Category Archives: Bloggery/Internetty Stuff

RW8: Killing the dogs

Ariel

would like to hear more about your early childhood experiences in the Australian bush.

Katerate seconded this request.

My parents are anthropologists. And so a chunk of my childhood was spent on aboriginal settlements in the Northern Territory of Australia.

It’s the part of my childhood I remember most vividly and it gave Reason some of her background. The opening of Magic Lessons is a direct rip of my own memories:

Sarafina held up the cards with one hand, waving flies away and patting one of the dogs with the other. They were good dogs and knew enough not to try stealing any of the women’s meat. At least not while the women were looking. Besides, they were allowed to snatch up the discarded guts.

There were dogs everywhere. Running in packs. We kids would play with them and sometimes it felt like they were keeping an eye on us. You know, like lots of Lassies saving lots of Jimmys from falling down wells. Except without actual wells.

Someone decided there were too many dogs. I don’t know who. Someone from the government, maybe. Like the health department or something. Anyway they decided the dogs had to be culled. They rounded most of the dogs up and shot them.

I didn’t see any of it. I hid in the caravan. But I heard the shots and the yelps. I’m sure I must’ve been upset, but I don’t remember that. This is not a traumatic memory.

What I remember is my sister going out and looking at the dead dogs. Not in a morbid way. She must’ve been like three or something. She was just curious. I remember feeling really ashamed that I was too scared to look at them. My three-year-old sister was braver than me.

The dogs were buried and soon the survivors were running around like nothing had happened. And so, I guess, were we.

Not everything bad that happens in your childhood is a trauma, sometimes it’s just part of the soup you’re floating in.

RW7: Inspiration

Little Willow asks:

What inspires you to write?

This is one of those questions that make me go all monosyllabic1 and grunty and I-dunno, I-dunno, I-dunno. Cause most of the time I have no idea where story ideas come from. None.

But sometimes I know exactly where. Like the Magic or Madness trilogy which began something like this:

I was reading a fantasy novel that suddenly took a turn for the deeply lame. So lame that I wound up throwing it across the room. Here’s what caused the book hurlage:

“I am in trouble!” quoth the hero. “Fortunately I have a magic pill of trouble-destroying properties! I will swallow it! All will be well.”2

This reader couldn’t swallow it. I was so cranky I started writing a book of my own. One where the magic wasn’t there to fix every problem the hero (or author) encounters; a book where, indeed, magic is the problem. That book became Magic or Madness.

It probably reflects poorly upon me that I am more inspired by books I hate than books I love. Sigh.

But I’m not alone, am I? Someone tell me I’m not alone . . .

  1. Don’t you love how the word for speaking in one syllable words has many syllables? []
  2. No, I will not name the book. You people know the drill. []

RW6: Sydney and New York

Orangedragonfly wants to know

When you are in sydney, what do you miss most about new york?

and (of course) when you are in new york, what do you miss most about sydney?

My answer is much the same for both questions: above everything else I miss my family and my friends. My parents live in Sydney so when I’m there I don’t miss them, but I do miss my sister who lives in Los Angeles. So I miss her and my parents when I’m in New York.

I mentioned in an earlier post that no matter where I am I’m always missing someone. That’s pretty much a definition of what it is to be human. Even the most stay-at-home types have friends and family who have moved away. And people we love die. We’re always missing them as well.

I’ve yet to get truly homesick for New York City, the way I do for Sydney. When I’m not in the big apple it’s pretty much out of sight, out of mind (except my friends, natch!). But sometimes my homesickness for Sydney is a physical ache. I long for the smell of it. Truly, Sydney is one of the best smelling cities I’ve ever known. I miss the light and the big skies. I miss the easiness of it. It’s where I’ve spent the majority of my life. I know how Sydney works; I’m not sure I’ll ever really know NYC so intimately.

Which is not to say that NYC isn’t wonderful. It is in many many ways. Almost four years back I wrote a Sydney/New York City comparison. Most of it is still holds true. There are many, many things that NYC does a lot better than Sydney. But Sydney is my heart, NYC isn’t.

I am boingled and doomed!

I’ve been boingled again! Mr Doctorow has now read the whole trilogy, yes, including Magic’s Child and has many kind words to say. Like this, for example:

Justine Larbalestier has concluded her wonderful young adult fantasy trilogy, Magic or Madness. The third volume, Magic’s Child, brings the series to a really satisfying, complex conclusion that’s both brave and thought-provoking.

This trilogy is ready-made for smart, curious kids who look to fantasy for more than escape—who look to fantasy literature to stretch their understanding of the real world.

I blush.

For those of you who want to rush out and grab a copy of Magic’s Child, it’s available for pre-order, but won’t be out till March.

In the meantime, Magic or Madness, the first book in the trilogy is still available and it’s in paperback. Cheaper than hardcover plus I made corrections so the paperback is my preferred version. The Bookshelves of Doom recently found it not too foul:

Set in Sydney and New York City, Magic or Madness focuses on three teens—two Australian, one American. And get this—depending on who the focus is, the spelling and the vocabulary change. So as the reader, you really feel the shift between cities. Pretty rad, huh? That alone probably would have made me rave. But wait, there’s more. There’s mystery and treachery and characters that you’ll care about and more mystery and a very cool magic system.

This is one of the few reviews to actually talk about the language thing. Thank you for noticing! And enjoying.

Magic Lessons will be out in paperback next month. It, too, has been all corrected and stuff, not to mention having a sneak preview of Magic’s Child at the back.

Okay, now I’m going to go stick my head in a bucket of cold water so it will return to normal size.

RW4: Novels I despise

Wicked Jenny D requests that I write more

scathing posts about novels you don’t like in which we have to guess what they are and you annoyingly and mysteriously refrain from telling us.

First up I have to establish the rules of this game.

    Rule no. 1: If you are a friend of mine who has heard my rants and knows what books I refer to you may not act like you’re guessing in the comments thread. That would be evil, immoral and wrong.

    Rule no. 2: All guesses must be as vague as possible and not include actual book titles or author’s names. That way no author will get offended that you’re even guessing that any of these dreadful books could be by them. This rule does not apply to dead authors.

    Rule no. 3: No authors may guess that I’m talking about their novel. I adore all novels written by authors who read this blog. Even those I haven’t read.

    Rule no. 4: I will annoyingly and mysteriously refrain from telling you what the books are. Yes, even if you email me and beg.

Despised novel the first:

It starts off and the reader1 thinks it’s going to be the best book of all time. The situation is exciting and funny and wry, but also a little bit sad. It then turns into a blokey stream-of-conscious-my-life-sucks-and-no-girl-loves
-me-especially-not-the-girl-I-have-a-crush-on-who-is-too-good-for-me pile of steaming excrement. Someone is tormenting him. The torments make no sense. He runs around doing stuff. The girl-who-is-too-good-for-him rejects him. The reader is more and more inclined to agree that the girl is too good for him. He does more stuff. The girl unrejects him. The reader is aghast. It all turns out to be a dream. The reader throws the book across the room.

Despised novel the second:

An obsessive bloke ponders whiteness and pursues a whale. Oh, bugger it. The book’s Moby Dick and I hate it so much I cannot express my hatred. Gah! I wish I had never ever tried to wade through its turgidity. Stupid book club.

I do love Melville’s short fiction, but. I’m not a total philistine, people.

And before you suggest it, yes, it’s prolly because I’m not American that I do not get the most genius work your nation has ever produced. Let’s leave it at that, shall we?

Despised novel the third:

There’s a new girl at school. Although she’s worried about how she’ll adjust everyone loves her, even the coolest guy in school. This is fortunate as she loves the coolest guy in school too. They hang out. The new girl falls over a lot. The cool guy picks her up a lot. There are lame unbelieveable obstacles that are quickly cleared. But in the end they are separated for some reason that is not particularly clear to this reader. The follow-up books are even worse and feature more falling over and being picked up. The protag’s real name is Mary Sue.

Despised novel the fourth:

A middle-aged-but-still-sexy-damnit college professor has an affair with one of his students while his wife washes dishes slowly, seeing her life reflected in the suds. Or so the college professor imagines. However, as he rarely speaks to, or pays any attention at all to said wife it’s a puzzle where his conjectures come from. I’m thinking out of his arse whence the novel derives its origin. The protag’s name should be Gary Stu (the male equivalent of Mary Sue). Which is ironic as I bet a gazillion dollars that the esteemed author never heard of no Gary Stu. I confess that I couldn’t even finish this one.

If I get into trouble for this post I would like to point out that it’s Jenny D’s fault. Hate her, not me!

Feel free to rant about novels you hate in the comments. But, please, keep it vague! Very very very vague. We authors are delicate creatures whose feelings can be crushed with even a slightly unenthusiastic word.2 Do you really want to make an author cry?

  1. I say “the reader” because I cannot conceive of an intelligent human being who could like this book or have a different reaction to it. Sadly I have some friends who do like this book, but clearly they were under the influence of a malign star while reading it, so I forgive them. []
  2. Possibly even the dead ones. Sorry, Mr Melville! []

RW3: the quick ones

Little Willow asks:

Have you heard the song Reasons Why by Nickel Creek?

No. Please to point me to a link where I may listen.

Roger asks:

Your favourite cricketers, m’dear, and why. Whence the Keith Miller obsession?

Still living: Shoab Akhtar, Makhaya Ntini, Daniel Vettori, Shane Warne and Andrew Symonds.

Because they entertain me.

I have explained my Keith Miller infatuation here. Basically, I think he was a dropdead spunk plus he generated ace anecdotes. And there was the whole cricket thing too.

Jenny D asks that I say something about

the fiction of Ellen Kushner

It is completely wonderful in every way and you should all read her!

Jenny D also ask that I detail

some of your more unfortunate past fashion choices—with pictures!

And I refuse and threaten dire consequences to anyone who posts such photos of me ever.

Chris McLaren asks for

Convention horror stories and other juicy gossip.

This too I refuse. What happens at a convention stays at the convention.

Simon Sherlock would

like to see you write about why the England cricket team is far, far better than the Australian one (even though they choose not to show it) 🙂

I did say I would lie for you all, but it turns out that this I just can’t do it. Especially after yesterday’s performance against New Zealand.

All I can say is that I’m sure they’re much better at enduring cold wet weather than the Australian cricket team and that is not a skill to be sniffed at.

