Sunday, October 08, 2006

Emerald City Conference

Got back from the RWA Emerald City Conference in Bellevue, WA. Saw friends, met new people, gave a talk on historical cycles, the publishing market, and how to fit one’s book into that market. I’m going to post my notes up on my web site in PDF form once I get them in shape. I think. Or maybe I’ll just note that I have them and if anyone’s interested, I can e-mail them. That might be better.

Ugh. Tired now. I love going to conferences--I learn so much. But by the end, I’m TIRED. I’ll post more later.

--Karen H.

Monday, September 18, 2006

Sad

Sad news: My son’s friend/fraternity brother did not make it. The Child and his fraternity brothers have gone to the funeral. The thought of the loss of a young man, a good young man, is heartbreaking, and I cannot imagine--no, I don’t want to imagine--what his family must be going through right now. It’s too painful.

The reality is that death does not pick and choose, but strikes with seeming unreason, and no one escapes it. In that, it is bitterly dependable. What is not so dependable is our reaction to it. I look at my son and his fraternity brothers, however, and I am glad they have the character and heart to come to the side of a friend and his family, sit vigil, and do what they can in their young and earnest way to support the family in their loss. I don’t know how many would take the effort and tirelessly travel all that way to support and pay respects to someone who is not related, and was known for only a short time. It is easy to run from death, and look the other way, because it is a fearful thing.

These are good young men. My son will always be “my boy,” but the image of him as an adult is stronger now than the small, chubby-cheeked little one I keep in my heart, when I think of him dealing with this shock and grief as an adult in a way that makes me proud. He is a good person, as are his friends. Death simply is, but good people look at it plainly, and continue to be good. And this, in light of this terrible event, comforts me.

--Karen H.

Worries

        The Alien Child called yesterday, saying he was heading home--or at least to this side of the mountains, a trip of over 300 miles. It’s not a holiday, not any kind of school break. Was he expelled? (Incomprehensible thought!) Did something go wrong?

        Turns out a fraternity brother who had gone to Seattle for a football game got into a serious traffic accident (not his fault, it seems), is apparently non-responsive to stimuli, and is in a coma. The bond of friendship for my son is strong, and he takes seriously the vow to support his fraternity brothers, so he and some of the young men from the fraternity are now on this side of the mountains, sitting at the bedside of their friend at a Seattle hospital.

        My heart is breaking for this young man’s family--how frightening and terrible to see their child so hurt, his life hanging by a thread. I’m praying for a miracle, that this boy will recover.

        (sigh) It means that my kid will have a lot of school work to make up, and I hope his professor will let him take the test he missed. But, given the choice, I would rather he have the kindness of heart to go to the side of a critically injured friend than get a good grade. You can take a class over again, make up a test, but comforting and supporting others in need is time that can’t be made up.

        Of course, this means I will worry about the trip back for him and his friends; we’ve had nasty weather lately, they might be in a distracted state of mind when they return home. I hope and pray they will remember to be safe, too.

--Karen H.

Tuesday, September 12, 2006

Revisions

        Well. I've been revising the latest manuscript, and oy! Got it back a while ago from my editor who said it Just Didn't Work and that It Must Be Fixed. Part of me groaned and just wished that stack of papers I received in the mail would go away. I have other ideas, other stories that want to be written. The Muse is impatiently tapping her foot, wanting me to done with it already. She can't seem to understand that having the story down on paper does not mean it's done.

        Another part of me impatiently wants to delve into the revisions so that I can sculpt the story into something better, elegant in form and stature. There's something enormously satisfying about the revision process; it's a different sort of magic from the sheer raw creative first draft. You read through the raw material and hone in on one thing to fix, and then click, click, click! A string of domino-motifs snakes through the plot, theme, and characters and ties everything together. When things click like that, it's almost a physical sensation of rightness.

        It's frustrating though; doing extensive revisions in the way see it'll need to be done demands some long, focused time, which is in short supply since I'm working full time outside the home. By the time I come home and am done with dinner, I'm tired and my mind refuses to concentrate in the way it should. So, that leaves the weekend; 10 hours at least per weekend should do the trick.

        I feel tired just thinking of it.

        Actually, I'm looking at the clock and it's past 11 pm, and that’s probably why I'm feeling tired. So, off to bed. With luck, I'll have some time during lunch tomorrow to work on the revisions.

Wednesday, August 23, 2006

Learning from Writing Contests - Description

I’m one of those weird people who like to judge writing contests. For some reason it thrills me to find a diamond amongst the entries, and there are some contest entrants who not only get a high score from me, but get comments like “send this manuscript to a publisher NOW,” with lots of exclamation marks. I love those. Then there are the not-so-exciting ones, the ones that have promise if some work’s put into them. Then there are the ones…well, the ones I’m staring at and wondering what the hell is going on, because I can’t make heads or tails of them. Luckily the latter are rare, because then I have to try to find some diplomatic way of saying, “this is SO not going to work. Ever.” I hate to squash anyone’s hopes, and the truth is it’s possible for someone to work hard enough so that they go from dreadful to delightful.

Mostly what I get are the middling ones that need a bit of oomph, some craft improvement, such as sticking to a character’s point of view (POV), or starting at a different point in the story. Those are easy fixes. The harder ones are when the character doesn’t act sensibly, such as going out into treacherous terrain when she’s been told not to by wiser and more experienced heads. There has to be some major, major justification for acting in such a risky manner to convince me. Otherwise, I end up thinking that character is TSTL (i.e., Too Stupid to Live).

