Merry Samhain!

Forgive me, my minions, for having completely abandoned you yesterday. Today is my most favorite holiday on the calendar--Samhain, Halloween, All Hallow's Eve--and that, my darlings, takes a lot of preparation. But now that the cabbage is soaking (for the colcannon) and the house is properly smudged and a zillion other tiny details have been attended to...

Let's talk about death.

Seems appropriate, doesn't it? Here we are, the veil between this life and what comes next is at its thinnest, spirits are restless...death seems like a fitting subject to tackle today. But the kind of death I want to discuss isn't physical; it's the death of dreams.

I grew up in a blue collar family and was told on many, many occasions to "get my head out of the clouds". When I spoke of doing something creative for a living, something in the arts, the response I often heard was, "You need to do something constructive." It was difficult hearing these things, especially being the unbearably stubborn dreamer that I am. So I tucked my dreams away and tried to forget them. But writing never forgets--it's a disease. It calls to those who would write. It hungers for their pen. And, after a long time fighting it, I finally gave in and I'm now on that dreamers' road to quite possibly nowhere.

A short time ago, I let the echoes of the past creep in and warn me that I should get my head out of the clouds. Filled with doubt, I considered giving up writing for good. I was fully prepared to walk away, to let my dreams die, to ignore the call of writing forevermore.

But then I was asked for advice by a fledgling writer who was on the verge of giving up as well. I told her she couldn't--that she could never, ever, ever give up. Not if writing is really what she loves. Not if she can't imagine a day without stringing words together on a page. I realized that I had slid dangerously close to a place I swore I'd never visit--I'd almost wandered off the path to writing success and that, my minions, is a terrifying experience.

So tonight...watch out for cars as you trick or treat; keep a fire extinguisher nearby the bonfire; pay tribute to those that have passed on; and never, ever give up your dreams.

Bats in My Belfry

Anyone who knows me knows that I am completely, totally, head-over-heels in love with bats--vampire bats in particular, with their squished little faces and leathery wings. I just adore them and have long dreamed of owning some...until research pointed me in another direction.

To my great surprise, bats' population are way down and people, for whatever reasons, are forcing them out of their homes without giving them somewhere else to go. Caves where bats house in Mexico are undergoing guano mining, which is forcing the bats to find somewhere quiet and dark to rest. People all over the U.S. are evicting bats from their attics without building them a proper bat house first. And some people, believing the rumors about bats getting in your hair and infecting you with rabies, are killing bats without thought or remorse.

I've decided that, should Vlad and Eighth Grade Bites bring in any kind of money at all, I'll be donating a portion to bat conservation. If I can't keep a bat as a pet, I can at least help them in whatever small way I'm able to.

Ramblings from the State of Limbo

I'm reading so much lately, trying to stuff as much YA fiction down my throat before November 6th as I can, that I'm feeling a bit burnt out--which is pretty amazing, considering I devour books by the handfuls. I reread Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire over the last three days, as a refresher for the upcoming movie, and I think what has me burned out is the book's length. I read fairly quickly, so you can imagine my distress at three days of reading the same book. Not to mention I'd forgotten how icky certain parts of it made me feel. In the end I was left feeling bad and that will only get worse as I reread Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. My son is urging me to move on to the Pendragon series, but I can't. Not yet. I started Harry Potter and can't stop until I've been through them all.

The good news is that Vlad isn't just tapping away at the base of my skull, awaiting the day I'll return to his tale. He's whispering now, bits and pieces, details of his eighth grade year that I need to know--and I'm listening, scratching down notes every chance I get, whipping out a scene that demands to be written. It's not revising. It's catching echoes in a jar.

I was very sad to learn in my research that it's illegal to own a bat as a pet. Vlad was going to have a bat named Igor, but now...well, now he'll just have to move on to other things. But that's alright--there are a million other details that require my (and his) attention. And oh...the story, minions, the story is really going to knock your knickers off.

It's a strange feeling to know you're working on something that will change your life. Good, but strange.

People Must Like Vampyric Ducks

First off, thank you all so very much for your entries in my pen name contest. So far, the entries I’ve received (by posting them here or email) are:

Circe Nightshade

Ophelia Rayne

Treble Brewer

Dementia

D.C. Dracul

O.F. Doom

Jorian Dark

H.J. Bathory

Jesse Gore

All excellent names! Now remember, on Halloween I’ll be announcing the pen name I’ve chosen and the winner will receive Lord Quackula—my ever-present, vicious, fanged, duckie minion!

So get those entries in, minions. Time is running out!

Vampires Loose in Our Schools!

Well, vampire authors, anyway.

Ever since the idea for Eighth Grade Bites popped into my little head, I've had images of visiting local schools and talking to kids about Vlad. Kids are amazing--intriguing, funny people that love cheesy jokes almost as much as I do. And can you just imagine the joy in their voices when I tell them the title? I can't think of a single eighth grader who wouldn't agree. Eighth grade does, in fact, bite. It did when I was in it. It does now. Sure, times have changed, but some things are set in stone.

But then last night I wondered aloud if promoting my books in local schools was even a remote possibility. I wasn't sure if this was something that authors did, as no authors had come to visit the podunk, craptown, in-the-armpit-of-nowhere middle school I attended. So I thought about it all night and hoped it would be something I could arrange once Vlad is unleashed upon the world.

This morning, Miss Snark gave me my answer. Not only did she state that YA authors are encouraged to do this kind of promotion, but that classroom visits and meeting with librarians is essential! Book geek that I am, I was ecstatic. I love libraries. And I love hanging out with cool people (and, let's face it, if you're a fan of my books, you must be cool). What's more, she echoed something that I firmly believe--that a YA author needs a huge web presence and that he/she will be expected to be there for his/her fans (and through all 3,000 emails a month).