A lurker wants to know

Your thoughts on harry potter. and jkrowling. just curious.

I really enjoy the books though have found the last few a tad too long. I wish they’d been a bit tighter edited. Am really looking forward to the next one.

I worship J. K. Rowling. Without her my career wouldn’t be possible. All children’s and YA writers owe her hugely. Thank you for everything, J. K.!

Robyn Hook would

like to hear about your jeans shopping expedition with Ron!

Twas fabulous. All things done with Ron are a million times more fabulous than they otherwise would be. Ron is a goddess. I can no longer go shopping with anyone else. This is a bit of a problem given that I only see him once or twice a year . . . I’m reduced to wearing rags!

I’m still taking requests. Just add yours here. I cross ’em off as I complete ’em.

Thanks everyone for all the requests. This is fun! I may never come up with an idea of my own for the blog ever again.

RW2: Jetlag, my favourite fruit, and signing etiquette

Pt wants to know how to cope with jetlag. I have but two pearls of wisdom:

    1) Be very very rich and fly first class. On those rare occasions I’ve been upgraded to business class I’ve recovered from jetlag many days earlier than when I fly cattle class. I can only imagine how much faster the whole thing would be in first class. Or in your own private jet. Or if you could teleport. I would not say no to a door between Sydney and New York either . . .

    2) Don’t fly anywhere. You get no jetlag and the environment will thank you.

Little Willow asks what my favourite fruits are and gets extra points for being an American and spelling “favourite” correctly.

I may possibly have mentioned my love for mangosteens. I am also dead fond of mangoes (I read this wonderful novel recently that featured a character eating a mango for the first time without knowing what it was), pineapples, rambutan, figs, longan, lychees, dates, custard apples (I just realised I haven’t eaten one in at least two years. Crap. That’s what I get for missing Sydney winters), apples (when they’re crisp and not even slightly floury), grapes (especially champagne grapes), nectarines, sugar bananas, peaches, passionfruit, dragonfruit, these amazing brown fruit I had in Thailand that I can’t remember the name of sapodillas, cherries, strawberries, raspberries, blueberries, blackberries, mullberries, boysenberries, cape gooseberries and apricots.

I’m sure there’s some others that I just can’t think of right now. It’s much easier to say which fruits I’m not in love with: paw paw and grapefruit, but if there’s no other fruit going I’ll eat them. I just won’t melt with joy as I do so.

If I could only live off one food group I’d go the fruit and veg with major emphasis on the fruit part. I loves them. Anyone who does not love fruit is deeply weird and suspect.

Rebecca asks:

book signing etiquette. ex. 1: is it a bad idea to bring every book the author has ever written, even if they’ve written, like, 20? is it okay for book signees to start conversations with the author, or will that be considered rude for holding up the line?

It’s entirely dependent on how long the queue is.

If it’s short then most authors will be grateful to you for showing up at all. When they see you have all their books they may cry. Authors with teeny tiny signing queues are more likely to start a conversation with you than the other way round. They may not let you go at all. The thought of the queue going from miniscule to non-existent is too frightening for them. If this happens to you, smile politely, ask them questions, and as soon as another of the writer’s fans shows up, back away slowly and make good your escape.

I have no advice for you if no other fan shows up. It may get tricky and involve staging a diversion. I imagine Maureen Johnson would have some excellent suggestions, but I fear they would involve a stun gun.

If the line is very very very long then they’ll probably have a limit on how many books you can sign, and the author may be too ecstatic with joy at the size of their queue to be capable of coherent conversation.

But I can only surmise. I have never had a queue of unusual length (QOUL). It’s something I aspire to, like having my name bigger than the title on my books. Some day . . .

RW1: Day in the life

The first post of the inaugural request week (rw) was suggested by Rebecca:

Ooooh, and a day-in-the-life thing, kinda like Maureen Johnson had up the other day.

Someone asked me to describe my average working day a while back and this is what I came up with:

Today I typed, yesterday I typed, tomorrow I will type. Words were written, words were deleted. Dictionaries and thesauruses and Scott (do Americans say “poxy”?) were consulted, as were various other reference books, and things were googled. Then there was more typing. And around about five or six I gave up and had a glass of wine, unless it was an alcohol-free day (curse them!) in which case I merely contemplated the glass of wine I’d be having on the next non-alcohol-free day.

Very little has changed in the two years since.

So Maureen’s day in the life is more interesting than mine. Other than Maureen, most of us writers do not lead glamorous, exciting lives. What we mainly do is type (except for the crazies who use pens—you know who you are, Mr Vandermeer).

We also procrastinate. Writers are probably the world’s best procrastinators.

Some of us procrastinate by imagining that the characters we write about are real and take them shopping, others put together loopy spreadsheets to chart their progress, and still others talk to their published books. (Gotta say the last one is by far the weirdest. Poor Scalzi.)

But no matter how loopy we are, or how much we procrastinate, the main thing is the fingers on keyboard. Type, type, typetty type.

Not very interesting, is it?

Some days I go over copy edits or page proofs, but mostly it’s the typing thing.

I’ve never flown a helicopter, or wrestled crocodiles, or been a spy, or had children. The reason I’m a writer1 is so that I can live vicariously through my characters2 who have very interesting lives indeed. It’s much less dangerous than the aforementioned things what I haven’t done.

I’m still taking requests so keep ’em coming. Even the silly ones from deeply deluded English cricket fans.

  1. And, you know, because I really like writing. []
  2. But not in a buying-them-presents, talking-to-them, or baking-them-cakes kind of a way. []

Requests (updated)

A few folks have written me demanding that I write posts solely for their amusment on topics of their choosing. I figured if I was going to succumb to their whingeing I might as well throw the blog open to requests.

So if there’s anything your little heart has been pining for me to write or explain or lie about speak1 now.

Update: I’m crossing them off as I do ’em.

  1. Or you know type now. I suspect that will be more effective. []

More on speedy writing

The comments continue to flow from my post on speedy writing. Many of them here and here. Though my musing out loud seems to have boiled down to books written fast can be good too! Maybe I shouldn’t have called it “speedy writing”.

The main points I thought I was making is that the pace of a writer’s production are influenced by many many different factors. A writer who will appear to be fast when independently wealthy and waited on hand in foot, would be slow if they had considerably less money and a family to look after. The opposite can be true. I have seen writers who wrote in the margins of their life, finding themselves suddenly able to write full-time, freak out and enter the biggest writer’s block of all time.

Sometimes a book that took five years to write had as much writing time spent on it as a book that took six months.

Do I think that book are necessarily good or bad because they were written fast or slow? No.

Do I think that the odds of the book being the best you can make it go up if you get to spend as long as you need on it? Yes.

Do I think some writers spend way too much time making their books the best they can? Yes.

Despite writers’ blogs—and most writers don’t have one—the amount of time a book takes to be written is mostly hidden from the majority of its audience. So judging a book on its perceived speed of production, rather than its actual quality, seems fairly pointless to me.

I’m always reminded of a paper I once heard on Jonathan Lethem’s early novels that assumed that they were written in the order they were published and at the speed they were published, both erroneous assumptions.

I can state one thing with certainty: My favourite writers don’t write books fast enough. Slow lazy bastards. And the writers I can’t stand are way too productive. Sloppy hacks.

Speedy writing

I keep coming across two assumptions about writers who publish a lot of books per year. The first1 is that if a book takes less than a year to write then it can’t be any good. So if a writer can produce two or more books a year they are total hacks.

It ain’t necessarily so. People write at different paces and in different circumstances. Some so-called slow writers are slow because they also have a full or part-time job, because they have a family, because they’re running the household, and their writing is snatched in the time between waking and going to work. Or before the kids come home from school. Or on their lunch hours.

Some writers are just slow because they’re slow. It takes them a while to think things through. They like to get every sentence perfect before they move onto the next. Or they do not know how to let go of their books and would be rewriting them until the end of time if their editor or agent didn’t snatch it from them.

Some writers are fast because all they have to do is write. They’re wealthy and have employees to take care of all the housework and admin. Or they have a wife (or, rarely, a husband) who takes care of all of that.

And some writers are just fast. They can write several books a year even though they have families and jobs and other responsibilities. It’s just the way they’re wired.

Some slow writers turn out horrible books. So do some fast writers. Neither fact on its own gives you any indication of the writer’s quality. And really it’s not like quality is something everyone agrees about. Would you believe there are people out there who don’t realise that Georgette Heyer is a genius? Shocking, but true.

The other assumption is almost its opposite: the idea that writing lots of books in a year is a matter of word counts and thus not that big a deal. A commenter on Miss Snark puts the idea succinctly:

Ok, at the risk of getting majorly snarked, I’m not sure why writing 4 novels a year is seen as an impossibility.

Let’s say you can write 1000 words/day. If you did that for 300 days of the year, you’d have 300,000 words. 300,000/4 = 75,000 words per novel.

You still have 65 days left in the year for polishing, too.

So why is it so incredible?

Writing four books a year is tough because you’re not just writing first drafts of four books, you’re writing second, third and fourth and as many drafts as you and your editor think the book needs to go through. You’re also checking copyedits and page proofs.

Those extra rewrites, copyedits and page proofs always come in while you’re hard at work on the next book. You’re buried in that world and suddenly you have to pull yourself out and turn to a book you haven’t thought about in months. It’s not easy.

Let’s figure out the time for that, shall we?

You’ve only got 65 days left after writing the four first drafts. That means you have slightly more than 16 days to rewrite, go over copyedits, and check the page proofs of each book. And that’s assuming you work every single day. It assumes you do no publicity for your books, and that you have no holidays, no sick days, no nothing.

For most people that would be impossible, or at the very least a recipe for no friends, a breakdown, and/or shingles. All very well if you hate people and love shingles.

I could not do it. I spend at least as long rewriting my books as I do writing the first drafts. It also takes me a solid week to go over copyedits (sometimes longer) and 2 or 3 days for page proofs. While I can write a first draft in three months or less, I need at least that time for everything else. At most I could write two books a year, but as I’ve never done that I don’t know for sure.

And I need days when I don’t write because there are days—many of them—when my brain is broken and I simply cannot write a single word. I have a sneaking suspicion that I am not alone in this.

Are there writers who can and do write four books a year? Yes, there are. How do they do it? By writing more than a thousand words a day,2 by writing fewer drafts,3 by secretly having clones, by being really really disciplined, and by other means that I can’t even imagine.