What’s interesting is that with every contest I judge, a craft problem stands out prominently amongst the entries. It’s good for me: when I identify what it is, figuring out how to fix them hones my own writing.

This time, it’s description. The group of entries—with the exception of one or two--I recently judged had some problems with that aspect of craft. A couple didn’t have enough to place me securely in the writer’s story world (my own problem, when I’m writing a hurried first draft), a few had some strange ones (a hero with multi-colored, multi-faceted eyes, for example. And he was not a Jeff Goldblum look-alike in a fly costume), and then there were some that were way over the top and placed in the story willy-nilly.

In my humble opinion, there is such a thing as judicious description. We’re told in writing workshops to use all five senses when describing something, but people seem to think this means using Every Sense Every Single Time. As a reader, I don’t want sensory overload. I want concrete imagery. I want the description to mean something to the characters, reflect an emotion, or reveal something about the character and his/her POV. I want the description to be essential to the scene, and do more than just describe.

I think the key is to understand that description resides in the character. It is almost always from the character’s viewpoint that his or her environment is described. Most of us view our world with emotional or mental filters, from a framework of prejudice. I use that word purposely: we rarely think outside our box of conservative or liberal, rural or urban, northeasterner or southwesterner. We view the world from our life’s context, and we react to that world in the way we do because of that context. The same is so with our characters.

As a result, when a character is feeling depressed but has a naturally practical and optimistic nature, she has a certain response to her environment. If it’s sunny outside, the description—from her viewpoint—would be something like this:

Sarah awoke early in the morning and resented the bright sunlight that streamed into her bedroom. Pulling the bedcovers over her head, she tried to block out the light so that she could wallow in her gloom from the night before. It was useless. The bed had a soft sheet and a thin cotton blanket fit for hot August nights; instead of looking at a grey dim mattress and thinking grey dim thoughts, the pretty golden glow on the white sheets made her think of spring daffodils.

Pushing aside the bed covers, she sighed, and could not help a wry smile at her own actions. There was no sense in hiding under bedsheets from the world; it was stuffy and confining under there. The sunbeams pouring through the windows into her pastel-painted bedroom conspired to banish all thoughts of last night’s failure, and lured her into imagining a day of exploration instead.

Note that not once do I state that she’s depressed. Instead, I say she’s resentful of the sunshine, wants to block out the light, and was intending to think dim grey thoughts. All of that contrasts with what’s in her environment: a sunny August morning. Because she’s naturally optimistic, the light makes her think of spring daffodils, which is not a depressing image. And because she’s practical, she’s realistic about the fact that it’s stuffy under bedclothes and therefore not a useful place to be.

The description integrates with who Sarah is. She reacts to her environment according to her nature and the way she’s taught to be. At the same time, I’ve let the reader know what her room looks like filtered through Sarah’s attitudes and character. I didn’t use all five senses in the description, just two: sight and touch. To have put in more would have bogged down the narrative, and even made it more emotional than I wanted it to be (I wanted the mood to be fairly light). I also used metaphors and personification: sunbeams are inanimate objects and don’t have motivation, so can’t conspire. However, it’s a legitimate literary device that makes the description interact with the character.

This achieves more than just describing a place. It also shows characterization, mood, and pushes forward the scene because the character not just perceives her environment, but acts on it, and is changed by it.

Characters, like ourselves, are not separate from their environment. They are in it, part of it, and react to it in some way. I think what might help is to take some time, go somewhere, and take note of what you see, hear, feel, etc. around you. Don’t judge it, take it in and see what emotions come up, what thoughts are evoked, what mood you’re in and how it influences the way you feel about your environment. Try it, and see what comes out in your writing.

--Karen H.

Monday, August 14, 2006

A God Thing

I should know better than to gripe to God, because sooner or later, I’ll get the spiritual two-by-four upside the head. (Although I’m sure I’ll probably continue to gripe, because it’s rather satisfying to gripe to someone who doesn’t get tired of me whining or tell me to cheer up when I don’t feel like cheering up.) So Saturday I was griping because I’d gone out and bought the t-shirts for our church’s little music festival, and few of them were bought, and I had all these doggone shirts left. What am I going to do with all these shirts? I don’t know yet, but I’m sure I’ll find out. These things work themselves out one way or another, I've found. I need to remember that.

The thing I forgot was that the music festival was never about the shirts, and in fact it probably wasn’t even about getting an ecumenical group of musicians out to play great music and have fun on a sunny August day, though all of us thought that was the main purpose of it. Our slogan this year was “Jesus is alive in Federal Way,” which we thought was about singing and playing hymns from the heart and soul with a rock beat.

Not quite. It was actually all about getting people where they needed to be, so that their needs could be met. Which of course is a God-thing, as we at our United Methodist Church would say. It often means the Spirit takes what you've got and does something unexpected with it, but something useful and good.

It’s been my observation that God-things happen all the time, and while most people call them “coincidences” or “serendipity” or even “magic,” they happen a lot at our church, more than I think should be possible. Someone will come into the church office worried because his refrigerator is broken, and then a minute later someone else comes in wanting to get rid of their old but still good refrigerator fast because they just bought a new one. Or the time we needed a sound board operator for our church band for a few weeks. A complete stranger came up to our music director at a non-church party the next evening, and asked if he knew anyone who needed a sound board operator—for EXACTLY the length of time we needed one. Or we needed some plywood to build something, and it just so happens someone comes by the church and wonders if they could offload some plywood. And so on. Happens so often we just shrug our shoulders and say, “it’s a God thing.”