I'm game.

I'm totally game. You might say that I'm chomping at the bit, or that I'm bloody eager, or that I'm...okay, enough puns for today. I'm nervous about doing promotions, of course (my kind tends to lurk through the dark in sole existences--you know, writers), but this kind of promotion sounds unbelievably fun.

Bring it on.

Picking Apart Vlad

Martha O'Connor has an excellent Tactical Tuesday point on her blog today. She discusses the importance of opening lines.

It got me thinking about Vlad (because oh no, I haven't been doing ~that~ at all *rolls eyes*) and the first line in Eighth Grade Bites, which led me to the first paragragh of EGB:

A tree branch slapped John across the face, scraping his skin, but he kept on running and ignored the stabbing of pine needles on his bare feet. He could hear the man’s footsteps behind him, echoing his own. They were getting closer.

I asked myself whether my opening asks questions of the readers mind, whether it draws them into the story at all and yes, I think it does. What do you think, minions?

But enough blathering about myself and obsessively worrying about each word I type. Get over to Martha's blog! She knows her stuff.

Taking a Bite out of Harry

When I finally shuffled off to bed last night, I was on page 301 of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. Harry, in his sweet, gifting way, is teaching me something that I should have known, but didn't quite: You can't tell people a story--that's not what makes a book great. What makes a book great is sharing moments. Oh sure, the details of how Harry felt when he was looking for the train to Hogwart's might not be the most important in the book, but they pull the reader closer to Harry. This is something Ms. Rowling accomplishes masterfully. It's as if Harry is sitting across from us on the train and sharing some pretty interesting moments from his life--and we're jotting them down in our memory.

It's exactly the feel I'm searching for with Vlad. Only with far more sarcastic jabs, a lot more blood and several situations where you don't know whether to laugh or yell, "Ew!" Writing Vlad has been, above all, a heck of a lot of fun. And I think that's a big reason I'd been questioning whether or not I was headed in the right direction with him--writing is art and aren't we supposed to suffer for our art? Some would disagree and I'm quickly lining up on their side. Art can be fun and pleasant and easy--we just have to let it be.

November 6th is coming up fast. I couldn't be more ready.

Echoes the Voice of Reason

I have two weeks left before I return to Vlad and the EGB revisions that await me. And last night, as I sit pondering what scene from Roses to work on, a voice of reason whispers into my ear. "Maybe you should stop writing for a few weeks, read some books in the same genre as Vlad, get a feel for what works before you delve into revisions." The voice of reason, as it so often does, belongs to my husband. As he's speaking, it occurs to me that I've been given this advice before--from some very good friends at Backspace.

"Impossible," I say to him, just as I've said to those friends recently. "I'd be unbearable to live with, grouchy as can be and I can't handle the tension headaches."

So my darling husband hands me a bottle of Aleve and the first Harry Potter (which I confess I haven't read; I started in around book three), then tells me that he'll be the judge of whether or not I'm unbearable to live with.

Okay, Universe. Point taken.

Thank you, my fellow Backspacers, for trying to give me some very sage advice. For what it's worth, I really do appreciate it--even if my stubborness gets in the way of accepting it from time to time.

So, if you'll excuse me, minions...I'm going to go read.

Listening to the Pleas of Echoes

Two weeks. I have two weeks left in my month away from EGB's manuscript. And I'm finally starting to take what may turn out to be some excellent advice.

On Backspace two weeks ago I asked my friends and fellow pen-wielders what I should work on during this vacation from my beloved Vlad. Several (okay...the majority) offered the sage advice that I shouldn't write. Impossible, I thought. Because I know me and when I don't write I get very grouchy, virtually impossible to live with and tension headaches. But it's funny how the Universe works when it's trying to nudge you in a certain direction.

Yesterday, as I was stressing out over a particular passage from Rapture, my husband said to me, "Have you thought of not writing for the next two weeks?"

"Impossible," I said. But then, over the next twenty minutes, we got into a discussion about the popular YA books out there and how much I would benefit from reading them. Two weeks could prove plenty of time for me to pour over them, learn exactly why they're so good, figure out what Vlad may be missing before I return to him.

So I've laid aside my concerns and last night, picked up the first copy of Harry Potter (which, I confess, I've never read--I started in at the third book) and read several chapters. Doing so taught me something: sometimes you have to take advice, no matter your reasons for resisting it. Because it can turn out to be very wise.

And to all my friends at Backspace, thank you. I'm going to go read now.

The Death of Dreams

I had a horrific nightmare last night--one of those dreams that makes you wake up with a pounding heart and a sick, heavy feeling in your chest.

In the dream, an agent had invited me over to discuss The Roses of Carrion. She invited another author over as well--this petite little thing named Julie (or was it Jenny?). We sat at this long, boardroom style table and the agent handed us each a file folder, with sections of our work inside that had been commented on and marked up so much that it appeared someone had chopped off a limb and draped it over the file. The agent began critiquing my work and I agreed with most of her points. Somehow, a full chapter of mine had turned into a bizarre laundry list of actions and descriptions. Some weren't even sentences--just words. Like push and deranged.

Anyway, as the agent was discussing JennyJulie's work, I fell ASLEEP. When I opened my eyes, they were both looking at me rather dissapprovingly. (gee...I wonder why) The agent proceeded to assign us each an essay to write and left the room for an hour or so. Well, JennyJulie was scribbling away with ease and I, in my gracefulness, knocked a glass of water over my paper, drenching it. JennyJulie looked irritated. I ducked my head out in the hall and asked the agent for another piece. She looked irritated too.