Like every thing else in a writer’s life, it depends.

  1. I see it so often I’m not even going to bother with an example. []
  2. More than 1,000 words a day is definitely doable. I once wrote 10,000 words in a day. But you know what I wrote the next day? Nothing. And the day after that. And the day after that. Several weeks of nothing, in fact. It was a definite case of brain breakage. I can write 2,000 a day sustainably for a few months. But I’m most comfortable and unbrain-breaky between 1,000 and 2,000. But that’s just me. I know writers who can write 5,000 a day for months without breaking into a sweat. I know who others who die if they go over 500. Not to mention the pre-industrial writers who just write until they’re done and then sleep for six months. []
  3. Some people will argue that writing only one or two drafts is the major sign of a crap writer. But there are writers who seem to only produce one draft, but that’s only because they pretty much write the book in their head before committing to paper. Their first draft is clean as a whistle. It’s just a different way of writing.

    Me, I need to work stuff out on the page, so I go through multiple drafts. My first drafts? Um, not clean as a whistle—more in the pig-pen range. Put it this way: No one ever gets to see them but Scott, and he is not very appreciative of the honour. Nor would anyone with functioning eyeballs. []

What authors owe their readers

There’s been much debate about what authors owe their readers out there in bloggyland. I think the whole thing is really rather simple:

When I’ve got my writing hat on then it’s very clear that authors owe their readers absolutely nothing. Do you hear me readers? I owe you nothing!

I can write about what I want, when I want, and how I want. If I want to set fire to your favourite character’s hair, push them off a cliff, and then jump on them, I can and I will, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me. So nyer!

When I’ve got my reading hat on, then it’s very very clear that authors owe me exactly the book I was expecting. And Mr Pullman in particular owes me big time for the rubbish third book in the Dark Materials trilogy.1 Do you hear me writers? You owe me everything!

You owe me more books in my favourite series even if you’re bored with them. You owe me unharmed favourite characters, or at least not in a fatal way. And if you do kill them then you have to bring them back as a zombie or a ghost and they have to be sexy zombie-ghosts. Also you have to make sure you visit wherever I happen to be, and sign my books, and read to me when I want you to. You are my slave. Get cracking! I want more books and I want them NOW!

There, I’m glad that one’s sorted.

  1. Mr Pullman, sir? I didn’t mean it. Honest. The first two books are so unbelievably good that I forgive you for the, um, less than brilliance of the third. Okay, not less than brilliant. It’s more like it’s differently brilliant. You are a genius and I am not worthy. I tug my forelock.

    Okay, shutting up now . . . []

delurking

I just learned from Scalzi that last week was delurking week. And around the blogosphere folks stepped up and introduced themselves and declared, “Hey, I read your blog and enjoy it. But usually I’m just not the commenting kind.”

There are heaps of blogs I read and don’t comment on. I’m not sure why. Perhaps it’s because I feel more comfortable commenting on the blogs of people I know in real life. But I know Patrick and Teresa, and yet I rarely comment on Making Light, even though I particularly enjoy the comment threads there.

Sometimes I find myself talking with friends and I realise that for the past few hours we’ve been talking solely about blogs and blogging, about a whole string of people we’ve never met that we feel like we know well. And it doesn’t really strike me as weird.

Ten years ago I was not having such conversations. Ten years ago I didn’t know the words “blog” or “delurk” for that matter.

I have no idea where I’m going with this. Just that I like the blogosphere and all my imaginary friends and even if I’ve never commented it doesn’t mean I don’t love them. After all they still get my hits, right?

And by the same token, feel free to lurk here. I can tell you’re there without you saying a word. It’s magic, innit?

Big name, little name

A few blogs have picked up my intemperate tongue-in-cheek comments about reading habits. Here’s my favourite comment. It’s from over at Bookshelves of Doom:

I’ll also avoid the book if the author’s name is bigger than the title. That’s a dead giveaway.

That’s a hilarious. I can’t tell you how many authors I know who dream—dream I tell you—that one day their name will be bigger than the title.

I do not share this dream.

Not because I’m not as vainglorious as the other writers, but because my name is not short and compact like, say, Garth Nix. No, my name is long. Good luck on getting Justine Larbalestier bigger than the title and fitting it all on the front of the book in a way that keeps the book title legible. Kudos to the designer who can pull that off and make the book look good.

Nah, it’ll never happen.1

I don’t see Scott Westerfeld getting his name bigger than the title either. No matter how many times he makes the New York Times bestseller list.

Tis a cross we long-named authors have to bear. But at least we now know that there are some readers who’ll love us despite our names not being emblazoned huge on the front of our books. Tis some comfort . . .

  1. Though maybe if I gave all my books really short titles? Like It, for example. I bet no one’s ever had a book called It before.

    Or maybe I could have a book called *. Won’t the booksellers and librarians love having to alphabetise that one? And wouldn’t * break all search functions? I mean, just having “or” in the title has already caused major probs! Mwahahaha! []

Some late-breaking news & a corrective

I just finished the first draft of the great Australian feminist young adult Elvis mangosteen monkey knife-fighting cricket fairy novel. Woo hoo!!!

Now all I have to do is rewrite it till it all makes sense. *rolls up sleeves* What larks!

And just to say: None of the points I made in the previous post refers to any writer who actually reads my blog. Okay? And, in fact, I’ve met very few writers who were so obnoxious I decided not to read them. Very very very few.

Remember the whole this-is-writ-ironical thing? I was just going for the laughs, folks.

I am a cross between Pollyanna and the monkey dude. I see, hear, smell, touch, and taste no evil. It’s all about the glad game. That’s just how we happy-go-lucky Sydney folks are.

Right now I’m really really really vastly hugely fully wholly glad that I finally found the end of my novel.

Jeeves? Some champagne, please!

Paragraphs: the long and the short of it

I just attempted to read a screed that everyone’s been linking to and had to give up because the paragraphs were so crazy long my head exploded. Co-incidentally I’ve been reading a wonderful novel for a friend and it too has lots and lots of endless paragraphs which majorly interfere with my reading pleasure.

Stop it already!

Paragraph breaks are your friend.

White space is gentle on the eye.

Embrace it!

Forget what you were told in school: A paragraph does not consist of one point or one idea. That bogus notion leads to paragraphs that go on for pages and pages and pages as the writer explicates everything they can which supports the one point they are making.

Gah!

In beginner fiction, you see paragraphs that contain every thought that particular character is having about the situation they are in. Or action scenes where everything the character does is in one paragraph. And the next paragraph is everything some other character is doing. This makes for long long paragraphs and an unpleasant reading experience where your eye keeps skipping ahead desperate for some glimmer of hope, ie some white space.

Double gah!

Paragraphs can be any length you want them to be. There is no hard and fast rule on their length. One-sentence paragraphs are fine; whole-page paragraphs can be too. Anyone who tells you to avoid either one is smoking crack. Like everything else—ornate word choice, omniscient point-of-view, adverbs—it’s all about how you use them, not about whether they’re evil. (The only thing that is evil and wrong and should never be written about is unicorns.)

The trick is to vary your paragraph lengths and make them serve the story or argument you are making. If you want to emphasise a point. Go the one-sentence.

It can help drive your point home.

If you’re writing an action scene throwing in a one-sentence paragraph can be like a gun shot:

The blue sparks glowed through the trees again, revealing the silhouette of a great cat raised up on his haunches. The creature was young and eager for a kill, full of the fervor of Samhain. Then Rex spotted a human form just past the darkling: Melissa tossing up handfuls of metal, hurling the bolts and screws that Dess had created into the cat’s face, driving it wild with fury. It let out a cry, swiping a claw at the tiny missiles.

Then it dropped into a crouch, ready to launch itself at her.

Obviously I don’t mean a gunshot as in:

The car exploded!

It’s more gunshot as in your eye gives it more weight. The way your ear gives more weight to the sound of a real gunshot.

So the example above is longer paragraph that is all, la, la, la, something is happening, building up, building up, building up. Ominous, nervous-making, scary, scary scary. It’s non goodness is becoming more and more obvious and thus more and more erky perky and scary scary scary.

And then—short paragraph!—things get even worse.

Long paragraphs can be useful too. Your eye tells you that all the stuff in one belongs together. It’s all happening at the same time. All stems from the one train of thought. Long paragraphs can slow things down when you need them to. They can replicate a state of revery:

She’d seen that happen sometimes with dance floors, especially old ones that had been danced on by thousands and thousands of people over the years. The dance floor absorbed all that crowd magic, began to dance a little itself. Once, in a shoe store in the city, Jay-Tee had taken one step on the old wooden floor and felt it reaching toward her, accommodating itself to the movement of her feet, ready, eager for her to dance. Instantly she’d known it had been a dance floor—people had waltzed, fox-trotted, Charlestoned, jitterbugged, boogied, and twisted across its surface for many, many years. She’d spun, feeling the floor push back, giving her extra spring and lift. She’d grinned. One of the guys who worked there had grinned back, danced toward her. “Isn’t this song great? Just makes you dance.”

I could have broken it up like this:

She’d seen that happen sometimes with dance floors, especially old ones that had been danced on by thousands and thousands of people over the years. The dance floor absorbed all that crowd magic, began to dance a little itself.

Once, in a shoe store in the city, Jay-Tee had taken one step on the old wooden floor and felt it reaching toward her, accommodating itself to the movement of her feet, ready, eager for her to dance. Instantly she’d known it had been a dance floor—people had waltzed, fox-trotted, Charlestoned, jitterbugged, boogied, and twisted across its surface for many, many years.

She’d spun, feeling the floor push back, giving her extra spring and lift. She’d grinned.

One of the guys who worked there had grinned back, danced toward her. “Isn’t this song great? Just makes you dance.”

I felt the second version loses its rhythm and become too staccato-y, which works counter to the fairy-tale, reminscing feel I was going for. Another writer might have made a different choice. It’s not about right or wrong; it’s about what works for you.

I know blog entries are not (usually) professionally written and edited prose, but surely those writing them don’t want potential readers to land on the site, see nothing but one solid block of text stretching as far as they can be bothered to scroll, and retreat screaming to the nearest friendly-to-white-space blog?

I love a good insane screed, so it’s a crushing disappointment to me when I can’t read ’em because they’re so horribly punctuated. Thousand-kilometre-long paragraphs make a person seem even loopier than their rant does.

