A Relative Triumph

After a few hours of tapping away at my trusty writing keyboard, I've finally finished a new story, my first for, hmmm, I'm not sure exactly, but it's definitely been many, many, many months, way before the first of my two operations and recuperation periods this year, since I last wrote 'The End'. My brain has just been a too lax and fuzzy, made flabby by lack of routine and addled by pain killers, to do more that stop and start and tinker. I've had ideas and been fired up, but haven't been able to sign off on anything. Hopefully, this means I'm back on track and can get stuck into a couple of half-finished pieces on my hard drive that I'd like to get off to certain anthologies next month. Did I just write next month? Someone needs to get a move on.

Anyway, this newborn tale is only a light-hearted littlie which probably won't rack up more than 2k words by the time I've polished it, but it's new and it's FINISHED and I will submit it next weekend.

Now I'm going to reward myself for that minor victory with a long walk. When I get back, I'll submit two stories and do a quick spot of absolutely necessary housework (aaaargh). I also need the fresh air to recover from this extremely kind piece about yours truly that Steve Cameron has posted over on his blog. It's left me feeling both hugely grateful and a tad like a roo dazzled by the headlights of an oncoming car. All I can say is that I'm also glad I went to that Sean Williams workshop so many years ago and met Steve. If not for his enthusiastic comments in the corridor after the mostly negative reactions (too complicated) of the other participants (back then, such things still cut me deeply), I might have doubted that that particular piece work had a future (it was part of my beloved space opera trilogy, which is still waiting for a good edit and restructuring). Also, lucky me, I got to read Steve's brick story, which then went on to become the much lauded So Sad, the Lighthouse Keeper.

Best-Laid Plans

Determined to have one last weekend pretending my health is fine before the whole hospital hoopla hits, I headed off to Melbourne for JD’s spec-fic workshop, where things went unexpectedly awry.

My original cunning plan: To use the workshop as an impetus to finish and polish a new story for the final session which would then knock the socks off everyone with its perfectly executed prose, sharp images, sublime dialogue, complete control over characters, wondrous world-building and multi-layered political-fantasy plot – all this, and a dragon too!

What happened: In an impromptu rejig of the schedule, everyone got to read the first, unfinished draft that I submitted at the second session two months ago (to show that I wasn’t cheating and was actually working on something). It was basically a clunky foray into the raw landscape of an idea, and most of it has been deleted, shuffled about or rewritten since then. *sigh* I’ve never ever shown such an undeveloped story to anyone before. I’m thoroughly hardened to people critiquing a finished piece, truly, but to have a whole room full of people eyeing off one's fits and starts and dead ends was just plain embarrassing.  

Of course, in the greater scheme of things, my sensitive writerly ego barely rates a mention. I was actually a bit down on the train trip home. With everyone making plans for the final workshop and arrangements for going out drinks and a meal afterwards, and all the talk of Natcon panels and guests, it suddenly hit me that I really am going to miss out on a great big chunk of life soon. Exciting and interesting things will be happening in the world beyond, but I won’t be able to participate. I have to get used to the thought that for the time being, plans are for other people.

But not to worry - I will get used to the thought. And I will get through it all. And I plan to watch every HBO series and sci-fi box set in the known universe as I do so.

Painful Admission

It’s a public holiday here in Australia, and I’ve spent this cold and rainy day at home writing about dragons, submitting a story about a future apocalyptic rubbishworld, sending off query letters about old, maybe-lost-in-cyberspace submissions, rereading stories that are in the drawn-out limbo of possible acceptance (if only I could take them back, tweak them and make them even better!) and trying to second-guess whether they’ll make it, checking for new markets, resting up and reading.

It all sounds very productive, but I’m afraid my motives have not been artistically pure. I’ve been snuggling up in my speculative-fiction cocoon to escape the Real World, for tomorrow I’m off to hospital so surgeons can rummage around amongst my internals, and do a few tests and procedures. Not fun, but if it gets rid of the pain that’s been slowing me down both writing and life-wise this year (the number of bad days has been steadily increasing), it’ll be worth all the botheration. Unfortunately, it’ll probably put a crimp in my scheduled spec-fic workshop this weekend. Fortunately, I have some light duty back-up plans in place.

