RW5: aaargh, finishing stuff, and Jones and Mahy

Request Week is now over and the comments are closed, but I’ll continue working through the rest of the requests. Cause I’m honorable that way.

Marrije wants to know about

the pluses and minuses of living in several places (i.e. nyc and sydney) and how you do that logistically.

I hope you understand, Marrije, that a question like that is a license for me to whinge. You have been warned.

My answer in short: Aaaaaarrrrrrggggggghhh!!!!!!!

We’ve been saying for a while that we live half the year in Sydney and half in NYC. But it’s not true. It never has been.

We haven’t lived anywhere for six months straight since we lived in Sydney for almost two years way back in the olden days. The last time we were three months anywhere was San Miguel de Allende. In 2006 I spent time in Sydney, Brisbane, Melbourne, San Francisco, Bologna, Madison, New York City, Kyoto, LA, Seattle, Lexington, London and Bangkok.

I have no idea how we do it logistically. Every time I think about it my head explodes. I long to live somewhere for a year without packing and unpacking my bags at least once a month. (I’d prefer that somewhere to be Sydney.)

Pluses: Lots of different friends in lots of different places. Seriously, the list of cities I could happily live in just grows and grows. Seeing more of the world is wonderful. (The whole airplane/airport thing I could live without.) There are still so many more cities I’d love to see: I’ve never been to Istanbul or Paris or Rio de Janeiro or Dublin or Capetown or Amsterdam or Tokyo or Moscow or Kinshasa.

Minuses: Too much jetlag and travel (seriously I think we lose at least two months every year to travel and dealing with jetlag. Not good.), getting sick A LOT, being desperately homesick for at least one month of the year (I know, I’m a big baby), never knowing where my favourite coat is, the book(s) I need are always in the other city, doing my taxes is a nightmare, feeling like I’m missing all the important moments in my family and friends’ lives, missing my family and friends (doesn’t matter where I am, I’m always missing someone), whingeing about it all way too much.

A lurker asks:

what if (hypothetically of course) one is an adolescent writer, who writes sporadically – poems, first pages, occasionally a whole short story! – but never finishes? should i (or one . . . or . . . never mind) push myself to finish a novel if i hope to be a writer someday, even if the process starts to feel stressful and rushed? and any tips to how to reach the end? or should i take my time and enjoy the ride? i’ve never been able to stick with a story more than a couple months MAX on my own. i’ve tried several times to write a nano-novel or similar timed bits but always give it up as more hopeless than usual. i love starting to write novels—just never finish them. thoughts?

Scott has written about this one in detail. Read him! There’s gold in that there advice.

Like he said the only way to learn how to finish a story is to, you know, finish a story. Circular but true. Personally, I don’t reckon writing’s much fun until I have a complete draft to mess around with. You’re denying yourself the best part!

That said I didn’t feel that way when I was a beginning writer. I wrote more fragments than finished stories and novels, and I almost never wrote more than one draft. Finishing and redrafting were skills I learned (to love) later.

My biggest advice to beginning writers is to have fun, enjoy yourself! I have more to say on the subject of beginning writers getting overly obsessed with the publishing rather than the writing part here. Which is not what a lurker was asking about, but is a tiny bit a propos.

Orangedragonfly asks:

if you could sit down and have lunch with any person who ever lived, who would you choose and why? (this is a standard question for me. i ask everyone. i love to hear the responses.)

Diana Wynne Jones and Margaret Mahy. Because they are the two geniuses of my field. I would love to sit down and talk writing with them. Or anything else really. They are goddesses.

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. []

Drought

Most of Australia is in drought right now. Has been for years. Some say this is a thousand-year drought that Australia may never come out of. That this continent will get hotter and drier until agriculture becomes impossible. Until recently a visitor to Sydney would never have never known it.