See how much white space there is in this rant? You’re not thinking I’m crazy at all, are you?

Don’t answer that . . .

Last Day of 2006

It’s been another good year for me professionally and I will now skite about it: My second and third books, Magic Lessons and Daughters of Earth, were both published to some very nice reviews and reader responses. The whole Magic or Madness trilogy sold to Editora Record in Brazil, Magic or Madness and Magic Lessons sold to Mondadori in Italy, while Magic Lessons and Magic’s Chld sold to Amarin in Thailand. And then there was the recent sale of the trilogy to the Science Fiction Book Club for a 3-in-1. Not to mention Magic Lessons being on the shortlist for the Aurealis.

It was a great year for Scott who hit the New York Times bestseller list not once, not twice, but three times! Woo hoo! Twice for Specials and once for Pretties. Also my friends Yvette Christianse’s (Unconfessed), Kate Crawford (Adult Themes), Ellen Kushner (Privilege of the Sword), Julie Phillips (James Tiptree Jr.: The Double Life of Alice B. Sheldon) and Delia Sherman (Changeling) all published wonderful books that were well-received. If you haven’t already read them—do so immediately!

Other dear friends also published fabby books, but these are the ones that I saw through gestation. In the same way I’m very excited to see how Holly Black’s Ironside and Cassandra Clare’s City of Bones fare next year. Do yourself a favour and get hold of copies as soon as you can!

Next year I have three English-language publications on the horizon:

  • Magic Lessons will appear in paperback in February.
  • The final book of the trilogy, Magic’s Child, will be out in hardcover in March.
  • Also in March—the SFBC’s 3-in-1 edition of the trilogy.

As you can imagine I’m dead excited to find out what my readers think of the complete trilogy. Do not hold back! (Unless what you have to say might harm a writer’s delicate sensibilities. Always remember: praise is good!)

This year has also been a great one for me blog. Readers way more than doubled this year, which is just lovely. I’m particularly excited to have picked up so many more readers here in Australia. Especially the ones I don’t know and am not related to. (Not that there’s anything wrong with my friends and relatives, mind. Well, not that much wrong.) Thank you so much everyone for hanging out and commenting. Your comments are more than half the fun. Without you there wouldn’t be much point. Much appreciated.

Last year on this day I set out my goals for 2006:

I’m aiming to write two books (both of which I’ve already started) in 2006 and sell one (two would be nice, but I don’t want to jinx myself). I also plan to spend the majority of the year in Sydney, cause now that I’m home I just want to stay. And I really, really, really want to get tickets for the Sydney Ashes test. Ideally for every day of play.

How did that work out?

I finished one book: Magic’s Child, but it wasn’t one of the books I was talking about above. So I didn’t finish either of the books I aimed to. Though I got awfully close to finishing the first draft of the great Australian feminist monkey knife-fighting mangosteen cricket fairy young adult novel. (So close I can smell it! Oh the frustration!)

This year I have the same goal: to finish two novels. My odds are much better given that I’m mere days away from finishing the fairy book . . . And I’ve made good starts on six other novels. Dunno which one I’ll write next. What fun not to know!

I didn’t sell any books on account of not finishing any to give to my agent for said selling. I won’t be declaring my intent on sales again because it’s pointless. I have some control over how many books I write; but none over how many I sell.

The big change this year was my decision not to sell any books until I’ve finished them. (Another explanations for no sales this year.) It’s also why I’m finishing this year without any dread deadlines over me. Much less stressful!

I spent only five months in Sydney and even though that’s more time than I spent anywhere else I still did not see nearly as much of my family and friends here as I’d like. Sigh.

There was way too much travelling this year. And while I loved all the places I visited—Bologna and Kyoto especially—I haven’t stayed anywhere for more than three months since 2003. I’m sick of it. I’d love to travel less, but already 07 is shaping up to be very travelly. Come June though and I believe we’ll be applying the breaks. Aside from it being exhausting and conducive to the contracting of viruses, travelling that much in aeroplanes and staying in hotels is terrible for the environment and no amount of offsets makes up for that.

I did get tickets to the Sydney test. Fourth day. Can’t wait. And we Aussies reclaimed the ashes what should always be ours. Bliss. Now I have to figure out how to get coverage of the world cup while we’re in the US of A. We may even cough up for satellite coverage. Would be fabulous to get over to the West Indies, but see above on wanting to travel less.

To sum up: Life is good. I hope yours is too.

I have a very good feeling about 2007, not just for me, but for the wider world.

Happy new year!

Comment Notification

Has there ever been a more exciting post title? No, there has not.

I’ve added a plugin that gives this blog my favourite thing about livejournal: comment notification. I’m excited. Hope you will be too.

From now on when you go to comments here there’ll be a little ticky box with the words “Notify me of followup comments via e-mail” just below your comment. If you tick the box you’ll get an email when someone else comments on that post. This means that you don’t have to keep coming back and checking the blog to see if the conversation has continued. You’ll get cute little email notifications.

Hope you find it useful.

Happy new year!

To google or not to google

A few folks seem to be under the impression that my last post was advising people not to look themselves up on the interwettys.

No way.

I not only google, I also icerocket, blogpulse, technorati and feedster. And I don’t just look up my own name, I looks up Scott’s, and other friends as well.

What can I say? I like to know what’s being said. Also bad reviews don’t upset me that much. Well, bad reviews of my books are getting more and more duck’s backy, but I do get irate at some reviews of Scott’s and other dear friends’ work. And do not diss Angela Carter!

I used to leave comments saying thanks for good and interesting reviews, or answering questions of the when-is-the-next-book-coming-out, is-she-really-Australian, is-it-true-she’s-married-to-Scott-Westerfeld variety. But I stopped cause it mostly just seemed to freak people out. “Oh my God! I wrote something about an author and then they showed up!” I understand that feeling. I’ve been deeply freaked when authors I’ve written about have emailed me. Freaked and gratified in equal measures.

When my first book came out I would spend hours and hours a day tracking down even the teeniest reference to it. I mean, I had a book out! My dream had come true! I had to know what people thought of it. I was pretty upset by some of what I found. I’d never been reviewed before and, well, ouch.

But I’m still glad I searched. Because the more bad reviews I read the more innured to them I became. From a bad review putting me in a funk for days, it now makes me pissy for around ten minutes. Unless it’s a funny bad review—“Magic or Madness is like a bad Australian episode of Charmed“—in which case the pique doesn’t outlast the reading of the review.

But then I have never come across really nasty attacks on me personally. I imagine that’s a whole other thing. I have read such attacks on friends of mine. And livid is not the word. But I would always rather know than not know.

But some authors freak at positive reviews with one snark (“overwrought”) and lose days and days of writing while they stew. They would be better off not googling. If not knowing is what you need then go for it. Ignorance can indeed be bliss.

When my agent is shopping a book of mine, she tells me nothing until a sale is imminent. That’s how I likes it. Being informed about every single rejection buggers me up because I start obsessing about the non-sale of that book, and not the writing of the current book. Not good.

Scott and other author friends think that’s nuts. They reckon the not knowing would drive them up the wall.

Whatever. You need what you need. If googling helps go at it. If it don’t don’t.

Titles

Seeing as how I’ve talked about chapter titles I figured I should talk about book titles, too. But, buggered if I know what to tell you. I’m terrible at titles! I’ve already mentioned they’re useful and that you definitely need one, but as to what it should be? Dunno.

I’ve heard that these are the sure fire ways to make a title:

  • a phrase from the bible or Shakespeare or Yeats or some other well-known poet (best for your literary has-a-shot-at-the-Booker type novels)
  • a line from a pop song or nursery rhyme (best for genre novels, particulary crime)
  • The+concrete noun+of+abstract or proper noun (best for high fantasy, think The Lord of the Rings)

Anyone think of any title formulas I’m missing?

I can also point you to Diana Peterfreund’s recent posts about same, which are packed with info. I know lots of folks who imagine that the titles of books are always decided by their authors. As Diana explains, not always true. More often than not it’s the marketing department who has final say on the title. Best not to get too attached to whatever you’ve chosen to call your darling.

Sean P. Fodera explained a while back that calling your book Untitled is not the best way to go. I’d never even thought of the contracts side of things. I will now never call a book Untitled again.

Not that I ever have. I need to call my books something even if it’s as lame as The Fairy Novel. That’s because the great Australian feminist monkey knife-fighting mangosteen Elvis cricket young adult fairy novel is a bit of a mouthful. Yes, I have a weakness for joke titles. It is no accident that Magic Lessons and Magic’s Child were both originally called Magic! Magic! Magic! Oi! Oi! Oi!.

That said, titles are enormously important. A really fabbie title—A Great and Terrible Beauty anyone?—can get people to pick up a book who otherwise mightn’t.

On the other hand, titles don’t matter at all. Lots of books with truly dreadful titles (no, I’m not going to name any) have done incredibly well. Many agents have taken on clients despite the woeful titles of their books. Many books have been written without titles, and many others haven’t gotten their proper final title until the very last minute. Magic’s Child was written with a different title that we all deemed too spoilerific. My Brazilian contract for the book is under that title.

And, of course, a title that you originally thought was completely naff starts to grow on you as you begin to love the book. Fortunately, this also applies to songs, bands and people.

Two surveys

My friend Laura is writing a book with Men’s Health Magazine on “The Best Sex in the World” and desperately needs non-USian folk to give her real stories and quotes about their sexual derring-do. If you’d be interested in filling out a quick (and anonymous) questionnaire on the subject, drop her a line at mhsexsurvey@gmail.com. She says that “You’ll be forwarding the cause of better sex everywhere—and it’s fun to do with a partner.”

The second survey is being done by Tobias Buckell. He’s trying to find out how many novels folks wrote before they sold their first. I wrote two which both remain unsold. It was my third written that became my first published novel (Magic or Madness). If you’re a published novelist please fill in the survey. It’s very short and I’m dead curious about the results. So many folks are under the misapprehension that if you don’t sell your first novel you’re a failure and will never sell. Not so!

Lovely news

A couple of weeks ago Mr Andrew Wheeler of the Science Fiction Book Club mentioned that he had read Magic’s Child:

    The third book in the trilogy that started with Magic or Madness; this doesn’t publish until March, so I won’t talk about the plot.

    But it does end well, and it finishes up the trilogy nicely, and all three books take place in less than a week, so they should make a great 3-in-1. Now, if only there were someone who could do such a thing . . .