We foolishly thought our church-back-yard music festival was about the music. What it really was about was the person from our neighborhood who heard the music, wandered in, saw our pastor (who no doubt looked approachable because of the balloon animal he was wearing on his head), and ended up finding emotional relief and comfort after talking with him. And it was about one of our own who was anxious about going from a company job to owning her own business after having to deal with the trauma of a family member's severe illness, but found peace when she connected with a stranger (an angel unawares?) who told her she had blessings and abundance surrounding her in what she was going to pursue. And more, probably in ways I haven't heard yet.

I really do have to have faith that even though I may not understand and know the effects of my actions, that they do have an effect. Heaven knows I've been shown this over and over again, even when I've been in despair. There was a time when I despaired of writing romance novels--people call them trash, after all, and what good is trash? It hurt badly sometimes when I would sit down and write something I loved, and then look at it later only to think, there are people out there who think what I do is trash, no matter how much I love it, no matter how much I put all my intellect and heart and soul into it.

I went to a group autographing once a few years ago, feeling that despair. There, a woman asked me to sign a copy of my book for her sister, who had cancer. She said that reading books like mine kept her sister from feeling the pain and the sickness of the disease and the treatments, and gave her hope. I realized then that my vocation of writing romance novels was not about me, or what others think, but was all about that woman, and people like her. People who need hope, who need respite from their very real, very hard, daily lives. It is the privileged who can afford to make judgments on whether a work of creativity is worthy of artistic note. Those who must deal with dread reality only know what keeps them sane and alive. If my books help them do that, then I am more than satisfied. I wish I could thank that woman who came to the autographing. She helped give me a new perspective that is now a deep river of calm underneath the ups and downs of my life.

I have to think that people finding comfort and joy, and the affirmation to follow their bliss and their creativity, are worth more than a bunch of leftover t-shirts. It's closer to what “Jesus is Alive in Federal Way” is about than our very mundane thoughts on musical expression.

So I’m not going to gripe about those t-shirts. At best it means they and I were part of an event that got people connected to what they deeply needed, physically, emotionally, and spiritually. At worst, it’ll mean we'll give away the shirts, and there will be a lot of homeless folk who will be wearing some nice, clean t-shirts. I really can’t lose, when I think of it that way. ☺

--Karen H

Saturday, August 12, 2006

Tired!

        Whew. Got done with the Praisefest music festival thingy at my church, which my hubby pulled me into. The music festival was his idea, so of course this meant that I had to take part, whether or not I knew anything about music festivals and how to run them.

        I was in charge of publicity, and since of course this is only the second time our church has put on this summer music fest, and since there were no instructions, I had to figure out things as I went. Such as, gee, it takes a while for a printing company to print up t-shirts, and they need electronic files with color separation. Of course, I know nothing about color separation. Or how many t-shirts to order, because, gosh, nobody really remembers how many were ordered and how many sold the last time, or in what sizes. So, I took a wild guess.

        Never a good thing.

        I ended up with far too many, and so have all these nifty t-shirts on hand. I hope I can sell them at church between services. Please God.

        And speaking of God, since this whole shebang was to glorify God and all, I think He should have taken some responsibility for getting people to buy the t-shirts. I mean, seriously, you’d think He’d give a nudge to the faithful: “look, nifty t-shirts, glorifing Me. Go buy them and save that poor suffering woman over there in the sun from going into serious debt. You’d be doing a Good Work.”

        I dunno, either God was not nudging hard enough or maybe the faithful weren’t being faithful enough to hear.

        Yeah, yeah, I sound grumpy. Most of it, I realize, is feeling some major empty nest syndrome. The Alien Child went off to Washington State University in Pullman early this year--two weeks early so that he could help work on the renovation of his fraternity house. Normally, the boy would be playing some down-and-dirty blues, gospel, and rock electric guitar along with the youth band and the adult band. But this year...well, I don’t think I’m boasting when I say the bands sounded a bit thin without his guitar. He’s got very good at playing, and can improvise around pretty much anything.

        And then there’s the fact that he was really really nice this summer. During the summer of his senior year in high school, there were times he was downright nasty and irritable. Difficult to be around. It wasn’t too hard to let him go to college with a sigh of relief, despite the empty nest twinges. But this summer, he returned even more Alien than ever. Kept his room reasonably clean without protest, did his chores without being told, cleaned the bathroom, cleaned the kitchen, worked hard at his summer job without complaint, and was cheerful and upbeat pretty much the whole time. I tried to get in a few nags, but it was useless; the boy either had finished the work before I told him to do it, or he was working on it as I geared up for a good spate of nagging.

        (sigh) Well, it may well be that he’ll be snagged by one of the campus pastors for their band during the school year. The Pullman United Methodist minister had heard the Alien Child play at the Annual Conference and was at once seized by what I can only characterize as an unholy avaricious spirit and has recruited the boy to play at the Pullman church’s and youth outreach band. My fear is that the Alien Child will wish to spend his summers playing with the band at Pullman, rather than come home.

        But no, I won’t think about that. And I will try not to become what I am sure he sees as Stalker Mom, the kind of Mom that sends e-mails every day, and obsesses over why he isn’t e-mailing back, worrying that maybe he’s been run over by a truck, or even abducted by the aliens who allowed him to grow up under my care. After all, it is wholly possible that those interesting markings in the acres of Palouse wheatfields around Pullman, WA could be, might be, probably are, alien crop circles. Both the hubby and the Child said they were tracks made by wheat harvesters, but they are obviously without imagination, or more likely, were trying to assuage my fears by hiding the facts. It’s clear to me that any one of the grain silos or barns along the way to WSU could be hiding an alien spaceship, ready to take my dear Alien Child away forever....