But that’s changing. Since we go back here in December, I’ve noticed how much more seriously everyone in Sydney is taking it. The conversation often turns to the level of water in the dams that supply Sydney (at the moment they’re at about 35%—not good), when the water restrictions are going to be raised to level 4, and what we can do to be gooder than we are about saving water.

The last has led to all sorts of potlatching conversations. One of us will boast of having reduced shower time to less than two minutes by only having the water on for the intial wetting and then for rinsing. Someone else will top that by having a bucket in the shower to collect grey water for the garden.

I worry about this last one. I am a clumsy person and I suspect me and the bucket would come a cropper. Astonishingly, my proposal that we all shower just once a week was not met with enthusiasm. Where is everyone’s backbone? Do they not want our country to survive the drought?

Scott’s father grew up on a farm in Texas. He starts to get twitchy when it hasn’t rained for a couple of days. Nothing makes him happier than the sound of rain. This despite not having worked on a farm for half a century.

The longer the drought goes on the more city people like myself feel the same way. When it doesn’t rain for weeks and weeks and weeks on end, it becomes more and more unnerving. In some parts of the country there are small kids who have never seen rain. Can you imagine that?

I have not heard a single person whinge about the water restrictions. The most common response is to wonder why they weren’t brought in sooner and why they aren’t stricter. People want to do their bit. Like during World War 2 when people (for the most part) cheerfully made all sorts of personal sacrifices—wedding dresses given away to be made into parachutes. If there’s something—anything—we can do to make sure this country, this world, has a future then we’ll do it.

Happiness

I cannot explain why this make me so very very very happy. It just does.

Australian fast bowler, Brett Lee, in a duet with Indian legend Asha Bhosle. Why don’t more cricketers sing?

The song is currently no. 4 on the charts in India. Wonder if they’ll release it here?

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. []

Name Big=Good

I misspoke. Turns out that it’s more than possible for my name to be bigger than the title.

You can see the proper cover of Magic’s Child in the sidebar to your right. And, honestly, my name is so small you can barely even read it. How humiliating!

Now, this, this is much better:

Isn’t that a vast improvement? I likes it! I likes it a lot!

Well, okay, yes, my photoshopping leaves much to be desired. But work with me! You can see where I’m going with it, right?

You may add my name to the list of writers who dream that one day their name will be bigger than the title: “Look, Ma! That’s me! My name’s in lights!”

One day, one glorious day . . .


Hey, and this also means that Scott can have his name bigger than the title! Given that his name’s shorter than mine. Excellenter and excellenter!

Another award shortlisting

This time it’s Daughters of Earth1 on the British Science Fiction Association‘s non-fiction shortlist. Let there be w00ting! Here’s the other nominees:

  • The Arthur C. Clarke Award: A Critical Anthology, ed. Paul Kincaid and Andrew M. Butler (Serendip Foundation)
  • Daughters of Earth: Feminist Science Fiction in the Twentieth Century, ed. Justine Larbalestier (Wesleyan University Press)
  • Great British Comics, Paul Gravett (Aurum Press Ltd)
  • James Tiptree, Jr.: The Double Life of Alice B. Sheldon, Julie Phillips (St Martin’s Press)
  • Polder: A Festschrift for John Clute and Judith Clute, ed. Farah Mendlesohn (Old Earth Books)

And the nicest thing? There’s not going to be an individual winner. They’re calling it the BSFA’s non-fiction recommended reading list. And the BSFA membership won’t be voting on it. Frankly, I find that much less stressful. No getting your hopes up for a win. And looking at that shortlist, I had buckley’s. Julie’s Tiptree bio is not only the best book on that list, it’s the best book about science fiction in a very very long while.

You can find the full list of nominees here. I’m especially chuffed at Margo Lanagan getting another nod. Yay Margo!

  1. Which means every single one of my published books has been up for an award. Isn’t that amazing? Of course, when the award noms dry up, does it mean my career is over?