Anyway, it’s time to be stoic (aaaaaaaaaargh), so I’ll have a spot of dinner (must cram food down while I’m allowed - I'll be eying the fridge door for a midnight snack, I reckon), and then I’m off to the local end-of-the-month literary knees-up for some more writerly distractions. I’d better stay away from the wine though. *sigh*

Apropos Dressing Up

After yesterday's mass cosplay, this collection of short stories looks especially pertinent: Bloody Fabulous, an anthology of urban fantasy about fashion edited by Ekaterina Sedia. The TOC is full of authors I really like, and the importance, or not, of clothes is a subject that has always fascinated me (how I wish I'd known about this antho and given it a go). As part of her introduction, Ekaterina writes:

We cannot turn into predators, even if there is a full moon outside – but we can wear jackets with metal spikes on the shoulders to feel a little bit more dangerous. Our clothes give us some shape-shifting abilities – from ethereal to tough to glamorous in a single day! They give us the means to tell the world who we are today (or who we would like to be) without uttering a word. And they let us play and pretend, manipulate our gender presentation as well as other aspects of sartorial personas: clothes are the ultimate disguise, alluring enough to bring a shapeshifter out in all of us.

Fashion = shapeshifting. I love it!

As for today, I got in some bread baking, some ironing, some walking, some token housework and 3 hours of solid writing. I'm still nutting out my workshop story, which is unfolding nicely. I usually submit SF for critiquing, but I've decided that what our spec-fic workshop needs is more dragons, or some at least, so I'm going the whole fantasy hog with dragons, prophecies, wars, kings, traitors etc, etc, although things might not be what they seem to be at first...

As I laboured, Gus kept me company. Ahhh. A brand new story nicely buzzing along and loyal cat on my lap or by my keyboard just never gets old.

Getting To Know Them

Yay! I did everything I set out to do on this most writerly of writerly days, with the help of many cups of coffee (as a tea drinker, I get extra bangs for my caffeine bucks when I do hit the hard stuff). Up at the crack of dawn, battling a body that did not want to do a sixth day of extreme commuting, I headed off for Jack Dann's spec-fic workshop, rereading workshop stories on the train all the way to *groan* Melbourne.

I drank coffee. We eased into the workshop. I drank coffee. We got used to each other and grew more comfortable critiquing. I drank coffee. We had a few laughs. I drank coffee. We decided on a more rigorous schedule for next time. I finished off with a cup of tea.

Then it was back to the train, out with my notebook and me, seriously buzzed, industriously tapping away at the keyboard all the way home. After opening up the house, patting the cats, putting on a load of washing, and transferring files to my writing computer, the lingering effects of all that coffee got me through 3 hours of spitting and polishing the story I REALLY wanted to get done for a midnight deadline if only for the satisfaction of achieving the goal I'd set myself.

And yay! I've just sent it! Again with the yay! And here, have some more caffeine inspired !!!s.

Now I can collapse. Maybe. Coffee might keep me upright for a few more hours. Anyway, Sunday, here I come.

Gearing Up Again

There's workshop critiquing to finish up. There's a short story to wind up so it can make the deadline this weekend. There's another all-dayer at the Arvo Job tomorrow. There's the actual workshop all day on Saturday.

Me thinks my train trips back and forth forth for the next two days will involve much pondering and scribbling.

If Memory Serves

I seem to recall having signed up for a spec-fic writing workshop, which means there are stories that need critiquing, which means I'd better read them, which means I'd better get a move on.

And there's an anthology I want to submit to which has a looming deadline, which means I'd better finish my Short but Great Work, which means I'd better get writing, which means I'd better get a move on.

Also, there's that Arvo Job I need to get to soon, which means I'd better squeeze in a few push ups now to straighten out my poor multiply desk-bound body before I run, possibly through rain (no gas tonight?) for the train, which means I'd better get a move on.

