood.

I inhaled his scent, that glorious combination of rosemary and cinnamon – forest and home. For a moment I couldn’t tell who wanted to rub up against him more, me or the beast. Then I realized I didn’t care and inched nearer. My hands ran up his chest, remembering the day I’d seen him stepping out from the locker room. His skin was hot to the touch and made me think of summer and days at the beach where he would have no need for a shirt. The beast gave a dreamy growl and I moved even closer.

Jaxson arched his eyebrow in the way that drove me crazy, and the growl escaped my lips. He smirked and moved one hand from the small of my back to behind my neck. “Down, girl.” The words were meaningless. His body told a different story. A better one.

I felt gentle pressure on my neck, but I didn’t need any encouragement. I tipped my head up the tiniest bit and found his lips with mine. My eyes closed as I savored the softness of his lips, the taste of him. His fingers pressed into my skin, and I knew there would be small burns on my back and neck, but I didn’t care. In that instant, I didn’t care about anything in the world except him. Except his mouth on mine. His tongue gently caressed my lips, and I parted them willingly – eagerly.

His tongue entered my mouth, tentatively stroking mine. The touch sent shivers through me and my arms wound around his neck and tangled in his hair, pulling him tighter against my body.

“Ahem.”

Jax pulled back. I turned toward the sound with a snarl on my lips for whoever interrupted us, compliments of the beast.

It was Cass, still sitting on the bench, yards away. “Look, I’m happy for the two of you and all, but I’m feeling a bit weird sitting here watching this. So, any chance you might, you know, go out on a date or something – without me – to make out?”

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I hope you enjoyed the excerpt. Have a wonderful solstice today and enjoy the rest of the holiday season. Time for me to go hunt up a cute guy under some mistletoe. I’m sure my husband won’t mind. Tis the season and all that.

I’ve been neglecting the blog again. I’m sorry for it, but I’m not going to make excuses. Something happened in November that made me decide it’s time for excuses to go bye-bye. Time to start taking responsibility for the things I do. I need to start owning my life.

The revelation came early in November about five chapters into my NaNo novel. My story sucked. And before you start with the “Oh, Julie, it can’t be that bad” nonsense, trust me on this one. It is really just that bad. I kept pushing though because I’m stubborn and I refused to not win NaNo. So, I wrote 50,000+ words that I pretty much universally hated.

I spent too much time trying to build my characters during which nothing really happened (felt like I was writing that one book that I didn’t really like). Could I cut it during edits? Sure, but there were other inherent problems. A key one? I suck at world-building when it’s a completely different world than ours. I had a history of the system written. I knew each of the planets and what made them special. But the only times it came out in the story, I was telling the reader, and trying to show it wasn’t working for me. I wrote what might be a really hot sex scene, then I realized once the main character hooked up with the guy she was supposed to be with, their sex would pale in comparison (as a reader, even if I was rooting for the guy, that would kill me). On more levels than I care to count, the story failed. Without many second thoughts, I shelved it.

Why on earth would I blog about it then? Because I decided to own the failure. As writers (and human beings), we have to allow ourselves to fail. (If you are a non-human, I’ve got nothing for you. Sorry.) Had I shelved it and forgotten about it (like some people suggested), I wouldn’t have learned anything from the time I spent. Then, what purpose would it serve?

Without further ado, my NaNo mess taught me:

• I should not pants. This year was a test to see if my first pantsed mess was just a case of not-enough-experience syndrome. It wasn’t. I need at least a rough outline.
• Character development is a wonderful thing, but if my characters don’t have major things happening to them, it’s also really boring (and for me, it doesn’t matter how cool the characters are).
• If I’m going to tackle completely new worlds, I need to figure out in advance how I’m going to fit in world-building. I also need to be realistic about how much I want to do that. If my heart’s not in it, I need to pick a different story.
• For the love of all that is hot and sexy, make sure the main character is falling for the guy who’s going to be incredible in bed. Having wild sex with the other guy kills the romantic arc.
• Most importantly, I need to love all my characters on some level. Liking them and finding them interesting isn’t enough. If I don’t love and care about them deeply, no one else will either. If I don’t love them, I need to pick a different story.

There are probably a number of other things I learned, but those would be my top five. And really, I’m okay with that. I’d rather own all those issues and make sure they don’t happen again than sweep them away and forget about them until I make the same mistakes again.

After all, failure once is a learning experience. Failing by doing the same things over and over again means you’re both crazy and stupid. I suppose that’s okay, as long as you’re willing to own it.