So after I finish my paper, the agent comes back in and tells us we can pick up our graded papers on the way out, from this filing cabinet in the corner. JennyJulie gets hers and I'm shocked to see she got a C+. But when I pull open the top drawer, I see a B and squeal with delight...only to be reminded by the agent that my paper's in the second drawer and it has a D-. On my way out, trying to salvage as much of my dignity and professionalism as I can, I mention the details of Eighth Grade Bites to the agent. To which, she snarls and says, "Yeah...why don't you send that along when you finish it."

JennyJulie and I are walking down the stairs outside of the office and I say, "Wow, it looks like you nailed that interview."

She says, "No doubt."

I took a deep breath, trying not to cry at how horribly it had gone for me, and said, "I don't think I'll ever get an agent."

To which, Julie replied with a matter-of-fact tone, "Maybe you should stop writing."

I used to dream about monsters in my closet, about bloodthirsty beasts under my bed. Now I dream about things like this.

But You May Call Me...

...something else. I need a pen name, oh loyal minions. I've got my reasons and I've made the decision to create one, but I need your help. It has to be something dark, something witty or wow-she-must-write-about-vampires. I could, feasibly, go with my initials--that is, unless "H.J. Brewer" strikes any of you as pompous and arrogant (which it kind of does me, but I can be swayed). I also want something that could pass for male or female.

So, if you would, come up with as many creative, wonderful, awe-inspiring pen names for the writer of Eighth Grade Bites (and the series, The Chronicles of Vladimir Tod) and list them here.

This plea for assistance doesn't come without reward! Oh heck no! I'll give it just over a week for people to list names (or email them if you'd rather be hush-hush with your brilliance) and on Halloween, I'll announce the winner of Quackula--my ever present ducky minion!


He's cute, right? And inherently evil, I assure you. So get with the names, minions, and Quackula (or Lord Quackula, as he prefers to be called) can be yours!

(Disclaimer: Lord Quackula does have fangs ~though you can't see them in the pic~ so if he bites you, I can't be held responsible for any occurence of duck-related vampirism)

5 Basic Rules (of doom)

(Did I mention that adding "of doom" to anything makes it sound cooler?)

I've received several emails recently from fledgling writers whose heads are all a-twitter with questions. Well...I'm not sure they're a-twitter, exactly. But they certainly are flailing about, so I thought I'd dedicate today's entry to newcomers to the industry.

There are certain things that one must know about the publishing industry...well, I suppose, you musn't know them if you don't plan on publishing. But as for the rest of us, there are (to begin with) five basic rules.

1) You need to edit. This process never ends. Be prepared to hack away at your darlings with brute force, only to hack away at their limbless torsos once again. Make sure you use active voice rather than passive. Eliminate excessive adverbs and purple prose. Check and recheck your spelling and punctuation. Delete scenes that don't move the story forward. And when you think you've perfected your literary masterpiece, think again. Go over it until you want to set the pages (or hard drive) aflame and then go over it a few more times. Editing=good.

2) You need an agent. Now, now...I can hear you grumbling and bemoaning that an agent is only there to take 15% of your money, but let me tell ya, minions, you're wrong. An agent is a lifesaver. They answer all of your stupid (and you will have them, stupid or not) questions; they walk you through the process and hold your hand; they get your manuscript under the noses of people you might not be able to reach otherwise. In short, an agent is a writer's best friend. Get one. (And don't forget to check them out on Preditors & Editors first--you should NEVER pay your agent a fee upfront. All their income comes from selling the book. They don't get their pennies until you get yours.)

3) You need drive. It's hard enough to force yourself to sit down every day and contribute words to your latest work-in-progress. But can you imagine the work that comes later, after your book has sold? You have to self-promote, to keep your name in the public eye, to hit the bookstores and spread the word. During which, of course, you'll have to work on your next fabulous book. Just thinking about what you need to do in order to nudge your book toward the hint of success can be daunting. Don't give up.

4) You need friends. And not just your everyday, I'm-meeting-Sally-at-Denny's-for-lunch-on-Tuesday friends. You need writer friends--people who know exactly what you're going through every step of the way and can offer both a shoulder and valuable advice when you need it. Non-writing friends are great, but they'll never really get it. Besides, who knows what excellent contacts your writer friends may provide. (Plus, it never hurts to have experienced critiquers in your corner.)

5) You need Diet Pepsi. Well, maybe you don't, but I do. Which leads us to the ~actual~ fifth rule...

5) You need to write. Plain & simple, kids. You need to sit your butt in that chair and force that creative ooze out of every pore. It doesn't matter if it's crap. It doesn't matter if it's ugly. Write, write, write some more...and then go back to number one.

This Interview is Bitchin'!

Martha O’Connor is the celebrated author of The Bitch Posse. I recently asked Martha about her book and for any words of advice she had for aspiring writers. But before we get started…

Warning: do not begin reading this book unless you have time to be completely immersed in the compelling, insatiable world of Rennie, Cherry and Amy—the Bitch Posse. I’ve burnt two casseroles and twice forgotten to tuck the children in on time. (How Martha Stewart does that make me sound?) People must be forewarned.

Martha O’Connor takes her readers on a dark, wild, deliciously sinful ride through the lives of three girls. As teens, Rennie, Cherry and Amy are an unlikely band of friends, but their bond is one of deep, guttural need to belong somewhere. But no matter how close the girls become, each of them carries a dark secret that threatens to crumble the Posse from within.

The story moves back and forth through fifteen years, teasing the reader masterfully with a hint at a shared secret that tore the trio apart. We see the girls as adults: Cherry lives in a psychiatric hospital; Rennie drowns her memories in sex, drugs and rock n’ roll; Amy suffers from dire marital troubles. And the only thing that holds their sanity intact is knowing that the Bitch Posse is still out there, somewhere.