Hmm, whatever happened to my plan to make March the Month of Working on my YA Novel?

Regrouping

I'm not on a train right now, I'm at home in my jammies on a scheduled day off from the Arvo Job. Life is cluttered with old undone tasks that are niggling me and new "challenges" that need to be sorted out. Having no gas after our latest storm-weather adventures up this way is one of the more prosaic problems. Anyway, I have A List of Ten Things to Tick Off, which must be done before the sun goes down, so I'd better get a move on.

However, whilst online in an effort to tick off another one of those ten boxes, I couldn't resist an indulgent sidestep and came across this piece over the the Book View Cafe about writing groups, as in the danger of getting too comfortable, and members of the group writing for one another rather than a larger audience. It strikes an important chord. There's no doubt that workshops and writing groups can be a great help, but like all things that involve ideas, other people's emotional baggage and strength of character, and navigating the turbulent waters of more than one person's agenda, if you're not careful, primal monkey instincts can kick in to the detriment of the very work you're trying to improve.

Developing a group-think is, I must admit, one of the things I've become increasingly wary of, and of which I do see signs of throughout the industry. It's not nefarious, not part of a deliberate scheme to dominate the world, just what happens when people with similar tastes drift closer together, enjoy each other's company and support each other's efforts, help their mates, compromise to keep things happy in their little writing bubble, reinforce each other's sameness, and eventually put aside the inclination to shake things up every now and then. It's about losing the ability to strike out contrary to the troop.

Writing groups are good, writing groups can be fun, and critiquing is often immensely helpful, but remaining conscious of your own actions and thoughts and motives within the group is vitally important. We are, after all, supposed to be the purveyors of revolutionary ideas, acute social observations and derring-do. It's only when the group asks you to conform and you reflexively oblige that the creep towards blandness begins.

Many Writerly Rivers to Cross

Today was sort of set aside as a catch-up-with-myself day, which the non-writing part of me has hitherto seized with both hands. I slept in even longer than I planned to after shushing the alarm clock this morning and turning over for another snooze. When I finally got up, I enjoyed a gigantic, no-rush wake-up pot of tea and a leisurely read of some lightweight froth that I can’t even remember now. Prolonged dawdling about in jammies trying to formulate a rudimentary plan for the rest of today then ensued, and this massive effort was followed by a long brekkie in the backyard and lots of staring at the garden and the sky. All of this was much needed after yesterday’s workshop. Not that the course was exhausting – it was the 6th day of commuting to Melbourne and back that kicked in, and a sense of displacement that needed to be banished with a good spend-time-at-home grounding.

Yesterday’s workshop was the usual first session, half-muddled experience of many strangers getting to know each other, people from all walks of life measuring their writing experience against each other and trying to figure out where they fitted in, and different dreamers at different stages of their career or hobby nutting out an agreement as to how we should proceed with the critiquing. It’s an incredibly varied group ranging from total beginners to writers with pro sales and many publications under their belts, so it’ll be interesting to see how we negotiate the needs of the many. I look forward to getting to know these people. As per usual, however, what happens at the workshop stays at the workshop.

The course provided me with a valuable yardstick for sussing out my own place in the minor scheme of things. I’m still reticent until I get to know people, but nothing like the shy and insecure mess I was a 4-5 years ago when I started out on these workshops with a 2-day Sean William's course. I used to hate public critiquing of my work – I took it WAY too personally, and foolishly believed that everyone else was a better judge of my work that I was - but I knew I had to make myself go to these workshops and toughen up or I’d never survive the business of writing. And it seems to have paid off. Compared with some of the very nervous newbies there yesterday, I felt like a veritable workshop war veteran. I know I won’t be at all bothered if some, or even all of them, shred my work, but most of of the newbies, I fear, have yet to live through the trials of not being hailed as a genius by every other person on the planet. It can be a tortuous experience.