At the time I thought that might possibly be a hint. I certainly hoped so because I love the idea of an omnibus (don’t you adore the word “omnibus”) edition of the Magic or Madness trilogy. How stellar would that be?

Turns out that it was a hint and it really is happening. So next March at the same time Magic’s Child is published the Science Fiction Book Club will be releasing their 3-in-1 edition titled The Magic of Reason. It will be 200,000 words long. Mighty substantial, eh? I wonder what cover art they’ll use?

When I was a kid I loved 3-in-1 collections. I loved all sorts of omnibuses. The magic of one book actually being many books blew my little mind. I still love them. They’re particularly handy when travelling. I first read Eva Ibbotson in an omnibus, which makes her even more special to me than she otherwise would be.

And at last there will be people who read about Reason but aren’t mad at me for keeping them waiting to find out what happens. That’ll be nice!

Tis my very first book club sale and my very first ominbus. Happy day!

Quick note to LJers (Updated)

It’s been brought to my attention by someone who reads my blog via the lj feed that I am a very rude bad blogger. Why? Because I don’t respond to the comments over there.

In my defence, I wasn’t aware people were commenting in the land of livejournal, and so did not know to respond to them. I did check a while ago when I was first told of the lj feed but as there were no comments I forgot all about it.

I have now gone over for a squiz and seen some of the recent comments. Wow! Thanks for all the kind words. Much appreciated.

However, I still won’t be commenting there on account of the way the lj feed works. Only a handful of posts (the most recent ones) are on the feed. So every time a new post goes up an old one disappears and its comments with it. Oblivion is what awaits the comments on an lj feed.

As I am an (ex) historian it goes deeply against my grain to write words that will disappear and I admit I’m horrified at all your lovely comments dissapearing as well. If you ljers want me to respond to your comments please post them over here. The added bonus is that you get to be part of the lively convo with my regular readers. It’s fun, honest.

Of course, if you don’t want to leave ljworld—no worries—just know that my non-response is not because I’m a rude bad blogger.

Update: Some ljers seem to be under the misapprehension that the ljfeed is my livejournal. It isn’t. It’s a feed of my real blog that some kind soul set up for the convenience of interested ljers.

So, no, I can’t turn comments off. That’s not how a feed works. Thanks!

Good work ain’t always published

There’s a lot of grief out there from unpublished writers dealing with rejection. Go read the comment thread of any agent’s or editor’s blog and you’ll see what I’m talking about. No matter what the topic, at some point a writer will vent about all the unfair rejection they’ve been getting. Like I’ve said before if you want to be a published writer you have to cope with hearing “no” over and over and over.

Many of the questions to those industry blogs boil down to wanting the keys to the kingdom of publishing. As Diana Peterfreund eloquently points out, there aren’t any. Many agents and editors will tell you that you just have to write well which is (mostly) true, but also not very helpful.

Anyone in the industry can tell you the vast majority of submissions are awful. I’ve seen some of those slush piles myself and, well, wow. I honestly hadn’t realised it was possible to write that badly. Even in crayon. So, yes, writing well will lift you above the rest. But it’s also true that there are other factors involved. Sometimes brilliant writing isn’t enough.

One of the finest writers I know has never been published. But the reason why ain’t hard to find: she’s never submitted anything. She’s been working on the same novel for more than ten years. I’ve read the first forty pages. They’re incredible. Hardly a word out of place. It’s so beautiful and perfect it made me want to cry.

I can’t tell you how rare that is. I read drafts by published writer friends all the time (they do the same for me). As with my drafts, there’s always something to criticise. Always. My only criticism of that non-published writer friend is that she’s a crazy perfectionist and should finish the damn book already! It’s so good publishers will snap it up.

But I could be wrong. I’ve read another unpublished book that I also think is wonderful. It’s been rejected by every major NYC publishing house, not to mention quite a few of the small ones. The rejections have included much praise of the novel’s beautiful writing and requests to see anything else the writer might have. The reason for rejection? That the novel isn’t commercial enough, they don’t know how to market it, the structure is flawed, the lack of a romance is frustrating, it’s not for that particular house and etc.

There are any number of published writers with books they can’t sell. Mostly because those books aren’t good enough, but sometimes because there’s not a publisher out there who can figure out how to sell it, despite how good it is.

One of the hardest things for the unpublished writer to grasp is that publishing is a business. A publisher is not going to buy a book unless they think it can

    a) make them money, or

    b) garner them lots of prestige.1

An agent is not going to take you on unless they think you can fulfill a) or b) plus they have to really love your work as well. Publishers may publish books they don’t love if they think they’ll make money. But I’ve never met an agent who took on a client whose work they were lukewarm about. No matter how commercial.

Making any money at all as a novelist is hard. Making a living at it is even harder. It’s not one of those jobs where if you put in the hard work you will be rewarded. There are no scheduled annual pay rises. You can’t apply for promotion. You just have to write the very best books you can and even then it may not be enough.

And even if you do sell a novel there’s no guarantee that you’ll sell a second. Or a third. Nothing about publishing is guaranteed.

Just as well that that we writers (published or not) are rewarded with those days when the writing just goes and goes and we’re vibrating with the happiness of it. Here’s hoping all you NaNoWriMo folks are buzzing with just that kind of writing experience. There’s nothing better!

  1. There are other reasons but I’m keeping it simple. []

Horrifying discoveries

There I was innocently googling myself when what do I discover but me on youtube! Egads! There ought to be a law!

I had no idea I was being filmed. Judging from the quality and the length I’m thinking cellphone. Truly in real life I am not so pixillated, nor do I say “um” so frequently. I am also a lot taller.

The occasion was mine and Scott‘s reading for the New York Review of Science Fiction Reading Series in early September. I am blathering on about the Magic or Madness trilogy before proceding to read something completely different.

The two people to the centre and right of the screen are my favourite writing couple Ellen Kushner and Delia Sherman. Their fronts are even more glamorous.

The mysterious cellphone wielders also shot footage of Scott that evening, but he won’t let me link to it. Hmmm, I wonder if you could find it if you went to the youtube site and searched on “Scott Westerfeld”? Sounds unlikely . . .

The uses of bad fiction

Matthew Cheney has just posted a thoughtful discussion of “Created He Them”, one of the stories in Daughters of Earth. I agree with him that it is one of the best stories in the collection and definitely one of the most haunting. And Yaszek’s essay adds layers upon layers.

Matthew says that he would not describe all of the stories in the collection as “good”. Singling out Wilhelm’s “No Light in the Window” and goes on to remark:

    Indeed, an anthology such as this, one that seeks to examine and re-examine particular types of writing within their historical and political contexts, would do a disservice by including only great stories, because that would create a false picture of literary history. [Which is not to suggest there aren’t great stories here — there are.] The essays are insightful, and the stories provide the material for their insights, thus creating a new context, one in which a discussion occurs between generations and various types of writers.

And that, dear readers, is exactly what I was going for. Bless you, Mr Cheney!

Although I wouldn’t describe any of the stories in the collection as bad per se (well, okay, the first one maybe) I’ve long believed that you can learn just as much from bad fiction as from good. Actually more. When something is badly written its operations are very close to the surface—you can see what’s going on more clearly than in something that’s extremely well-written.

See, Archer girls? This is the advice that I give everyone! Sometime when I’m not in a huge hurry I’ll give some examples.

And now I must race to get ready for Scott’s keynote address here in Seattle.

What to wear

For most of my life I’ve never had to wear make-up or dress any particular way. Most of my high school years were spent wearing jeans and T-shirts (unusual in Australia), which was also my uniform for pretty much every job I’ve ever had. For the last few years my working life has been spent wearing pyjamas. This means my wardrobe consists of lots and lots of pjs, a few jeans and T-shirts and some fun dressing-up clothes for party time (I do love to dress up), but bugger all in between.

Thing is of late I’ve needed some of that in-between clothing. Quite a few of my dressy clothes are way too much for school, library, book festival etc. appearances, but jeans and T-shirts are too casual (no, I don’t think so, but yes, I’ve had people say that to me) and Scott won’t let me wear pjs outside the flat, not even my fancy sushi ones (what’s that about, people?). So what are you supposed to wear to such events?

Meg Cabot gives some hints:

    It bugs me SO MUCH when I, a reader, go to an event featuring a favorite writer, and that writer has made NO EFFORT WHATSOEVER to look good for his or her readers.

    Look, I know most of us were not blessed with unbelievably good looks, and if we were, we would be on TV or in the movies, not writing books.

    But you can at least groom yourself properly. I never thought I would quote Sylvester Stallone’s mom about anything, but she was right to be so outraged when Sean Penn and his then wife Madonna showed up at that awards ceremony that year looking all skanky and unwashed. It’s just rude!

    And please do not go on about how we as a society are too preoccupied by physical appearance and ought to concentrate more on intellectual concerns. If your book won a literary award, would you show up at the award ceremony in your pajamas, with your hair looking all ratty, like you just rolled out of bed (and please do not bring up Lauren Hutton at this year’s Academy Awards)?

    Well, a book signing is like an awards ceremony. People are rewarding you with their presence. So show a little respect for them, and try to look nice—even festive. Sparkles are never NOT appropriate (except at a funeral).

I’m not sure I’d go the full sparkle route—except perhaps on my shoes, but I gotta say I agree with Meg Cabot. I’ve seen authors at such events wearing stained clothes, kind of smelling, with scary green things still caught between their teeth. Not good. And, no, stuff like that won’t stop me reading their work, but it’ll definitely make me think twice about ever doing an event with them again.

But I’m totally cool with jeans and T-shirts and no make-up. (Except for John Scalzi—he should always wear make-up.) I’d be cool with pjs too. Just as long as they’re clean pjs. But I’m not big on offending folks what do not consider such clothes to be appropriate.

So what do you fellow authors wear to signings and the like? Do I really have to get a suit? Most of them are so ugly, though I would totally go a 1930s, 40s or 50s style one.

How do you expect an author to dress? What do you reckon are safe least-likely-to-offend-those-what-care outfits?

Interior Decorating

I’ve had a bunch of people ask me recently why I don’t blog about politics, given that I have strong opinions on the subject. (Like there’s anything I don’t have strong opinions on. Why is no one wondering why I don’t blog about interior decorating? For the record: wall-to-wall carpet is an abomination.)