HB: "The Bitch Posse" is dark, compelling and addictive. What inspired it?

MO: I know it sounds really ridiculous, but the book practically wrote itself. I was down and out after enduring numerous publisher rejections for a different novel of mine (still unpublished), a mystery, and decided to start something new. The Bitch Posse girls just knocked me to the ground, held a knife to my throat and wouldn't let me up until I'd let their stories unfold on paper. Addictive is a great word, because it was addictive for me, too. Sometimes I'd write compulsively, all night long.

HB: What are the joys & nightmares of being a writer, getting published...any stories, advice?

MO: My advice would be to remain true to your own vision. I had a very enthusiastic literary agent for another project of mine, mentioned above. When she started getting publisher rejections on the mystery, I began writing The Bitch Posse in order to take my mind off things. 50 pages into the novel, I wanted a little feedback, so I showed it to my husband, also a writer and my first and best reader. He demanded that I keep writing it so he could find out what happened next.

Still not satisfied, I decided to send the partial to my then-agent. She HATED it. She said it was so dark and different that no one would ever want to read it. She even said, "I don't think I can sell this and I can't imagine who the audience would be." She suggested I write another mystery with the same detective instead.

Well, I didn't want to do that. If you've read the novel, you know that by 50 pages into the story, the girls are in a HUGE amount of trouble. Not only that, but I considered the girls my friends. I wouldn't abandon friends in that much trouble, so how could I abandon my girls?

So I plowed on, writing to please no one but myself. I broke ties with the agent, but part of me was still convinced that she was right, that I'd never find a traditional publisher. I'd have to self publishor go overseas. In truth, though, her comments were the best thing that ever happened to me because they freed me to write like no one was watching. I smashed all the censors, and that was why I was able to take the risks I did with the novel.

HB: "The Bitch Posse" seems very much on the opposite end of the spectrum from your average chick-lit. Do you think that women and their needs are being accurately portrayed in today's fiction?

MO: I personally find it really hard to find a book featuring women that appeals to me. If the character makes me sick with her own selfishness (I'm thinking of the recent Sue Monk Kidd novel The Mermaid Chair) or just bores me with her obsessions (the character in Plum Sykes' Bergdorf Blondes) then I won't read the novel.

But I'm observing that tough, in your face heroines are popping up infiction more and more--the girls in Colleen Curran's Whores on the Hill, Joshilyn Jackson's character Arlene Fleet in Gods in Alabama, and Madeline Dare in the upcoming novel by Cornelia Read, A Field of Darkness. These characters are women who speak to me, women I respectand care about. I can only hope that there will be more "tough girl" books in the future!

HB: The book cover for "The Bitch Posse" is sexy and attention getting. How important do you feel the book cover is in relation to sales?

MO: Well, I personally love the cover. I think a cover needs to evoke acertain mood that goes with the novel. And I do feel my cover suggests that: it's dark, it's sexy, there's a mystery to it. I'm not really sure how covers affect sales, but I do know of cases in which certain covers were nixed by a big bookstore chain and the publisher had to go back to the drawing board. Covers are really important, but I'd be horrible at designing them. I haven't moved past the stick figure phase of Art 101.

HB: "The Bitch Posse" has been compared to the work of Joyce Carol Oates. Do you feel that's a fair comparison? Was your book in any way homage to her?

MO: Well, Joyce Carol Oates is my literary goddess. I totally adore herwork and I am sure the edgy mood of the novel echoes her work in someways. But if this novel is in homage to any other writer, it is Vladimir Nabokov. There are many little hints and puzzles dropped into the novel along the way. One has to do with butterflies, but there are many more. I'll leave the finding and unwinding to those who enjoy those types of things!

HB: Several fans of your book have expressed that they strongly identified with at least one of your main characters—so strongly, in fact, that it was like you knew them. Who do you identify more with—Rennie, Cherry or Amy? And why?

MO: There are obvious similarities between me and Rennie--we both live inMarin County, are both writers, were both teachers. However, I hope I'm not as dysfunctional as she is! I'm like Cherry in that I am almost compelled to help people, even at my own expense. Also, Cherry is a writer too. And I can easily relate to Amy because she's a mother... the entire world changes when you become a parent because you are no longer living just for yourself. Your choices are for the most part governed by what is best for your children. Anyway, I guess the short answer is that I'm like all of the characters! It depends which day you ask...

HB: What advice would you offer new authors?

MO: Write like no one is watching. Also, check out any potential agent with the AAR and Predators and Editors.

HB: What's next for you—any future books planned?

MO: Yes! I am working on another book right now, but I'm superstitious about talking about unfinished work... so my lips are sealed!

THE BITCH POSSE was published by St. Martin's Press in May of 2005 and is available online and in stores. You can read an excerpt of it here, on Martha’s website. So go forth, my minions...and support this talented author by buying her book!