This sense of being an old hand was reinforced by the fact that Steve Cameron is also doing the workshop, and that we could swap stories about our stories – how they were doing, who liked them and who didn’t, our hopes and plans for them – and catch up on industry news. These conversations made me realise just how far I’ve come in the past 4 years, and gave me hope that I might actually be chipping away a tiny niche for myself. They also vindicated precious time spent checking blogs and news sites to keep up with what’s going on in Aussie Spec Fic Land :)

Well. Now. It's time separate the wheat from the chaff. Sort the sheep from the goats.** Put my money where my mouth is. So. Yeah. Hmmm. Should I go take a nap on the backyard swing? Or write for a few hours?

Whoa - there, right on cue, I just got a rejection. The story was too much fantasy, not enough sf, which I suspected might be the case, but it was the only reasonably suitable story I had back in the stable in time for that mag's reading period, and I try not to second-guess editorial tastes these days.*** But. Get ready for another cliché. Water off a duck's back. See? Tough as!

**I chose to write. So does that make me wheat or chaff? A sheep or a goat?
*** It was a "good" rejection. They asked me to submit more work. As for the rejected story, I've already sent it off to another publication.

Aftermath of Workshop

Gotta get writing, gotta get writing, gotta get writing...

Preparations for Workshop

Gotta get to bed, gotta get to bed...

A-Workshopping We Will Go, Again.

After deciding that it was high time I put my writerly ego on the chopping block again, at three minutes to midnight, I’ve finally paid up for another SF & F workshop. I actually booked it late last month, but then it didn’t look like I was going to be able to go through with it. Unexpected big bills eating into my pin money (my vet is probably planning an around the world trip as I write this) and other obstacles led to a deferment. However, on discovering that there were still 2 places available two days ago, I sternly told myself that I needed to make this happen, so I vigorously shook the piggy bank and checked under the sofa cushions for loose change.

Reader, I made it! Despite all my dawdling, I’m off tomorrow to the first of 5 Saturday sessions of No Nonsense Spec-Fic: How to Write Professional Fiction with Jack Dann.

Mind you, since I found out yesterday morning that V-line has conveniently scheduled buses to replace all the trains this weekend, who knows what adventures I’ll experience just trying to get to the Wheeler Centre. :( Bonus points if I get there on time.

Chatting at Continuum

After the Arvo Job yesterday evening, I walked up St Kilda Road to the city to catch a couple of hours of Continuum 7, the annual Melbourne speculative fiction and pop culture convention before catching a late train (the Friday Night Packed to the Roof Footy Special - aaaah!) home.

It was fantastic to let loose and talk shop with folk who also get genuinely excited about topics like markets, editors, rejections and, of course, those elusive acceptances. I caught up with Steve Cameron, whom I met at a weekend workshop held by Sean Williams a few years ago, and discovered that his story ‘So Sad, the Lighthouse Keeper’, after many rejections and rewrites, will be in Coeur de Lion's forthcoming science fiction anthology Anywhere But Earth. Colour me green with envy. I saw this story when it was but a baby, and it had everyone at the workshop talking then, so I look forward to seeing what it eventually morphed into.

I also caught up with a few people from the YOSF&F workshop held by Paul Collins last year, and we got to see Paul presented with the A Bertram Chandler Award for Lifetime Service to Australian Science Fiction. Afterwards he launched his latest YA title, Mole Hunt. I, naturally, have a signed copy.

Chat, chat, chat, it was all fun. Anyway, I must head for bed soon - there is much to do this lovely long Queen's Birthday weekend.

A doubleplusgood rejection

What with it being Friday yesterday, I naturally got an end-of-the-week rejection. However, this was the best rejection I've even had, because it came with a story number and a link to a site, and there was an in depth breakdown of what worked and didn't work for one of the readers as he progressed through the story. It's wonderful, like a workshop critique, and has given me much to think upon and be hopeful about. At the coalface, one often loses perspective, and I also know that I'm prone to indulging in the writerly equivalent of hamming it up rather than delivering the goods (though I'm getting better), so I really appreciate that this person took the time to provide such detailed, and nicely worded but not pampering, feedback.