        Ahem. Anyway. Empty nest. Yes indeedy. Got it bad. And it isn’t helped by the fact that I’m tired from all the activity today. So, off to bed, and I’m sure I’ll be more coherent and reasonable in the morning.

--Karen H.

Wednesday, July 26, 2006

Office Camo Wear

The other evening the Dear Hubby and I were watching the Stargate SG1 characters doing their military best to oust evil aliens from the galaxy, when he suddenly said, “There should be camo wear for the office.” I looked at him, wondering if his sudden excursion into fashion awareness signaled a move toward metrosexuality, but since he is a software engineer for a major aerospace company, I quickly discarded the notion.

“It’s a bad idea for vice presidents to know who you are in a big company,” he said, watching Teal’c in military camouflage clothing skulk behind some bushes and survey one of those sickly-looking alien Priors.

“Even if you’re doing well?” I asked.

“Especially so,” he said. “If you’re efficient and hard-working, AND the vice presidents know who you are by sight, you might—might—get rewarded, but for sure you’ll stand out as someone to blame if anything goes wrong.”

“Really?” I said.

“Saw one of my coworkers wearing a bright red shirt the other day,” he continued. “Told him it was too bright, that he might get noticed. He was a bit worried about it—he’s a good worker, and doesn’t want too much attention, see.”

“Ah,” I said. “The Red Shirt phenomenon.” Even I knew it was deadly to be a Red Shirt, because the guys wearing the red shirts in classic Star Trek episodes always get killed, or at least severely injured.

“Exactly.” He nodded at the camouflage-attired SG-1 members sneaking through the forest. “They’ve got the right idea. Blend in. Don’t be noticed. You get your work done effectively that way because the bean-counter higher-ups don’t notice you and therefore won’t interfere.” He paused for a moment, brow furrowed. “Maybe something in vertical and horizontal black and white stripes, with some beige, to match the office cubicles and blend in with the computer monitors and keyboards.”

“Or grey,” I said helpfully. “If the cubicles are made of grey fabric.”

“Or grey,” he conceded. “It could be a new clothing line called ‘Office Camo,’ with the motto, ‘Working Below the Radar.’ The commercial would go something like this: you see a bunch of somewhat disembodied bobbing heads and a few arms and hands bustling around an office, blending in very nicely, because everyone’s wearing Office Camo Wear…except for one guy.”

“A guy in a Red Shirt,” I said, inspired. "So that he stands out."

“Red,” he said. “Perfect. Pretty soon, a VP comes by, and then another, and another, until there’s about twenty or so converging on the poor Red Shirt guy, all of them saying something like, ‘how’s the project coming?’, ‘you think you’ll make the deadline?’, ‘you need to get on board with the program!’ or worse, ‘we have a few changes we need to make on that presentation.’ Meanwhile, everyone else in Office Camo Wear keeps working productively, while the poor Red Shirt guy cries out in agony, totally hidden by the business-suited VPs surrounding him like so many sharks.”

“You think you might start up such a clothing line?” I asked.

“No, I’m just an engineer,” he said. “I don’t do fashion. But some people have already put the Office Camo look into their wardrobes. I saw a guy today that had the look down perfectly. He was so well disguised in grey, black, and white stripes that I almost bumped into him walking down the hall, and get this: I don’t even remember who he is.” He nodded with approval.

I looked at him, feeling a little worried. “No VPs have recognized you by name, have they?”

He shuddered. “I hope not. I try to keep myself as anonymous as possible. Otherwise I’d never get any work done. It’s bad enough that the managers like my test software.” He turned back to Stargate SG1, watching an alien strike down the primitive inhabitants of a village with a deadly disease because the villagers refused to get on board with the alien's agenda of galactic domination. “By the way, what’s a good shoe store at the mall? I’ve got to get myself a pair each of white shoes and black shoes.”

I directed him to a shoe store, informing him of brands that have stripes that would blend well with office cubicles, because after all, one can never be too careful and I would hate to lose him to a ravaging horde of corporate vice presidents.

Wednesday, June 14, 2006

Structures

Well, I’ve decided to work full time, not at my writing, but outside of the home. Washington State University has increased their tuition (and other fees, I’m sure) by 7%, and the income from writing books just doesn’t cut it any more. It’s a temporary position, and after the time’s up, we’ll see how life shapes up then. I must say, having a regular paycheck will be very nice indeed.

This time it’s doing word processing, editing, and formatting of civil engineering documents, which isn’t dull at all. It’s amazing what goes into building bridges, mass transit systems, shipping docks, buildings, etc. The company I’m working for built the Seattle monorail back in the early 1960’s for the World’s Fair, and they’ve built a lot of international and local structures as well. Little did I know that the road and bridge I drive over every month to pick up my meat order at the butcher’s was built by this company. You take things like this for granted, but if such structures aren’t built right, people could die, or at the very least traffic would be much worse than it is.

I have to say, they do beautiful work. I’ve seen one of their parking garages, and it’s not only functional, but it has some interesting textural designs on the outer walls. I love the park they built in the city of Federal Way; so pleasant to walk around, with meandering paths through the lush grass.

I think working at this engineering firm will do me some good; I felt rather like a mole coming out of my little office at home, blinking somewhat blindly at the bright activity at this engineering company. I needed a change, get my brain working in different ways, and with luck, the focus on fine detail at this office will hone my attention and focus to a finer point than it had been lately. And heavens, I hope it’ll do something for my social skills. Holing up every day in my office has made me quite rusty that way, and I find myself not being very discreet.