There are lots of reasons I don’t rant politics here, but the main one is I hate flamewars. Don’t get me wrong I quite enjoy following them on other people’s blogs. But I have no interest in having them here. The minute you start talking about current politics, people will come and people will yell. And then I’ll have to waste my time deleting everyone. That’s right the blog overlord will censor discourse on this blog.

I really enjoy the comments here. I’ve been blogging for more than a year and the vast majority of the conversations have been civil and fun. I want things to stay that way. Thus I won’t be blogging about party political stuff.

But feel free to share all your interior decorating hates. Is there anything worse than carpet on the walls? Actually, I think I just hate carpet . . .

Dope, proofs, hoops, words

Today is going to be insanely off-the-charts busy so instead of the long and thoughtful post on the meaning of the “sublime” that I’ve been working on I’ll

  • recommend Sara Gran‘s Dope what I recently read and loved. Imagine a noir 1950s novel if it was written much more spare, set in New York, and narrated by an ex-(teetering on the edge of non-exness) junkie prostitute who now makes a living boosting jewellery. Not going to tell you another thing about it. Just that it’s short, there’s not a word out of place, and it made me cry. (Mind you Qantas ads make me cry.) Read it immediately!

    Any of you read any read-immediately books you’d like to recommend? Dope was recommended by Marrije. Thank you!
  • and exhalt in the page proofs of Magic’s Child what arrived. It looks like a real book! All typeset and stuff! So purty! So far the proofer has spotted a minor plot oopsie (someone not having something and then somehow out of nowhere having it) and reminded me once again that I’m the world’s worst punctuater. All she does is shift my commas around and remove and add semi-colons. Bless her! And sigh on my inability to ever understand the simple comma.
  • boast of my squeaky wheelness. I wrote to one of my favourite blogs, women’s hoops—twas a mournful letter whingeing that they hadn’t blogged the Aussies winning the World Championships and here’s how they responded. Bless ’em!
  • The ABC has this fabulous wordmap project where they’re trying to map the regionalisms of Australian English. It doesn’t take a second to add regionalism of your own. My problem is I’m not at all sure where I picked up the words I used. I had no idea “grouse” was more of a Victorian word. I’ve never lived in Victoria. Only New South Wales, the ACT and Northern Territory. I reckon tellie, books, and radio must muddy the waters of pinning down regionalisms more than somewhat.

And now I roll up sleeves and get to work.

Chocolate proms

Maureen Johnson is being funny again—this time about her prom.

I did not have a prom. In Sydney1 they’re called school dances (or at least they were in my day) and they are nothing like the big deal they seem to be here in the US of A. And, no, I didn’t have a school dance either on account of going to a tiny hippy school with only about two hundred students. (We didn’t “date” either. Not in the American sense of the word. I don’t think I’ve ever gone on a bona fide “date”.)

Anyways my knowledge of proms is gleaned from Hollywood movies, YA novels, and my American friends. I find prom (and “date”) stories deeply fascinating in an anthropological way. And Maureen’s is a beaut. If you’ve got any fun stories of your own—spit ’em out! Bonus points if you can explain the whole cottilion/debutante ball thing.

In other news it turns out that chocolate is evil. Thus I’m a very very good person because I don’t like it. Don’t believe me? Then read this. Via Elizabeth Bear.

  1. I can’t speak for the whole of Australia—for all I know there may be some small town somewhere that does have proms. Or where school dances are a huge deal. I’ve already discovered that not everyone says “grouse”. Poor blighters. []

Banned books week

It’s banned books week, people. Check out the following links and then go out and adopt a banned book. Bring it home, love it, read it, blog about it. Encourage others to love the many banned books.

Here are banned books links courtesy of the lovely E. Lockhart:

Most Challenged Books of the 21st Century (2000-2005)

The fabulous asif site. I’m a proud member of Asif!

Badges (buttons) and other images you can use.

The Freedom to Read foundation.

THE BOOKSENSE TOP TEN BANNED BOOKS

1. TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD, by Harper Lee
2. GEOGRAPHY CLUB, by Brent Hartinger
3. THE GIVER, by Lois Lowry
4. THE STORY OF LITTLE BLACK SAMBO, by Helen Bannerman, Christopher H. Bing (Illus.)
5. THE BLUEST EYE, by Toni Morrison
6. BRAVE NEW WORLD, by Aldous Huxley
7. FOREVER, by Judy Blume
8. HARRY POTTER AND THE PHILOSPHER’S STONE, by J.K. Rowling
9. WE, by Yevgeny Zamyatin
10. WHALE TALK, by Chris Crutcher

My favourite banned book at this exact moment in time is To Kill A Mockingbird if only to make Truman Capote turn in his grave.

What’s your favourite banned book? Don’t forget you can find longer lists here.

A solemn vow (updated)

I, Justine Larbalestier, do solemnly swear never to comment on an Amazon customer review. If I ever succumb to said stupid temptation you have my permission to force-feed me a mixture of the five vilest substances known to humanity: coffee, chocolate, licorice, tonic water and gin.1

I invite all published writers to join me in this vow.

  1. Apparently there are some weirdos who find the concoction above inviting. Those benighted souls must substitute five things they despise. I’ll have no cheating! []

Schoolgirl days

Maureen Johnson’s latest post is about her Catholic schoolgirl days, which inspired her latest book, Devilish. (Out now! Run don’t walk to get your copy!) Like all her posts (and books for that matter) it’s dead funny and includes the following line, which’ll have me giggling for days:

“Maureen’s my freshman now. Get a new one.”

The post got me thinking about my (not Catholic) school girl days. And, well, gah! I do not get teary when I think about them. Quite frankly, I think anyone who tells folks under eighteen that their school days will be the best days of their lives should be shot, or at least told to shut up.

I remember adults saying that to me when I was a teenager. Every single time I heard those words it plunged me into the kind of deep dark depression that only a fourteen year old can experience. Really? I thought, if this is as good as it gets then what on earth is the point?

Fortunately, I have sane parents who assured me that it’s total lies. They were right. Primary school was not the best time of my life, nor was high school. A quick survey of every one I know confirms that they weren’t the best days of their lives either.

There were occasional worthwhile moments in my education. A handful of my teachers were awesome and some of my fellow inmates classmates remain friends to this day: Hello George! Hello Jeannie!

But mostly it was completely foul. Yes, you’ll learn a lot (I learned how to put a whole box of lit matches in my mouth without any first-degree burns—don’t try this one at home—I did recently, and, um apparently I have forgotten the trick—Ow!) and you’ll really, really, really earn that high school certificate or diploma (or whatever it’s called where you come from), but, trust me, things will start looking up the minute you graduate.

Or at least by your twenties. Definitely by your thirties . . .

So how about you lot? Any school tales of horror to share? What did youse lot learn? Was anyone else adopted by an older crazy student or do things like that only happen to the Maureen Johnsons of the world?

La la la . . .

I’ve added a new thingie to the side bar: By Popular Demand is a quick and easy link to my most popular posts. If there any other posts you think should be there let me know.

I mainly did this to help keep the Good News Only thread alive. In dribs and drabs people are still adding news. I encourage you alll to keep doing so. Whenever I’m feeling a wee bit down I reread it and it cheers me instantly. So, yeah, I’m trying to keep it alive for purely selfish reasons.

Have you all read Sara Gran’s muy amusing piece on what utter utter hell it is to be a writer in the horrifically writer-infested Brooklyn? If not do so immediately. It is to giggle. (For a login go to bugmenot.com.)

I’m so relieved my NYC time is spent in Manhattan. I wonder what the most writer-infested part of Sydney is? I hope it’s not Newtown, Chippendale or Surry Hills. But I have grave fears . . . Feel free to reassure me that it’s Ashfield, Balmain, Paddington, Chatswood or any other place I’ve no intention of living in. (No offence intended. Well, only a little bit. The teeniest of little bits. Honest.)

Easy writing

A while back Carbonelle argued that writing the kinds of books Meg Cabot writes is easier than writing Scott Westerfeld books. That is, that books set in the “real” world that are more-or-less formulaic are easier to write than ones that require scads of world building. (Carbonelle, please jump in if I’m mangling your argument!)

I disagreed and facetiously said that world building is a piece of piss. And then an annonymous commenter wanted to know if I was serious. And I never got around to answering on account of having to finish my latest book. (So annoying when my job gets in the way of blogging. Grr.)

So now that you’ve all forgotten about it I respond:

Yes and no. On the one hand, I think many people wrongly assume writing formulaic fiction is dead easy. Personally I find it heaps easier to write a world buildery sf or fantasy novel than a Meg Cabot kind of book.

And I know this for a fact. When I was fifteen I heard that someone’s mum’s best friend’s sister had written a Mills & Boon romance in about fifteen minutes and been paid zillions for it. I could do that, I thought. I’d read a couple and not been that impressed. How hard coud it be?

So I wrote off to Mills & Boon for their guidelines and started typing. After a week in which I manage to type a few pages (which mercifully have been destroyed) I gave up. It was too hard. I didn’t understand the genre. Afterall I’d only read a few. I couldn’t do what I’d been so dissmissive of. Writing a romance that works for the very knowledgable romance audience is really hard.

Agents and editors get reams of romances, chick lit, crime, sf, fantasy and other genre mss. across their desks all the time. They pass on the vast majority because it’s really hard to nail (tee hee) even the seemingly simplest formula (girl meets boy–what could be easier?). Some of the most seamlessly entertaining books are the hardest to write. I can’t think of anything I’d find harder than writing a book that is meant to be a comedy. Unintentional humour? Easy. On purpose? Oh oh.

The problem with writing realist books (and I mean that in the broadest sense from most of Meg Cabot through to Alice Munro et al) is that at least some of your audience knows the instant you get it wrong. They’ve been to New York/high school/McDonalds; if you describe it wrong they’ll be closing your book.

When you invent your own world you can’t be faulted that way. You can just make it all up. Do no research at all, not even sticking your head out the window to see if the light really does shine off the street like you just described. You can totally wing it! Easy as pie. (Of course I know heaps of fantasy and sf writers who do all sorts of research. The fools!)

There isn’t a genre or type of writing that’s inherently easy. I can’t write short stories despite endless attempts at the form. I find writing novels much, much, much easier. When I say that to short story writer friends they don’t believe me. And who knows? Maybe it’s not true for them. (Though secretly I think they’re lying.)