According to the notes, and, to tell the truth, my own gut, the opening doesn't work. I've indulged it for far too long because I had so much fun writing it, but fun for the writer doesn't necessarily translate into fun for the reader. I should have strangled my little Lovecraftian darlings three drafts ago, or at least cut back on the torturous excesses produced by my keyboard. Unfortunately, I had such a good time writing it that I kept convincing myself that others would be swept along by my joie de livre.

However, the reader noted:

Clever, but I wouldn’t have made it this far I’m afraid. We see too many stories with pretentious prose that don’t know they’re being pretentious to easily recognize one that does. You’re going to need to shorten and sharpen the opening and get to this phone call sooner.

And so I will. Pronto. Further on, I got this, and my heart lifted:

This is a hoot. Once I “got it” this became a joy to read. But I’m odd that way and I doubt most of our audience will react the same way.

I don't mind most people not liking it, as long as a few, possibly odd, folk think it's a hoot. I love it so much that I wrote something that someone thinks is a hoot - that's how easy it is to make me happy.

There was more constructive criticism, and finally:

I suspect this will have to be restructured to keep an editor reading long enough to get to the juicy bits, but it’s not too far from being really good. (I bolded the bit I especially liked).

So on I go. As long as there is a smidgen of hope that this story will eventually be published, I won't give up. I shall labour some more on it, and then one day this story might be really good, possibly even doublereally good enough for some publication to buy, and on that proud day, I will loudly rejoice and do an interpretive dance of happiness and send thoughts of thanks to a certain reader and his notes (see what I mean about the hamming it up?)

Drats

Whilst internetting around to look for new markets, I just discovered that I could have worked on my Aussie vamp story for another 7 days. Poo! I thought Dec 1 was the deadline, and I hurriedly sent it off at midnight after a feverish edit on the train on the way home, but it turns out that it was in fact Dec 8. Double damn. When I think what I could have done with that submission, how I could have fleshed it out and pared it back and played around with the dialogue for seven whole more days, well ... curses and oaths galore!!!!

Ah well, serves me right for jotting down the wrong date. Moving on. Next up, I must commit to one of the three versions of the story I want to send to the Anywhere But Earth anthology and then polish it to perfection. The core of the tale is the same - alien society, traumatic event, repercusions - but I've written the first drafts of three different structural approaches. But which version should I go with? The one with the very alien and poetic beginning that I love despite the fact that that alien and poetic beginning was thoroughly bagged by 7 out of 9 participants at a workshop last year? The one that is in danger of becoming a travelogue through an alien society? The one with the main character's older self as the POV? Or a combination of these three?

Decisions, decisions, decisions.

Floods, freebies and farewells

After a mad / bad week in the Real World, I wasn’t sure whether I was going to make it to the final session of the Year of SF & Fantasy with Paul Collins workshop, but I woke up early this morning determined to finish off what I started so many months ago.

First, though, I had to brave the weather. Across the road, where not so long ago one looked down from the 1-2 meter high embankment at a dry creek bed, there is now a raging river. This morning it looked like this:

As with all good quests, I did get some help from a passing stranger – a nice lady from Maryborough gave me a lift to the station in her white car.

I’m glad I got to Melbourne, wet as it was, because it turned out to be an excellent day. The critiquing went well (I was chuffed by the kind words said about my MS) and Trudi Canavan* was a brilliant guest speaker and downright lovely person who not only shared her knowledge of the writing industry, but also took the time to talk individually with each of us. To our great joy, she brought a bag full of freebie books for us, and then signed them. I nabbed:


Once we completed the afternoon session of critiquing, it was time to party. There was bubbly and cheese platters and savoury snacks and a killer cheesecake, accompanied by lots of laughing and talking. Plans for keeping in contact and setting up a writing group for next year were made, and finally it was time to hug and kiss cheeks and say farewell for 2010 to a group of people who started out as strangers, but came to share their visions and dreams with each other.

After taking care of business in the city, I headed for home, writing away on my vampire story (will I make the deadline?) while torrential rain slammed into the train. It was quite cosy. Then I practically paddled home from the station to find SES tape set up on the flooded pavement outside my house:

As I took this photo, a SES car sped past, siren sounding, on its way to another emergency. It’s still raining heavily, and the “creek” across the road is even higher than it was this morning, and its current is unbelievably strong.