Meanwhile, I’m still writing stories, of course. I usually write during lunch, after work, and on the weekends. I manage to get in at least an hour a day on the week days, and then 8 to 12 hours on the weekends. Interestingly enough, I end up writing more pages per hour this way than I had when I was writing full time, go figure. Right now I’m fleshing out the story, mulling it over, and I expect I’ll get the synopsis done in a month or so. We’ll see. I won’t post it here, because then it’ll spoil the story for anyone who wants to read my book in the future. Still, I’m looking forward to writing real chapters. I’m feeling antsy that way, but I’ve promised myself that I won’t write chapters until I get a good, firm handle on the story and the characters. I’ve jumped the gun before, and fallen into a mire (to mix metaphors) and have got panicky-stuck for months. I don’t want to do that any more, and I won’t let any pressure to get that synopsis out QUICK make me mess myself up like that later. Best to do the foundation and structural work up front, then lay the brick.

Heh. It’s probably not a mistake that I’ve begun working for a civil engineering firm. I’m a believer in good solid story structure, but heaven knows I’ve muddled my way through instead of taking the time to lay down the foundation. There’s always been the pressure to Write It Now, which I’ve done while anxious and panicked the whole time. I really think it’s resulted in my getting stuck something horrible, and of course that makes me even more anxious, and more stuck, and of course late for deadlines.

So, time for a change. This time, I’m drawing up the plans, doing preliminary sketches, letting things gel. Wish me luck.

Monday, June 05, 2006

Character sketch - hero

What’s below is copyrighted--I have to say this, because it’s in process and probably part of my contract with my publisher.

I still haven’t quite figured out what the hero of my next book is like. But since I seemed to be able to flesh out the heroine on this blog, I’ll try it with the hero.

So, his name: James Martone. I don’t want him to be all tortured and dark, because I don’t think he is. But whenever I visualize him (dark haired, grey-eyed) he looks rather grim. I don’t know what makes him so....

I don’t think it’s because he’s a werewolf (although you might naturally think, what’s not to be grim about that?), because he doesn’t become one until after he comes to Ireland. In addition, I don’t think he knows he is one. All he knows is that he has strange dreams and wakes up in odd situations, not remembering where he’s been. Or he’ll wake up with a lot of muscle soreness, though he’s not done any physical work the day before.

I’m thinking he’s basically just a serious sort. He’s one of the Marstones: they’re psychic in various ways, although their powers grow very strong if they’re put through some trauma. I think being cursed into becoming a werewolf is a sort of trauma, but I’m not sure if it’s enough of one to spur the growth of the Marstone powers. I’m not quite sure if I want him to have a good amount of psychic powers right off the bat or not. Maybe, maybe not.

I think he might have had occasional visions as child, and thus felt set apart. Went to Eton, where he was bullied dreadfully, and then treated as a weirdo when it was discovered that his visions came true. So I think he retreated a bit into himself, became a loner, and learned to defend himself physically when needed. And something tells me he left Eton--with a great deal of relief--when he came down with chickenpox, and then was tutored at home, until such time he went to...I’m thinking Cambridge. He was still reserved and watchful, though a good student, never letting on that he has any psychic gifts, and even not liking those gifts, because they set him apart. His visions keep him from feeling normal, something he wants very much. I think he must have been told in Eton that manly men don’t go pale, look as if they’d faint, and see visions. He’s compensated by becoming quite athletic and a great boxer.

He does have a good model in his father, but his father’s psychic gifts are not great--no more than having a sensitivity to animals, and so has become a great horseman and breeder of fine cattle--so he feels it’s not something his father can understand.

So...I’m thinking that he’s inherited a somewhat ruined castle in Ireland--possibly through his mother--and once he hears about it, needs to go there to manage it. The estate’s in pretty good shape, but the last lord of the estate was oppressive and cruel, and his estate manager was a crook. So now James has to go in and fix it. Thing is, he’s been told by the manager plus letters from the old lord that the farmers and villagers were a villainous, recalcitrant lot, and so James goes in thinking that he needs to be firm with the village and farm folk.

Which of course is precisely the wrong way to be, because they’re going to hate the old lord’s replacement, thinking that James is going to be yet another English oppressor. He sees the problems of poverty and finds out that the estate manager is indeed a crook within a month--James is not stupid, after all, and he fires the estate manager. But by that time, the damage is done, and he’s got to slog his way through getting the rebellious servants, villagers, and farmers to work with him. And of course, the way they treat him is reminiscent of the way he was treated as a child, so it just makes him retreat and become a very cool and reserved English lord, which does nothing to fix things.

Even worse, as lord of the estate, one of his jobs is to be a magistrate. Not a popular job at all. Increases the resentment. He tries to be fair, but it doesn’t matter what he does, it’ll be seen as wrong, wrong, wrong. And when Mary Kate’s brother Brian is implicated in the blowing up of munitions at a port, he’s the magistrate that has to figure out whether Brian is innocent or guilty.

Oh, now I know how James gets together with Mary Kate! James quickly figures out Brian’s innocent, but he knows he needs someone respected on his side. He’s seen Mary Kate, but doesn’t believe that such a woman has the wit and cleverness he needs. So he acts the oppressive Englishman that everyone expects him to be, and he says he’ll free Brian if Mary Kate can solve a riddle, but part of the bargain is for her to be his wife as well. Yeah, he’s fallen for her, and he can’t think of any other way of getting her, and is frankly cursing himself for blurting it out, because he sure as hell didn’t mean to say it. But once he’s said it, he can’t take it back.