(don't make me sick the Spork of Doom on you)

Ode to Frankenfile

There's a new file on my desktop. Within it is a mishmash of two separate files. Wielding my keyboard, I've chopped off limbs of each of the original files and have sewn them together with the skill of my mouse. In the three weeks remaining until November 6th, I'll give Frankenfile life (or a semblance of it) by filling in the empty spaces with detail. It's quite a task to undertake, but I'm enjoying it. I emailed a friend about my predicament and I don't think I could phrase it better than I did to him:

See, about a decade ago, I wrote a story. It was rather inspired and took me eight years to complete, but when I looked at the final version, I cringed. It was half backstory. So I told myself, "Self." ('cuz that's what I call me) "Self," I said, "why include all that backstory when we can write a prequel?" So the clouds parted and the rains fell and the peasants bowed down in worship to me. The manuscript was born. There was much rejoicing. (yay)

Then, recently, a very dear reader of mine spoke the tragic magick words after reading it, along with a section of the first book. "You should try to work the backstory of the second story into the first story." And the peasants squealed in terror of their beauteous goddess! (because it's hard when someone's right...but even harder when you realize that you'd been right the first time). She had some excellent points and was completely correct in thinking that I was too close to my story to see what was really good for it. We fantasy writers tend to think that everyone will be as fascinated with every friggin' detail of our characters lives as we are. We're wrong, but it doesn't stop us from flooding the nearby villages with backstory.

So I wrote a new outline (action-packed, intriguing, fast-paced) and now, donning my horned hat of justice, I'm pillaging the two separate stories for crucial details & semi-okay writing to include in the new book.

Now all I need is the brain of Abby Normal...

Mondays Suck!

I don't care if you go to an office or a warehouse or the mall or your living room for work. Mondays completely bite. So today we're going to procrastinate. Ready?

This is the funniest damn site, chock full of videos that range from the titter-inspiring to put-your-coffee-down-first funny. And there's always Stick Figure Death Theatre to keep us entertained. For the musically-inclined, there's this site ("Flip Out Like a Ninja" is one of my personal faves). And, speaking of Ninjas...well, you might want to go pee before reading this site. This guy's cat hates you and putt-putt golf rules. Defend your castle or, if you're in a foul mood, be a vengeful god.

Just don't bother me. I'm....uhhhh...working. Yeah...yeah, that's the ticket. Working...

Building the Perfect Beast

Writers have thousands of different methods for how to create a fantastic manuscript. Some set a specific daily wordcount or pagecount. Some write under a self-imposed deadline. Some only touch the keyboard when their muse is speaking to them. And some write an entire book of backstory and then need to rip out all its good parts and sew them together with parts from what should have been the first book in that series in the first place, even though they're supposed to be focusing on non-vampire stuff, because they have to wait until November 6th to work on EGB. *ahem* But I digress...

Being a member of different writing forums over the past few years, I've come to learn that all writers have it figured out for themselves. They know how they write. In their generosity, they want to share all they've learned with other writers--which can only be a good thing. But I've seen too many little fledgling writers get scared off, thinking that there's only one right way to write, one right way to get an agent, one right way to do anything in this business. Well, when it comes to basics like formatting, submitting materials and query letters, it does seem to have a formula. But it's the other stuff--like when the fledglings ask ~how~ they should write a particular scene--that's responsible for the loss of many a fledgling. Much like the momma bird, it's our responsibility as fellow writers to give them the basic tools, kiss their pretty little foreheads and shove their butts right out of the nest so they can fly on their own. As they're falling, they'll scream. And amidst their screams, if they listen closely, they'll find their own voice and fly. I've seen it happen. It's a beautiful thing. (Except when they plummet to the bottom of the cliff and you hear that squishsplat! sound, and thus, another fledgling lost)

Most of my time on writing forums is spent a) socializing (we writers are a lonely lot...well...maybe it's just me) and b) acquiring tidbits that may be helpful in the future (which agents are interested in what, solutions to common agent/editor/book problems, etc.). The best forum I've found so far is Backspace. It's a great community and I've made a few hostages, er, I mean, friends there since it opened over a year ago. Unlike a lot of writing forums, it costs cash to get in. But it's worth every damn dime. (Besides, if you hate it there's a "get out of Backspace free" card for the first five days of your membership)

So, my little fledgions (fledging writers that read my blog....get it? fledgling + minion = fledgion? HA!), be sure that if you do join a writing group, you can feel yourself being nudged to the edge of that nest. Because the only person who can find your voice is you.

(and I really hate that squishsplat! sound)

News from the Underworld

It seems that, lately, a whole heck of a lot of agents are blogging. Miss Snark is a personal fave, as well as Nadia Cornier of Firebrand Literary. But I also enjoy reading Agent 007's thoughts, along with news from the Knight Agency. Reading their blogs gives you great insight to what agents are thinking, how they work, what their personality is like. Not to mention that they often make me spit my Diet Pepsi across the room.

There are a few new agent-bloggers this week. Agent Kate and the Zack Company have joined my list of blogs. Now, don't get me wrong, as of 50+ posts ago, I was very cynical about the whole idea of blogging, let alone reading other people's blogs. But I've learned quite a bit by reading them every day, so I'm glad I started.

I received another agent rejection yesterday, but she didn't tell me anything about The Roses of Carrion that I don't already know, due to the brilliant insight of Jackie Kessler (writer, editor, all around amazing goddess). But luckily, I've determined how to fix it. See, the book got its start as a sort of prequel to The Rapture Cafe. But in writing it, all I did was force needless backstory down my readers' throats. The real story doesn't begin until Rapture. Why I failed to see that before is quite beyond me. But I see the error of my ways now and that's the whole point.

The good news is that when I wrote back to thank her for her thoughts (and her time--which is a damn precious commodity to our agent friends), I mentioned that I'm hard at work on a YA about a fourteen year old vampire, titled Eighth Grade Bites. And just like that, the agent wrote back and requested that, when I'm ready to send him out into the world, I send her the first 30 pages (don't bother querying) and a reminder that she asked to see them. So what had been a horrible, why-am-I-doing-this day turned into a I've-got-something-with-Vlad day.