This most writerly day then ended well with an email from a specfic magazine notifying me that one of my stories has graduated to the next round.

*Trudi illustrated my story 'Voyage to Abydos' way back in Aurealis #24, before she became a mega bestselling author. I wish I'd had the guts to get her to sign one of the issues I have stashed away.

Don't blame me

If I don't get my YOSF&F workshop critiquing done on time, well, it's NOT my fault:

Busy, busy, busy

This morning, I finally sent off my YOSF&F MS for our final workshop next week - shame on me for waiting so long - and I'm reading MSs on the train on the way home in the evenings and preparing comments. I can't believe it'll all be over soon. I also cannot believe that Trudi Canavan will be our guest speaker for the last session.

I'm also madly writing a short story to submit to the upcoming Aussie vampire anthology by the end of the month. After weeks of mucking around with different ideas that led to nowhere once I started working on them (vampires are not my strong suit) lightning struck yesterday as I was walking through the park on my way to the Arvo Job, and I finally hit upon a concept that excites me complete with a few scenes. The final scene came to me walking back through the same park on my way home tonight. I'm loving that park. Fortunately, it's a 1-2k kind of story (I hope) and I churned out 500 words on the train trip this morning, so it seems doable.

Rural reading

The local library had a Monster Book Sale today - the chance to scoop up hardback editions nicely covered in plastic for the price of only $1.00 each - so guess where I’ve been this arvo?

However, since I’m still reading the booty I gleaned at their last sale, I put myself on a 5 book limit this time, and actually stuck to the restriction. So I got The Year’s Best Science Fiction edited by Gardner Dozois (the 20th annual collection from 2003), and added to my Tales of the Otori series by Lian Hearn with The Harsh Cry of the Heron and Heaven’s Net is Wide, neither of which, alas, I can read until I have secured Brilliance of the Moon.

But the very first book I pounced upon was Naomi Novik's Victory of Eagles, so now my post-trail-riding-plus-three-long-days-at-the-Arvo-Job brain (which also decided that this week's movie should be RED rather than Gainsbourg because it wasn't up to accessing long ago French lessons or negotiating subtitles, but a bit of Bruce Willis blowing up things was just the ticket) is telling me to sit in the backyard in the beautiful Spring weather (outside reading is a joy I’ve rediscovered since moving to the country) and just go adventuring with Temeraire and Captain Will Laurence. I’m trying to negotiate the doing of a few chores before this Napoleonic bliss-out, and I think I will win because one of them is the baking of dill and onion bread that will go extremely well with dragonish daredevilry and cups of tea, but we’ll see.

I’m not even going to broach the subject of getting my last YOSF&F workshop submission sent off today. If I do, I think my brain will throw a tantrum.

Weeds and WIPs

Gardening turned out to be a good, post-workshop thing to do. It was a beautiful, peaceful Spring day, and as I yanked out the triffid-weeds, I cringed at the memory of my synopsis (it was deemed crap, but I already knew that) and mulled over how to make it better. I also pondered the critiquing of my MS and considered solutions. Overall, I realise that the book needs a massive structural rewrite – the passing of (too much?) time is a particular problem – dialogue shakeups, and, very importantly, a kick ass title. I’ve been using a bland working title for so long that it’s starting to stick, and it is NOT a butt-booting, gotta-buy-that-book kind of YA title, not by a long shot.

And gotta-buy-that-book inducements like good covers and blurbs are important, as our guest speaker Sean McMullen pointed out, because you have to convince someone to not only part with their hard earned lucre for your book, but also to invest an afternoon or more to read it.

Sean gave us a great rundown on synopses, pitches, and rather depressing examples of how much the cover layout influences the sales of a book. Paul then set writing a pitch to a publisher as extra homework for our next, and final, workshop. Gaaaah! The synopsis blew my synapses. Goodness knows what damage writing a pitch will wreak upon my brain.