And of course Mary Kate feels that she has no choice about it, because isn’t that horrible Sassenach of a Marstone sure to execute her brother otherwise?

All right. I think this will work. Because I think it puts a lot of obstacles in the way of a relationship, and because Mary Kate is a lot more clear-seeing than most, she saw from the beginning that James isn’t as bad as the villagers make him out to be, English or not. But the incarceration of her brother, plus feeling that she’s forced to marry James is a huge set-back. And then there is the whole werewolf thing. I’ve got a good ironic, possibly even tragic twist on that one, but I’m not going to reveal it here. Oh, and I believe I know who has cursed James, but that’s another thing I’m not going to reveal. It’s not who you think.

You know, I think this story has just a bit of the movie “The Quiet Man” in it. I don’t see James as John Wayne, but it is about being accepted into a community and coming to understand it, and overcoming divisive attitudes.

(Happy sigh.) Not too bad for an evening’s work.


Friday, June 02, 2006

Writing again - character studies

Been getting a bit antsy about writing--feeling like I want to write another story already. I don’t want to start the actual chapters yet, because I want to give this story some time to jell. So, I’m skirting the story, mulling it over in my mind, getting flashes of scenes, thinking of each character and what they’re like.

I have a good idea for the heroine--practical, managing, no-nonsense, a woman of authority in her little village, and she doesn’t take guff from anyone. In my last two books, the heroines were victimized, and had to climb out of the horrors into which they’d been thrust. But this determined Irish heroine is different, and I’m feeling a good deal of relief at the idea that she’s very managing, and she’s the one to whom everyone goes when there’s a problem, and even the village priest will ask her to intercede in local squabbles. She’s so capable and manages...everything and everybody. She’s got a good deal of pride, for she’s from a long line of Bean Sidhe (aka banshee)--wise women who have just a bit of faerie in them, and who have inherited the Sight. Her grandmother was a Bean Sidhe, and my heroine--I think I’ll call her Mary Kate McCree--learned everything from her. I think Mary Kate looks a bit like the actress Maureen O’Hara--auburn haired and voluptuous, and a spitfire attitude.

I even have in mind what her cottage might look like. It’s got a thatched roof, it’s got wood siding and green trim. She’s got pretty lace curtains at the windows, and a nice big porch, with a gravel path through a glorious flower and herb garden. There’s a vegetable garden out back, and a nanny goat in a neat small barn to the right of the cottage, for both milk and butter. She’s got a brother and sister, both younger than herself. I think she’s about 25, which is a bit of an “old maid” for that time (1798 or so), but that’s because while the villagers respect her, they’re also intimidated by her. Her younger brother, Brian, is 22, and is smart enough for Dublin University, where he’s a scholar, but terribly idealistic. He’s being recruited by some Irish rebels, unbeknownst to Mary Kate. Her younger sister, Bridget, is about 17, very pretty and blonde, and much less intimidating than Mary Kate, so has more than a few suitors. But though Bridget has shown no sign of the Sight, she’s a good herbalist and very quick-witted.

The hero, though...I’m having a little more difficulty visualizing him. I’ve decided his name will be James Marstone, and related to the Marstones I’ve written about before. He’s English, and has inherited the local castle, which is not in good repair. Of course, being English, he won’t be liked. And, since he’s living in the castle, which is supposedly cursed, he’s going to feel pretty isolated because nobody wants to work for him. And since he’s also become a werewolf, he’ll be bewildered because he doesn’t remember what he’s done or where he’s been at night during the full moon. But that’s all I’ve got on him. I’ll have to figure out how he became cursed, who cursed him, and why. Although, perhaps that’s a mystery in the novel to be solved. Certainly, nobody in the village wants him there, for he’s a damned Sassanach, and a Protestant to boot.

I know what’s going to bring them together: James Marstone will have young Brian arrested for treason, since he’s been linked to the Irish rebels who blew up something or other. Mary Kate’s going to have to figure out a way to persuade Marstone to let him go. And that bit is going to follow the Grimm’s fairy tale of “The Peasant’s Clever Daughter,” because that’s what I’m basing this story on. Mary Kate’s the sort to do anything for family, even if it’s a blot on her sense of pride.

It won’t be all grim and dark, though. I’m running out of fuel for grim and dark, because I’ve done that with the last three books. This will be lighter, with hopefully lots of banter, because Mary Kate has a quick tongue on her and will get in the last word if she can, and James is no slacker in the repartee department.

Oh, and the village. I haven’t thought of a name for the little Irish village. That place is almost a character in itself. I need to think of a good name, but I don’t know much about Celtic names and what they mean. I think I need something that has to do with “wolf” or faeries. This should be fun: I think I have the Irish speech rhythms in my head pretty well, so the dialogue should have a nice flavor of it. Sure, and I’m thinkin’ it’ll sound fair authentic.

So anyway, that’s what I’ve thought up so far, and with any luck, my publisher will like it.

Well, heck. Here I’ve written all this stuff down, not just mulled it about in my mind. Very well. I’ll keep a copy of this for my files and refer to it again, maybe flesh it out more as I think about it. But I will not start writing the chapters until I have the characters better fleshed out in my mind, and I need to visualize where they are and where they live, and what they look like. I’m really feeling the urge to write the chapters, but I think my big mistake in the past has been jumping into that and then getting stuck because I haven’t thought it through. I really think I need to back off that and do some solid groundwork before I even begin the actual chapters.

Besides, I don’t yet know who cursed James Marstone and why. It could be that I’ll figure it out while I’m writing it, but...no. Gotta try to flesh out the story line and characters first. If I don’t know who the characters are and where they’re coming from, I won’t know where they’re going.