As various people have said all over the place and particularly in that comment thread, some books come fast, some books come slow. Some are easy to write, some a nightmare. I doubt that Meg Cabot finds every single one of her books a breeze; I know that Scott doesn’t.

How to write a novel*

Ever wanted to write a novel but had no clue how? Having just finished my fifth novel, I am now ready to pass on my accummulated novel-writing wisdom to those what have never writ one but wants to.

Here is the complete, full and unexpurgated guide:

First of all you need a computer. (Yeah, yeah, I know in the olden days they made do with quill, ink and paper, and typewriters—aargh! don’t get me started on how creepy and scary typewriters are—plus, whatever, this is not the olden days.) …

To belong or not to belong

I’m a big believer in community. I’m convinced that it’s very very very difficult to produce good art without some kind of a community behind you. I can date the turnaround in my own writing to my first showing it to other writers. Their critiques hurt like hell, but my writing got better in ways it never would have otherwise.

The communities of writers and other publishing folks I’m involved with share a wealth of information with each other. We tell each other about which editors we enjoy working with and why, which houses have the best publicity/sales/marketing departments. Who got paid what by which house. When third person is a better fit than first. What the differences are between writing middle grade and young adult books. What Amazon numbers mean (bugger all). How to survive writing the third book in a trilogy and so on and so forth.

I honestly don’t know how I’d cope in this industry if I didn’t have all my publishing friends to turn to. I’ve also been enjoying passing on what I’ve learned to others via my musings, this blog, at various appearances, and by other means, most enjoyably in person over a yummy meal. Helping other folks is even better than being helped. Who knew?

And yet I’m also extremely reluctant to join organisations.

I’m currently a member of SCBWI because I taught at one of the SCBWI workshops and was comped a year’s membership. I doubt I would have joined otherwise. I’m also a member of ASIF! because censorship makes my blood boil and also it’s not a formal organisation in the way that SCBWI is—it’s more of an activist mailing list based around one particular issue. Mailing lists I can do. I’m also not a member of SFWA which is the premier organisation of science fiction and fantasy professionals.

That’s weird because although I made my fiction debut as a young adult writer, I’ve been a part of the sf and fantasy community for more than fifteen years now, dating back to when I was researching my PhD (which became The Battle of the Sexes in Science Fiction).

I think it might be because I know too much about SFWA. As part of my doctoral and post-doctoral research I read a vast deal of correspondence about SFWA and a great many back issues of their SFWA Forum. The result is that I feel completely burned out by the organisation without ever having been part of it.

This is not to say that SFWA is any more dysfunctional than any other organisation. Show me an organisation whose members are all a hundred per cent gruntled and I’d want to know what drugs they’re on.

Professional organisations have a great deal going for them. The best of them provide vital services to their members like advocacy when professional disasters occur, cheap lawyers, cheap health insurance, and so forth. They’re also a good way to meet your peers, which (see above) is invaluable.

However, you can be part of a community but not of any its professional bodies. There are some who’d say you’re not being a good citizen in doing so, but, well, I seem to disagree. Thing is I’m not entirely sure why.

It may be a touch of the Groucho Marxes (“I refuse to join any club that would have me as a member”), or it could be that I worry about being associated with an organisation that is on the record as supporting causes I don’t support. Or not on the record for supporting causes I do. I guess I would much rather keep my solo voice as part of broader and more disparate communities.

Or maybe it’s because I didn’t enjoy playground politics in high school. Nor did I enjoy the university version—either as a student or as a staff member. It could be that I’m just not comfortable with the politics of any formal organisations. I guess there’s a reason that the happiest I’ve ever been is as a work-at-home freelancer.

Could also be that I’m just lazy.

Or something. Those of you who are members of these kind of organisations—what do you get out of it? How do you cope with the politics?

Stoush! Stoush! Stoush!

The elegant variation—with what appears to be a straight face—says that adults reading teen books is yet another sign of the end of times, or to quote him, that “yet another stone of the great edifice of Grownupland has been gleefully kicked out from underneath us”.

A most entertaining stoush results. I’d love to jump in but I gotta finish my latest contribution to the destruction of adulthood. But you lot feel free. Just play nice: no glassing or brass knuckles and keep it above the belt.

Via the stoushly Gwenda Bond and Cecil Castellucci.

Larbfeld report (updated)

In case you’ve been wondering what we’ve been up to lately Maureen Johnson has kindly provided a report. I can neither confirm nor deny any of its contents. Except to say that Maureen is way more famous than I am. And, um, no, Magic’s Child is not entirely finished yet. But it’s close. So very, very close. (Update: if you want to comment on Maureen’s post do it here. We’re going to shame her into turning the comments on.)

Turns out me and Scott are going to WorldCon in Ananheim on account of he won a prize and his publishers are flying him down. Cool, eh?

Since starting Magic’s Child a year ago (aarggh!) I have now written the beginnings of (and notes on) eight other novels. Which one should I write next?

  • The great Australian feminist monkey knife-fighting cricket Elvis mangosteen fairy novel (update: will include most, but possibly not all of these things.)
  • The compulsive liar book (update: yes the liar is the narrator)
  • The beginnings of cricket historical romance
  • The baby killing ghost novel (update: the ghost does not kill babies nor do babies kill ghosts)
  • The plastic surgery running away from Hollywood novel
  • Werewolf snowboarding epic
  • Kid who grows up in a Vintage Clothes Shop which her mum runs who can pick the best buys at fifty paces (much more interesting than this description makes it sound—honest!)

Let me know which one you reckon I should write next in the comments. (At a future date when MC is truly done I will figure out how to make a proper poll with ticky boxes and stuff. All you ljers have given me a major case of ticky box envy.)

Oh, and I’d be curious to hear reasons for your choices.

I’m hoping to be able to resume normal blogging, as well as actually responding to comments and emails in the next week or so. Really, really hoping . . .

No Control

A recent post on Miss Snark reveals the horrible truth that often writers have no control over what their books are called. That’s right, folks, your publisher can change the title to something they deem more commercial.

There was much debate over the title of the first book in my trilogy. I’d always imagined Magic or Madness as the series title with the actual books being called Reason and the Two Cities, Reason and Margarita, and Reason defeats the Evil Monster Marauding Zombies from Hell. Marketing intervened and the series title became the title of the first book, leaving me and my editors to come up with new titles for books two and three and thus the whole working title thing of Magic! Magic! Magic! Oi! Oi! Oi!.

In addition to not having final say about the title. Writers also usually have no control over the following:

  • The cover
  • The jacket copy
  • What font it’s typeset in
  • Whether there’s an author photo or not
  • When the book is published
  • What format the book is published in (that’s right, Scott did not decide that the third book of his paperback trilogy, Uglies, should be printed in hardcover)
  • Whether there’s a signing in your town or not (when I do a signing it’s usually because a bookshop has requested that I do one or because my publicist at Penguin has arranged one or because I’ve set it up myself—though I’m getting too jaded to do that anymore)
  • The cost of the book
  • Whether it’s available in your country
  • Whether it’s available as an audio book

Am I missing any? Feel free to add more in the comments.

What writers (mostly) have control over is the words within the covers of the book. (You know, excepting the copyright page etc.) That’s pretty much it.

P.S. I was so cheered up by the good news comments that I’d like to invite you to all to keep sharing your good news. I’m contemplating renaming my blog the Pollyanna blog. Or the Gladblog. The glad game rocks!

P.P.S. Congratulations to all of you for your good days and publishing triumphs and award nominations and absence of cancer and every other thing. So wonderful!

P.P.P.S. And do keep us all posted on the outcomes of all that good news. Orangedragonfly, that means you have to let us know when your husband gets home. (If you’re allowed to, I mean.)

P.P.P.P.S. Sadly Ellen Kushner jumped the gun in the good news comments: Magic’s Child is not yet finished. But as soon as it is I’ll be announcing it right here. (That is when I recover from the over-the-top celebrations!). In the meantime, good luck with your books. May they all be reprinted often and wind up on bestseller lists! May your days be beautiful, your health excellent, and your loved ones close by! (That’s right, I am Pollyanna the Glad Girl. Just got my hair bleached blonde yesterday.)

P.P.P.P.P.S If none of this makes any sense it’s because I’m working too hard and as an Australian I find that I’m deeply allergic to it.

P.P.P.P.P.P.S. Don’t forget to add more stuff writers have no control over to the comments.

P.P.P.P.P.P.P.S. I go sleep now . . .

Good news only

Sometimes I think the only people I know are writers and right now every single one of them (including me) is having a shit time with their work.1 Deadlines are flying by faster than hummingbirds, the blocks are bigger and wider than Uluru, and the reviews are full of snark.

I don’t want to hear about it! Not a single word. If you’re a writer and you’ve got good news—only good news—I beg of you to share it with me in the comments. Hell, even if you’re not a writer I want to hear your good news.

Sing it, people! Loudly and long.

  1. Truth be told there’s rarely a time we writers aren’t bitching about writing. []

Answers

While I’ve been buried in my book and/or in Kyoto (will tell all about it when my sister sends me photos) you lot asked a bunch of interesting quessies. Here are my answers:

    Quessies from Ken Kugler: I was wondering if the deadline given to you pushes you to complete a book before you are really ready to give it to the editor? It seems that if that is the case, writing the book first and being satisfied with the final results before handing it in would be the way to go if you can hold out for money. Also there is the question of payment. Are there financial incentives to consider such as preselling a series at a lower price?
    A: Sure, that definitely happens. So far it hasn’t happened to me. I’m blessed with editors who won’t publish anything from me unless they’re sure it’s the best I can do. I’m running late on the current book and rather than publish prematurely we’ve chosen to skip doing arcs (advance readers’ copies). If this were a standalone book or the first in a series that would be a disaster. Fortunately it’s the third book in a trilogy so it should be okay. I’d much rather be late and unreviewed than publish a sub-par book.
    Typically a starting writer will get more money for a finished book than for a partial (usually a first-time writer can’t sell from a partial at all). There are exceptions obviously. As you get more established and particularly if you become a New York Times bestselling author like Libba Bray or my old man or other exalted folk you can prolly sell a rough idea scribbled down on a napkin for scads of dosh. In my case I imagine I’ll get more money for a finished book (depends on the book, natch). If an agent or editor wants to step in and answer this one I’d love to hear it.
    Now a bunch from Amanda Coppedge to help flesh out my wikipedia entry:What is your favourite book? Er, um. So hard! It used to be The Master and Margarita. Some days it still is.