    Nah. I can think of gazillions of wonderful books that have slid under the award radar. I’m very fortunate that mine haven’t. It’s good to remind myself that like everying in publishing award nominations are mostly just luck. []

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 . . . []

Sydney appearance

Next Saturday, the 20th of January at 2PM, me and Scott will be doing an appearance at the fabulous Kinokuniya bookshop. We’ll be appearing with Deb Abela and Michael Parker and talking about science fiction and whatever else grabs our fancy. If you’re around we’d love to see you.

To recap:

Where:
Kinokuniya Books
Galeries Victoria
500 George St, Sydney

When:
Saturday, 20 January 2PM

Who: Deb Abela, me, Michael Parker and Scott Westerfeld

What: talking ’bout science fiction

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! []

Norton awards

It has been brought to my attention through various means such as comments here, my email box, and this lovely loudmouth that me and Scott are on the preliminary ballot for a Norton Award.

What does that mean?

The award is given in memory of the late great Andre Norton to honour her considerable contribution to fantasy and sf young adult fiction. While it’s administered by SFWA and is announced along with the Nebula Awards, it is not actually a Nebula Award. This is the second year the Norton Award has been given. Last year it went to the fabulous Valiant by Holly Black. Woo hoo! (And much fun was had celebrating that win, wasn’t it, Holly?)

At the moment the preliminary ballot consists of Magic or Madness, Peeps, and Touching Darkness. Observant readers will note that those are books by me and Scott. Fear not! It will not be a solely Larbalestier/Westerfeld contest, the special dedicated panel for the Norton will add three extra titles from their own extensive reading, leaving a shorlist of six books for the award.

Correct me if I’m wrong on any of this, SFWAns.

Several people have written to ask, “How does it feel to be competing against each other for an Award?”

Firstly, I’d like to point out that this is the fourth time we’ve been on a shortlist together. Last year we were both up for an Aurealis and a Ditmar. This year we’re both up for an Aurealis and now a Norton.

Salient fact: so far someone else has won every time. That’s right, last year neither Scott nor I won the Aurealis and Ditmars we were up for. Will that trend continue?

But to answer the question: It feels very cool. I love that enough people are liking our books that we wind up on shortlists and best of the year lists. It’s beyond brilliant.

To be honest neither of us are particularly fussed about winning awards. This is not because we’re particularly zen or humble, but because we’ve both judged awards and voted on them and we know exactly how it works. Brilliant books win; brilliant books don’t even make it onto the short list. In judged awards it’s frequently the book everyone liked second or third best that wins, because the judges just can’t agree. Awards are a lottery. Always were, always will be.

What’s really cool as hell is to get on the ballot and be there together.

My chuffage is oceanic. (And, no, that doesn’t get in the way of walking.)

Woooooooo hooooooo!!!!!!!

Happiness is . . .

This post is dedicated to
my beloved father, John Bern,
because the novel I dedicated to him
has not found a publisher yet
and because
I think it will make him gag

Happiness is . . .

  • Finishing the first draft of a novel that was tonnes of fun to write, which means the rewrites are going to be even more fun.
  • Celebrating said finish by going out to see fabulous theatre (Keating at the Belvoir) with my parents, sister and husband.
  • Continuing the celebration with a wonderful meal at Tabou (best mussels ever!), drinking loads of champagne, and filling Scott in on all the stuff he missed in Keating: Gareth Evans, Eddie Mabo, Native Title and why Alexander Downer was in drag with fishnet stockings.
  • Coming home to discover that Bertelsmann Verlag has bought the German rights to Magic’s Child and will be publishing the whole trilogy in 2008 with two month gaps between each title. No annnoying waiting for the German readers.
  • Trying to decide whether to have a bit of a holiday in Ireland or Spain. Such a dilemma!

What all is making you lot happy? We happy peoples love company!

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!