Thursday, June 01, 2006

Finding stuff

One good thing about cleaning up--in this case, my office--is that I find all sorts of nifty things I forgot I had. It’s like finding nice surprises. Which is sort of an excuse for not cleaning up, because if everything was neat and tidy, I wouldn’t discover delightful things all over again. For one, I discovered a small zippered purse, in which I had at one time put about five dollars in coins and paper money, which apparently fell off my desk and behind some...stuff. Picked up said stuff and now I’m five + dollars richer.

I discovered I have some very nice taupe cashmere roving; I’m debating whether I want to use it as it is and spin some pure cashmere yarn, or whether I want to combine it with wool into batts and spin it that way. Or, combine the pure cashmere with hand-dyed silk of gold, silver, bronze and copper colors. That would be quite a delightfully sinful combination, but I’m not sure whether it’d be worth it to sell it on eBay afterwards. For one thing, it’s heading into summer now, which is a bad time to sell yarn, and for another, I’ve got some yarn up on eBay for sale that’s made of Lorna’s Laces roving, and I’ve discounted it twice already since it hasn’t sold. Discounted it so much that it’s below cost, and I won’t make any money on it, unless I get lucky.

So I’m thinking it’s not time to spin the cashmere and put it up, because there’s no way I’d get a good price for it. Or rather, I can spin it up now, and save it to sell later. Or, I might just keep it myself, or give it away as a Christmas present for my mom, who most certainly knows the value of a good cashmere yarn.

I did discover some lovely hand-dyed cotton roving, which I think I’ll spin up during the summer, and see if that will sell at all. I’ve never spun up cotton, so it’ll be something new.

Thursday, May 25, 2006

Cleaning House

It seems as if every time I finish a book, I start cleaning. This time, it’s the office. Ye gods, but it’s awful. I mean, awful as in a narrow deer path from door to computer desk. Piles of stuff on the desk. I’m seriously thinking the only way to really clean out this place is to do it the Clean Sweep method. Just empty this room, sort, toss, re-organize, and then bring back only the necessary things.

Most of it is office stuff, but part of it is fiber--yarn, rovings, bats, fleece, parts for the spinning wheel. It’s a small room--8 x 9 feet, I think, but surely there is a way to store the fiber and such, plus have room for my books. Dare I say it? I might, might, might get rid of some books.

Oh horror! Oh, woe! My precious, precious books! To take them from me is to tear out my heart, nay, my soul!

On the other hand, when certain books collect a rather thick layer of dust, chances are good the tearing isn’t going to be all that painful. There are of course certain ones that I’ll keep--the primary source material on the Regency will probably stay, but I think I’ll get rid of some of the costume books, since I pretty much have the clothing styles memorized by year. I’ll keep my Riverside Shakespeare, of course, because all English-speaking households should have a copy of Shakespeare (or at least a book that contains notable quotes from Shakespeare) somewhere about, in my humble opinion. Reference books, such as the Chicago Manual of Style...but I’m thinking I might just get rid of some of my writing books. Twenty Master Plots, for example. I think I can say I haven’t opened that book in perhaps a decade. It’s pretty obvious looking around this room that I haven’t read through Organizing for the Creative Person by Lemkuhl and Lamping, but maybe I should give it another try.

Ugh. The more I think of getting rid of books, the more I can feel myself dragging my feet. It must be done, however. Really, there are more than a few of my books that I haven’t looked at for years. If I can just clear out one bookcase--which I am sure I can do if I try hard enough--I can use the shelves for my fiber stash. (I know there are fellow fiber and craft addicts out there who doubt I can do it, but I am strong! I will prevail! I will also get rid of some of my stash--shudder--on eBay. That will help.)

Wednesday, May 24, 2006

Finally done!

So in January I stopped blogging, thinking I’d get the book done in a few weeks, but NO, it’s been months. Still Midnight Surrender is DONE at last, so that’s good. Little did I know that there were... big adjustments involved in surgical crone-hood.

Still, the book is indeed done, and I’m going to take a little break before I plunge into the next one. I do have an idea for it--the heroine is an Irish banshee (Bean Sidhe) and the hero is an English werewolf. She won’t be the spirit who goes screaming at people’s doorsteps whenever death is nigh, but she will be the wise woman of her village (Bean Sidhe also means a wise woman who has certain spiritual/faerie gifts) who is knows when people are about to die, and has flashes of “sight” here and there. She’s psychic, in other words. Think of the TV show, Medium. Kind of like that.

And, I think I’m going to try a different writing method. A bit more structured than my “fly-in-the-mist” one that I’d been using ever since the beginning. Time to learn new things, try a different approach. With luck, it’ll help me write faster, too.

But first, a break. Read a book or two, do some knitting, spin some yarn. I already have some hand-spun yarn up on eBay at the moment; there’s one that’s all wool, made from Lorna’s Laces wool roving, but the rest are a combination of wool and silk, and there’s even one that’s made of wool, angora rabbit fur, and silk. Very soft! I’m probably going to post another couple of sets of handspun yarn in the next few weeks as well. There’s one I’m winding into skeins that’s of medium-textured wool, but it’s very elastic and should be perfect for some sturdy socks.

Trying to figure out what I’m going to read next...I think I’ll see if Patricia McKillip has any new books out. If so, whether it’s in hardback or paperback, I’m buying it. She’s an autobuy for me; ditto Charles de Lint.

So, anyway, I’ll see if I can pop in here again and post something...but right now, I’m feeling pretty lazy.