    Food: mangosteens.

    Colour: Um again. I am tempted to say puce. Easier to tell you what colour I don’t like: yellow. But that’s only cause I look crap in it.

    Animal: my husband.

    Toothpaste: people have a favourite toothpaste?

    Did you always want to be a writer, or did you have other career aspirations as a youngster? I never wanted to be anything else, but I did work on having a main job so that I could support myself. For the longest time that job was being an academic.

    Any awards, degrees, etc. that should really be up there? Not that I can think of. I am award-less. Though I do have a Ph.D so you must all bow down and call me Dr Justine.

    Anything else that just screams “essential Justine bio factoid”? That my religion is the noble sport of cricket.

    Quessie from Marrije: I wonder what stories the taxi drivers in New York tell themselves and each other about black people.

    A: Here are some theories I’ve heard: Cab drivers don’t stop for black men because they think they are more likely to be robbed and/or assaulted by black men then by anyone else. And they don’t stop for black women because they think they are accompanied by hidden black men who are just waiting for the cab to stop so that they can jump out and assault and/or rob them. And even if there is no assault the black passenger will make the cab driver go to an “unsafe” neighbourhood where they will be assaulted and/or robbed.

    Q from Kristine Smith: Have you run this [the idea of writing a book on spec] past your agent?

    A: Yup. She thought it was an excellent idea.

    In response to those (few) folks wanting to read the Cambodian novel: I may well make it available online some day, but only when all possibilities of traditional publication are totally exhausted.

If anyone else has any further theories, answers or questions fire away.

And thanks again for all the fab comments on the writing on spec post. I feel very encouraged by your responses. My loins are now girded. I shall do this thing!

silence

Wow, thanks so much for all the fascinating responses to my last post. The reason I haven’t commented (or responded to anyone’s email) for the last five days was because I was in Kyoto with my family celebrating my mother’s birthday (more on that anon). My mum didn’t know me and my sister would be there so I could hardly blog about it before hand . . .

No time for a proper post so in the meantime can any of you help out Rachel Manija Brown? She’s looking for good non-fiction books about particular cities. She explains what she’s after here. Clearly, she needs to be told about ace books on Sydney!

IBARW: Moment of Clarity (updated)

A contribution to International Blog Against Racism Week:

One time white me was out on the town with a black friend. We were wearing our very bestest clothes and looking very fine indeed. Especially my friend who is gorgeous no matter what she wears.

We needed a cab. She, being the seasoned New Yorker, stepped out onto the street with her arm out while I futzed about with my bag. Several cabs with their lights on zoomed by.

I looked up wondering why there were so many off-duty cabs at a non-off-duty time of night. More empty cabs went by. Not one had off-duty lights on. What the hell? I thought.

“Okay,” my friend said. “You try.”

We switched places. Seconds later. I kid you not—seconds—a cab stopped.

“Noooo!” I said.

“Yes,” my friend replied.

“Is it always like this?”

“Not always, but often enough.”


Update: Lili has a wonderful story in the comments.

International Blog Against Racism Week

I’ve swiped the following announcement from Oyceter, coffeeandink and Rachelmaninja over in livejournal land. If you want to take part here’s what to do:

  1. Announce the week in your blog.
  2. If you have an livejournal account you can switch your default icon to either an official IBAS icon, or one which you feel is appropriate. To get an official IBAS icon, you can make up of your own or ask [info]oyceter to do so as she has agreed to be the Official Iconmaker of the Revolution, or hop over to her LJ and pick up one of the general-use ones she’s put up.
  3. Post about race and/or racism: in media, in life, in the news, personal experiences, writing characters of a race that isn’t yours, portrayals of race in fiction, review a book on the subject, etc.

Inaugural posts are here, here, and here. And they are all mighty fine.
I’m going to do my damnedest to do no. 3 some time this week–deadline allowing. In the meantime here’s hoping you lot take part as well.

Now, back down the coal mine goes me.

Tell me stuff (updated)

You are correct that I have not been blogging much or responding to comments like I usually do or even responding to email a whole lot.

The reason is that I’m on a deadline (yes, the same one, yes, it was moved again, yes I really have to meet this one) and am working my arse off. (Oh, how I miss my arse!)

In the meantime I think you lot should entertain me. Here are some questions:

  1. Does anyone have any recs for best brunch place in NYC?
  2. Who’s going to be the first Australian to win the Tour de France (no, it doesn’t have to be this year)?
  3. What’s the best book you’ve read lately?
  4. I just read Out by Natuso Kirino. Loved it. Can anyone recommend a recent crime novel that’s sort of like? I don’t like mysteries—that is I prefer crime books where you know who done it and it’s the whys that are the thing. So I want something all psychologicy. (My fave crime writers are Patricia Highsmith and Jim Thompson.)
  5. Where do I go to buy buttons in NYC? (Yes, that’s right I still haven’t gotten them.) (Oh, and by “buttons” I mean those things that can fasten clothes.)
  6. Is anyone else following the New York Liberty this year? Testing times, eh?
  7. Apparently I need some kind of formal wear, you know, like a dress. Anyone got any recs for cool interesting designery shops in NYC?
  8. What’s your favourite Elvis song and why?
  9. Without googling explain the difference between the Australian and New Zealand flags. Which is lamer?
  10. What new-to-DVD movie should I get to reward myself when I finally meet the deadline?

Thanks! Hope you’re all having a fab weekend (what’s left of it), that all your deadlines are being met and you don’t look at Monday morning with too much dread. As soon as my deadline is finished I promise to be a good blogger again.

Update: bonus question:

Riemannia‘s question here reminds me that I’ve been wondering what you call those metal door thingies that you see all the time here in the footpaths of NYC. You know, that when you open them reveal stairs that lead down into the basement of shops and restaurants and bars. Do they have a name? They aren’t grates so what are they?

A Whole World of NO

I just saw the line “Sometimes published writers get rejected too” in a comment thread on Miss Snark. I nodded at the screen because yes, indeed, we certainly do.

That glorious day when you finally get accepted does not mean that from then on it’s all yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. I wish! I don’t know a single published author who hasn’t had rejections after their initial sale. Mate, I know New York Times Bestselling Authors who’ve had work commissioned for an anthology and still been rejected:

    “You are a writer of great genius, we love your work, write us a story set in a world with butterfly-based technology!” The writer does. The response: “Your story does not quite fit our anthology. Sorry.”

The writer is then stuck having to find someone who wants a story about butterfly-based technology. Blerk.

Happens all the time. Being a writer—published or not—is all about being rejected.

Editors say no, book clubs say no, prominent magazines or newspapers or journals say no to reviewing you, Hollywood says no, whole countries say no (why, Lichtenstien, why?), school boards say no when they ban you: It’s a whole world of no. I bet if most pub’d writers sat down and figured out the percentage of yeses in their life compared to the nos it would be rather teeny.

One of the best things about having an agent is that they can shield you from a fair number of nos. The ones I’m not aware of are fine by me. (Though I have seen a punter in a bookshop pick up Magic or Madness, read the back, read the first few pages, then put it back down again. No!!!)

So, sadly it takes a lot more than just one yes to make a career as a writer. You need many yeses and the ability to cope with an ocean of nos.

Feminist Utopia panel

As me, Nalo Hopkinson, Scott and Ellen Klages walked from our hotel to the Wisconsin Historical Society Auditorium the heavens opened up. Best. Storm. Ever.

Well, except for the little detail that we were on our way to give a panel and wound up soaked through and knowing that our audience had been at least halved. Thank you so much to the eighty or so brave, brave souls who made it.

I think it went well, but I was wet, jet-lagged and concentrating hard on moderating so I can’t be sure. Go read Sarah Monette’s excellent account.

I can say that I was dead pleased that we didn’t just pat ourselves on the back and talk about how fabulous WisCon is (which it is), but also addressed some of the tensions around race and class that aren’t talked about nearly enough. And, indeed, once again we managed to raise the issue of class and then back the hell away from it. Cause, you know, scary!

And now on with the rest of WisCon!

Happy Birthday, dear blog, happy birthday dear blog!

Yup on this day a year ago at this exact time I blogged for the very first time. And, yea verily, it were good! So good that back then I posted three times on the same day. Such profligence! Such joi de blog!

The blogging has been so wonderfully addictive that it ate my musings and possibly several novels I might otherise have written. Bummer. And yet, it’s so ace! So easy. So instantaneous! Why did I not start doing this years ago?

My first post, lo those many months ago, revealed the cover of Magic Lesson. So it seems appropriate that exactly a year later I reveal the cover of the third book in the trilogy. But it ain’t ready. Sorry.

Instead I’ll tell you what I’ve learned over the past year:

Here’s to another year of bloggery.

Do you really have to write every single day?

Over on liveournal Deb Biancotti muses on whether it’s really necessary to write every single day in order to be a writer. Surely she asks, citing Jeff Vandermeer and Terri Windling, fallow times can be good for your writing too?

Now because I’m in admin hell and it’s eating my brain (zombie apocalypse admin hell) I am moved to point out the obvious: different methods work for different people. There are some writers who need extended time off; others who don’t.

If I don’t write for a month then I find it very very very difficult to get back into it. And the longer I’m not writing the harder it becomes. My writing muscles atrophy. I need to write—not every day, but at least three times a week—to stay limber.

Obviously, that’s not what works for Deb. Or Terri Windling. But I imagine I’m not the only one who needs to use it or lose it. (Tee hee. Those Americans have a handy motivational phrase ready whenever you need one. Bless!)

When reading advice on writing (or anything else for that matter) you’ve got to remember that the writer is sharing what works for them. Too often people think it’s a command from God on what thou shalt do in order to become a writer. And the thou-shalt-write-every-day command is one frequently handed down. So I can understand the annoyance if it don’t work for you.

It’s also important to make a distinction between writing as a vocation and writing as a profession which are two very different things. I imagine quite a few of the writers giving the write-every-day advice are people who make a living writing. In which case it’s good advice. For the vast majority of working writers a fallow season is a luxury they can’t afford. It would be more in the order of all the crops are lost! I must now go back to the day job.

All of which is spurring me to grab a few hours writing before the next wave of packing horror descends. Bloody zombie admin apocalypse.