And I do. He's going to be known. (And if I'm lucky, he'll let me sit with him at lunch)

The Obligatory Mopey Blog Entry

When I write, I channel my characters and, in a small way, become them. Who I'm writing affects my mood. Oddly enough, it seems Vlad is very upset that I'm refusing to work on revisions with him--as I find myself skulking and rolling my eyes at every little thing this morning. But too damn bad, I say. Because there's work to be done on Shades of Gray and EGB is going to wait. If he doesn't like it, he can bite me.

Staying focused on one project is something I've struggled with since I started taking my writing seriously. It's doable, but requires several mental slaps. Today I'm leaping into a new chapter, filled with discovery and hope for Dorian. It's good...the guy needs some hope. But I'm really only writing so I can work out my frustrations through him before sitting down to read. I must be the only person on the planet who hasn't finished the new Harry Potter yet.

I think I'm mopey today because I really, really, really want to work on revising Eighth Grade Bites, but I absolutely cannot let myself. Isn't that childish? To pout over something you have control over? The thing is, I adore Vlad and want to show him off. But I also know that in first draft form (ick) he's not ready to meet agents. But in order to gain a fresh perspective, I need to ignore him, forget every word, move past that book and work on something entirely different. I know that. It's great advice. It's just difficult for me. (and I'd wager I'm not alone in this)

So get out of my head, Vlad. I have to stop thinking about you.

Life or Death

I considered titling this thread something witty like "how not to choke on your own vomit", but I think the subject calls for something simpler, so "life or death", it is.

Many, many people have aspirations of getting a novel published. Some won't even finish scribbling their book idea onto the blank page. So out of the few who manage to finish writing a novel, a much smaller amount of writers will actually see their book published. I don't have numbers to show you, but trust me--the odds are daunting.

And there's more. Of those who actually get their book published, a big chunk won't go on to publish another book. A couple reasons for this: perhaps they realized how much work goes into the book once they manage to publish it, perhaps they run out of marketable ideas, perhaps their publisher drops them and they find it difficult to start over at square one again. There's a big difference between getting published and staying published and that difference, I believe, can be summed up in one word.

Self-promotion. (or is that two words?)

To be honest, I'm completely loathing the idea of book signings and dropping into bookstores to sign stock, but I'm fully prepared to do it. Because you have to be willing to bleed for your work. You have to be willing to get out there and show the public (and the publisher) that you believe in yourself enough to push your book into the public eye. It can mean the difference between staying published and being forgotten, between life and death for your writing career. And there's no better person to turn to when it comes to self-promotion inspiration than Joe Konrath. The man is a god. He could sell a glass of water to a drowning man. (not to mention he's ~damn~ funny and his books are highly addictive...and I don't even like cop books, really)

So even though I may be miles and miles (and miles) away from the self-promotion schtick...I've got my eye on it. 'Cuz hey, you never know.

Today I'm the Anti-Goth

Well, that's not exactly true, but it's close enough. I'm in a remarkably pleasant, upbeat, where-are-my-friggin-pompons mood this morning, for no particular reason.

It could be because a cute boy with raven black hair and fangs has been whispering in my ear, beckoning me to return to him, to return to the small town of Bathory. I keep telling Vlad that he's going to have to behave himself and wait for November 6th to hang out with me, but...well, he's stubborn. Fortunately, I'm more stubborn, so EGB revisions will be waiting.

Today, after indulging in reading the blogs on my list (see below...and right), I'm going to fiddle with the query letter for Vlad and maybe his synopsis. (or, as I refer to them both: necessary evils) I'm feeling antsy and vampy today ~never good for writing non-vampy fiction~ so I'll have to ignore that urge and get back to work on Shades of Gray. (I'd describe what it's about, but...well, it's complicated if you haven't read the big, surprise ending of what was Black and White and is now A Whisper of Need) Then later I'll be getting some more query letters ready for Roses--hopefully it will garner some interest. If not, Vlad will.

I mean, who can resist a cute boy with fangs?

Wednesday's Child is Full of Woe

Yeah, yeah--I realize it's only Tuesday (and heck, I was born on a Friday night), but there's some definite woe going on here. Well, maybe not "woe", because I'm feeling rather chipper, but certainly not "woah!", so it's got to be somewhere in the middle.

Last night I wrote 2,000 words for Shades of Gray and I'm hoping to add at least that today. It's weird--I kind of feel like I'm on a deadline with it, but I'm not. Of course, I promised myself I'd only work on it until I go back to EGB on November 6th, so maybe the sadomasochistic side of me is pushing to crank out Gray's first draft before we head into revisions. That's just twisted. Possible, but twisted.

I'm currently waiting to hear back from 22 agents. Two have partials (the one with the full declined to offer representation--like that? It's my new, positive way of shrieking that I've been rejected...again) and 20 are sitting on queries. About half of those are e-queries, so on the chance that they might have been deleted (by a junk mail filter, by accident, whatever) I'll be snail-querying them in a few weeks, just to be sure that no reply means no. Stacy Boyd (an editor with Harlequin Silhoeutte) has a full and I'm getting lulled into writing by the sound of crickets in my inbox.

But I don't mind--not really. Agents and editors are incredibly busy people. It's insane how hard they work and I'm happy to receive a period of silence over a rejection *ahem* sorry, a decline to offer representation.

Sometimes I worry that I'll have five bajillion books written and the day I receive an email that says the agent wants to talk further, I'll have a heart attack and die.

But I'm not much for optimism. :)

Welcome to Purgatory, Population: Me

So here I am in that weird place between first draft and revision, which is akin to being wedged somewhere between existence and nonexistence. And, as usual, I'm unsure of what to do with myself. I'm beginning work (actually, continuing work) on a sequel to A Whisper of Need, but I know when my month is up that I'll be diving fangs-first back into Eighth Grade Bites. The sequel (which was initially titled Shades of Gray, to go with Whisper's original title, Black and White) has 36,000 words and, despite my memories of it, has a killer storyline that definitely appeals to me. It takes me back to characters that I have long loved and in it we revisit New Orleans, which has been on my mind much as of late. At first I hesitated, because how can I write about the way the city was, when there are new truths to it now? The answer came quickly, in a matter of fact tone.