Tuesday, January 10, 2006

More whine and cheese

Why is it that I keep wanting to write Never-Been-Done-Before romance novels? Why can't I write nice, safe stuff that is popular and which will hop off the shelves now into readers' hands by the millions, instead of writing romance novels that appeal to a few people now, and then five years later, everyone's discovering it all of a sudden in the used book stores and then of course they can't get them unless they want to pay exhorbitant prices for them on eBay because they've run out of them in the used bookstores? And then they complain to me.

I keep getting e-mails about that. "I just found your (5 year old) book in the used book store, and wow, now I want to find and read all of your books!" Well dang it! Where was this reader when the books were new? And then I see my old books discussed on different lists as "classics" the copies of which are now as scarce as hen's teeth, and people complain because they can't find copies.

Argh. This is what I get for writing paranormal fantasy romances five years before they're popular. And the crazy thing is, I KNOW they won't be popular for five years. But does my Muse listen to me about that? Nooooo! Of course not. She never listens to me about any of my predictions, she just wants me to write these different stories. And then, when I do write something that's popular now, does she give me more of that? Of course not. She turns her nose up at it and gives me something that won't be popular now, when I could use the doggone money. She wants me to write something that will be popular five years later.

Sometimes I want to strangle the Muse. I wouldn't want to do that if she weren't so cruel to me, tantalizing me with nifty story ideas that I know won't sell right now, or at least editors won't want now, but will want in five years. The Muse presents me with these doggone ideas, and when I protest, she says, "why do you want to write those old things? Everyone's writing them and they are SO last year! What I'm giving you is new! This is fresh! Nobody's done this before!" Right. That makes it so very easy to market. NOT.

And five years. It's always five years. She couldn't give me something that will be popular in one or two years, oh no. It's five. I do not know why she has this thing for five years.

(Sigh) Well. Enough of my whining.

I am GLAD I have a Muse. Grateful, in fact. Better than having no Muse at all. Yes, indeedy.

--Karen H (going back to the grindstone)

Got some cheese with this whine

This is the Pollyanna Files, so I have some silver linings with my clouds, or cheese with this whine, or whatever good/bad/good combo of metaphors you might want to mention.

Good: I have lots of ideas for novels.

Bad: I'm on a massively ASAP deadline and these story ideas are making me crazy because they want to be written. And they want to be written NOW.

Good: That I have lots of ideas for novels.

Bad: None of them are about vampires, which is the in thing, and which I'm sure every publisher in the world would prefer me to write about.

Good: They will be popular themes in about 3 to 5 years.

Bad: Nobody is going to believe me that they will be popular themes, even though I've been right about predicting what will be popular in the romance genre a good 95% of the time since I've begun writing them, and that's over 10 years now.

Good: I'm going to write them anyway, which means I'll be on the forefront of the trend.

Bad: It'll probably mean I'll have to go contractless while I write them on spec, or at least write most of them. This has happened every time I've written one of these kinds of books.

Good: I will not have a deadline making me crazy if I do write them on spec.

Bad: I have a son to put through college and going without a contract means no money to help him along.

Good: Actually, now that I think of it, an editor who overheard me talking about one of these ideas at the 2005 Reno Romance Writers of America conference immediately gave me her card and said if it wasn't going to be under contract, could I send it to her please? It is a pretty high-concept idea, actually, which is why she probably jumped on it.

Bad: I like my current publisher, which is actually a good thing, but it'll probably mean my different ideas won't see the light of day, because they're a departure from what I've been writing. Still in the paranormal/fantasy area, but a departure.

Good: Umm...umm....gotta think of something good here...Pollyanna Files, after all...ummm... Uh.... Oh! I'm glad I'm such a creative person that I have all these nifty ideas. Oh, wait, I already said that in Good #1 and #2. Uh.... Okay! Nice to know that I have more than one editor/publisher interested in my work. And, nothing says I can't take a pseudonym some day.

Whew! Ended on an up note. And that's good.

--Karen H.

P.S. No, I'm not going to say what those ideas are. You will just have to wait, because if I'm going to have to wait, I'd like some company. :-D

Sunday, January 08, 2006

One down, one to go

I've obviously not been writing posts to this blog for a while and will not be for a few more weeks, alas. However, I've finished writing the novella for the dragon anthology (Dragon Magic) earlier this month, thank goodness. So, meanwhile, you may amuse yourselves by reading the excerpt of "Anna and the King of Dragons."

It'll be published by Signet/Penguin Putnam, and will also feature novellas on the theme of dragons by Mary Jo Putney, Jo Beverley, and Barbara Samuel. I've had the great pleasure of collaborating with these wonderful authors before on the Faery Magic anthology, back in 1996, and once again, I think we have a winner. Each of us feature a dragon in our stories, and each of us have our own particular cultural take on them. Mine's a Japanese dragon, since my mother is Japanese, and she in fact has seen a dragon's cave on the island of Kyushu herself, not far from Arita, a city that's famous for its porcelain (it's from this city that the original Imari ware and the Dutch Delftware first came). So it's in that area that I have set the story.

I've woven in some folklore into the story; my mother used to tell me stories of the kami-sama--the nature spirits--that abound in Japanese folk and fairy tales. The kami-sama are akin to the faeries of Celtic legend, in that they have magical powers and are also shape-changers and sometimes tricksters.

I'm afraid the anthology won't be out until April of 2007, but at least I have an excerpt posted!

--Karen H.

Sunday, January 01, 2006

Happy New Year!

I wish you all a joyful and abundant New Year, full of hope, peace, and love. :-)

--Karen H.