Because it will be that way again.

My other choice was to work on The Rapture Cafe, second in The Rapture Chronicles series (of which The Roses of Carrion is first). I'm 52,000 words into it, but even I need a break from writing vampires now and again. Two agents and one editor are still reading Roses. I cringe at the first three chapters--the story gets so much better after that. The pessimist in me knows I'll be rejected and the logical professor in me agrees--citing that I should have deleted the first chapters and started further in. None of the voices in my head are optimistic and none seem to realize that as much as it's my fault...it's theirs.

But enough about me and the padded room I sleep in.

It's time to work, to query more, and to hope that all of this will eventually pay off.

Stick a Stake in Me...

...I'm done.

I'm happy to announce that not two minutes ago, I finished the first draft of Eighth Grade Bites, the first book in the series The Chronicles of Vladimir Tod.

It was a long, difficult, hair-pulling road, but I stuck with it and can now officially call the first leg of this journey completed--something that brings with it an enormous sigh of relief. My next step is to let it simmer for a month before diving into revisions, which, I believe, will go quickly.

No roses, please, and don't bother throwing money. Just dip me in blood and toss me to the vampires. *insert happy face here*

The Final Bite

I'm getting close now. I've bitten and chewed and slurped and swallowed and now here I am at the heart of it all--where I can hear the heart of the story slamming up against its ribs, rattling away in terrified excitement right before I go in for the kill, right before I come to the end. There are two chapters left on my list. One I'll finish up today. The other I'll work on for two, maybe three days. But come Tuesday, my minions, come Tuesday I'm finished with the first draft of Eighth Grade Bites.

It's thrilling me to pieces to see things wrap up the way they are--to know what's coming for Vlad in future books. I have the series planned out, you see, right to the end. And book one is laying the groundwork for what will be an incredible, fast-paced, scary, amazing ride.

Today, apart from writing, I'm beginning to organize my official query-these-agents-about-Vlad list. I'll take time researching them and then, when the time comes, I'll have a list of people who could be Vlad's ticket to the bookshelf. Organizing that list will be the easy part.

The difficulty comes in waiting.

Not for agents, not for editors, not for readers. I'm talking about the most immediate period of waiting I have to face: putting the manuscript aside for a month to gain a fresh perspective. I always get extremely hungry by the second week, which makes it difficult to focus on anything else. But I will. Because it's better for Vlad.

But right now I'm sinking my teeth in further and tearing away some tendons.

In the Company of Darkness

I love this time of year, when the veil between this world and the afterlife thins, when bodiless voices mutter all through my house, when my body is alive with the energy that surrounds me. Samhain is magickal. It also begins the dark half of the year and, let me tell you, my writing takes a particularly morose turn when it comes to the winter months. It should be interesting to see what oozes out of the urn this year.

I made a promise the other day that I have to keep, my minions. I promised you a glimpse of my door, along with my fabulous wreath and new gargoyles. So without further ado...



Isn't it pertyful?? Of course, I'd like some larger gargoyles for either side of the bottom of the door, but for now, I'm quite pleased. I've always been a fan of black feathers. Well, black anything really...
And yes, before you ask, today is a bit of a procrastination day. I've been revisiting a lot of old ghosts (ie, old books I've written) and seeing the problems in them, the things I could change to make them better. The problem is that I'm also seeing the potential--as in A Whisper of Need's case. It's a good story. Hell, it's great, probably the best I've written. But apparently it's too dark for agents. So I've been mourning my would-be successes this week and dreaming about what might have been, what may be, what I really true want to happen.

What bugs me most is that they say you should write what you want to read, that you should be unique, that you can't expect your readers to shed a tear reading it if you didn't while writing it. Check, check and check. This book has all those things. It's dark, yes. It's dangerous, yes. It's about subjects that some deem taboo. But it's a damn good book. I can't really wrap my head around the idea that stuff like this is getting published (and snapped up like free diamonds in the street) but my book...this really incredible story about a gay man who struggles with addiction, lies, a seductress, friendships and romance...isn't even being shopped around. Too much good fiction isn't being published.

I'll write today, of course. (I've a promise to keep to Vlad) But first I'm going to lose myself here. And then, brushing away cobwebs and woe, I'm going to write another book that may never sell.

Remind me why I chose this profession, again?

The Unveiling

I hate having my picture taken.

Strike that. I hateloathedespise having my picture taken. But it's important to have an author's photo on your website, so readers know who they're getting all this good stuff from. Readers like to feel a connection with the author and a picture is one way to further that connection.

Despite my hatred of my two-dimensional self, there is now (thanks to my webgenius, Mike Coombes) a photo of me on the first page. Looks nice, doesn't it? I look all sorts of suavesupercutedarling and there were no professionals involved--just me and my cheapo digital camera. Eventually, I'll have something professional done, but I think this works for now.

Ofcourse, I wish I looked like this:


But I just don't. Can't pull off the bangs and, having delved into the inky blackness of my soul and tinted my hair to match before, I can tell you that dying one's hair black is easy. Keeping one's hair black is a challenge. So if you're not naturally raven-coifed, you've got to have dire dedication to keeping it so and I, sweet minions, I do not.

So check out my site and my photo and let me know what you think. But be forewarned, the first person to say "I think bangs would work on you" gets drug into the street and stomped to crimson mush.

Blood's Dripping from My Windows

It's that time of year again.

I can't believe I let the 1st of October come and go without dragging out the Samhain (Halloween to all you muggles out there) decorations! But today the house is decorated and looking rather spooky, all for my favorite holiday of the year. We normally put a huge emphasis on the black and gloomy, the spiderwebbed and all things cauldron-related, but this year the windows are even dripping blood and new gargoyles guard our front door. (I really must post a picture of the front door. I'm simply obsessed with its dark beauty)

It's the perfect time of year to write about vampires.

Speaking of which, I only got to cross off one more item on my list, but that means I'm down to four more things to do before I can begin revisions. I'm a planner (Virgo, go figure), so in my planning it looks like I'll be ready to query EGB by February--if Roses doesn't get me an agent. Regardless, that's when Vlad will be ready for the world.

If you've been reading my blog for a while, you've heard me talk about the Backspace Writers Conference. I just made reservations at the Algonquin Hotel for next July. So make yours! It's going to be amazing, informative and fun. The conference is set up to please just about everyone--newbies and seasoned professionals alike. Besides, if they're letting me in, I doubt they'd frown at other crazies coming.

Not that you're crazy...

...well...you are reading my blog...

Just Call Me Faith Drown

First off, for a little fun, go see what your vampire name is. Apparently, I'm Faith Drown, the scourge of Slovenia--a traveler in a foreign land, struck down by a mysterious wasting disease.

Sucks, man. Let me tell ya. (But I do rather like my new last name--despite having a thing about water.)

So the first order of business today is to tackle my List-of-Things-to-Complete-Before-Vlad's-First-Draft-is-Finished. Yesterday I lopped another three things off the list, wittling my tasks down to five. My goal is to complete the three smallest today and then, over the next week, finish the final two tasks.

Huh. Actually, I guess that's the only order of business today.

Happy writing, everyone!

Closer than Shadows

Sometimes when I get stuck, I'll insert a sentence in bold red that serves as a reminder for what I want to put in that spot, but just can't seem come up with the words to do so at the moment. (As an example, finish up the lunch scene or something like it) Then, when I reach a certain point in a book (usually when I'm feeling itchy feet, because the end is so close, right there, go go go go go) I make a list of all of my red comments. It gives me direction during my final days in First Draft Land and it's so much easier to slide my finger down the list and let Vlad tell me what I'm in the mood to write.

Last night there were nine remaining things on my list. Today there are eight. All but one are small things--paragraphs here and there, one or two pages. Only one full chapter remains to be written. I'm anxious to finish, but sad to. Finishing the first draft is always difficult for me. I feel like I'm losing a close friend. But when I'm able to ignore those unfortunate feelings, I get excited.

I'm closer than shadows now. Vlad's almost done telling me the story of his eighth grade year. He's whispered in my ear something dark, hinted at something horrible, thrilling and painful that will bloom in Ninth Grade Bites and follow him through his senior year. I want to continue to be his pen, to tell the world all he's been through. With any luck...maybe Vlad and I will get to spend the next five years together.

But that's not up to me.

Staring at Elongating Shadows

I've reached that point where I'm already anxious to get Eighth Grade Bites out there under the nose of some agents and, let me tell you, there is no greater danger than that of an anxious writer. I take a lot of deep breaths and concentrate that energy into writing, which is where it should be, as opposed to querying, which is so far into the horizon that it should only be a minor twinkle. Instead it's a shiny object and I hunger for the day I can tell agents about Vlad's series.

But then, last night, as I was lying awake & staring at shadows, it occurred to me that if (when when when when when) EGB manages to find representation for its lord & master (Think I can use that instead of "author"? I much prefer it) and if my wonderful, brilliant, incredibly attractive (Any agents reading this? *ahem*) agent sells it...it might be the only book of the series to get picked up. And what then? Each book, of course, will be able to stand on its own, but who says that the first will be a big enough success to ensure another getting picked up? It's a crap shoot.

So I asked myself, "Self," I said ('cuz that's what I call me). "Self, are you really okay with the likelihood that even if you manage to get Vlad in print, you may be forced to leave him stranded mid-series?" "No," I told myself, "but what choice do I have?"

None. I have to write. And I'm fully aware that my chosen profession has a lot of "ifs" that may leave me reaching for the tissues, but in the end, it's worth it. Just to create Vlad, to have the privilege of knowing him...that's enough.

Because if it's not enough just to write about him, then why bother writing at all?

First Draft Land is Haunted

Yesterday I noticed many a spectre as I did something I normally consider a big no-no: I reread some of what I've written. The reason I mentally slap myself for doing so is simple. If I reread anything I've written as a first draft, my mood will immediately plummet due to just how ugly the writing is and for the next week, writing will be difficult as I force some amnesia on myself to forget about what I read. Luckily, Chapter One wasn't bad at all. The writing needed some polishing, but the action was tight. I was pretty happy.

Was. Until I realized that I had added some very rich, very cool, very vampire traits to Vlad that I'd somehow forgotten to keep in the nine chapters that follow. Huh.

How did that happen? How did I forget crucial detail during the rest of the book? After reading it, I could recall conversations with my husband where I'd droned on and on about including those things, playing with stereotypes, making Vlad fresh and involved and...well, somewhere between pages thirteen and fourteen I must have lost my mind and left out critically entertaining points.

The good news is that now that I've realized my mistake, I can start adding them again in these last three chapters. (Three? *checks her notes again* Can there be only three chapters left? Oh my, it seems there can. Getting close now, minions!) And the nine chapters that caught a bout of amnesia all on their own? Well, I can catch them up during revisions.

This is just further proof that Vlad's running things. I'm just cheating off his math test.