Faults

I have many faults, but the one I’m feeling baddest about at the moment is my tendency to dismiss a writer on the basis of very little. For example:

  • If I meet a writer and I think they’re obnoxious I won’t read them. This is very very bad of me. Because I am a writer and I can be totally obnoxious (especially if my blood sugar is low), so if other people are as intolerant as I am, and they meet me when I haven’t eaten, odds are they will never read me. To make this even more circular I am most especially likely to decide a writer is obnoxious and I will not read them when my blood sugar is low and I am being obnoxious.
  • I will read one short story, or worse one or two pages of a short story or novel, and if it doesn’t immediately grab me, I will decide the writer is vastly overrated and never read them. This despite the fact that my own short stories in no way reflect the quality of my novels. Or vice versa. And many writers improve. So an early sucky story says nothing about their later quality. Not to mention that my mood (blood sugar levels) greatly affects whether I will keep reading a story.
  • If I hear a writer read, and they’re not any good at it, I will never read them, no matter how much praise I’ve heard. A bad reading kills the writing for me stone cold dead. This is particularly unfair as I’m an erratic reader and suckiness is sadly part of my repertoire (especially if my blood sugar is low).
  • If a friend whose taste I trust tells me a book sucks I won’t read it unless it is the only book available. This is why it took me so long to discover the joys of the Bartimaeus trilogy—a friend I love and trust told me it sucked. They were so wrong! But why are my friends going to be any more consistent than I am? They have their blood sugar issues too.
  • I also won’t read book by people who have dissed writers I adore. I don’t care how much they’ve been raved about, or by whom, or how many people insist that I will love love love them, if they’ve dumped on Angela Carter, or Georgette Heyer, or Dorothy Dunnett, or Patricia Highsmith, or Ruth Park, or any number of other writers, I won’t touch their books with a barge pole.

Writing is a tenuous profession and too many of us passionate readers are certifiably insane. It’s shockingly easy to turn off potential readers. You can do it with a word (use “jasmine” and you’ve lost Margo Lanagan), a bad clothing choice on the part of a character (I put a book down once because the supposedly hip protag was wearing hot pink lycra), a factual error (I have stopped reading otherwise fine books because they had Canberra being a short bus ride from Sydney).

You can also lose readers through no fault of your own: because they don’t like your cover, because they don’t like your author photo, or the way you spell your name, or won’t read paperbacks, or books by Australians.

So you’ll never catch me insulting fellow writers on my blog—too risky! I don’t want to piss them off (we writers have such long memories), or their fans (ditto), nor do I want to rack up any more bad karma (I’m bowed under the weight of what I’ve already got!). And I resolve to make sure my blood sugar levels are where they should be before reading a new book or attending a reading.

And she goes

I’ve been just a few days away from finishing the first draft of the great Australian Elvis mangosteen monkey knife-fighting cricket fairy novel for weeks and weeks. What is it with that? I feel like there’s someone up ahead with my ending, who—every time I get close enough to touch it—madly sprints away.

Bloody bastard!1 Stop it!

I can’t tell you how much I’m looking forward to finishing this draft. I have such plans for the rewrites! Rewriting is so much funner. You can’t really get the monkey-knife-fighting scenes right until you’ve gone over them many times adding zeppelins and fireworks.

I’m also a bit cranky cause this was going to be my shortest novel ever, but it keeps growing. Grrr.

Do any of youse ever have the receding-into-the-distance ending problem? What do you do about it?

  1. Just rewatched Bodyline. My favourite bit is when Douglas Jardine (evil captain of the English team) goes to the Australian dressing room to demand an apology for being called a bastard. The captain turns to his men and asks, “Which one of you bastards called this bastard a bastard?” Jardine stalks off in high Pommy dudgeon. Tee hee! []

Goodbye Warne, McGrath and Langer

The last day of this year’s Ashes series didn’t even amount to two hours of play, but it sure did sum up the series. Australia bowled well; England crumbled. Didn’t run except when Andrew Symonds was holding the ball ready to run them out. Then Langer and Hayden got the handful of runs necessary for the 5-0 sweep. It took five overs longer than I thought it would on account of Harmison finally decided to bowl some scorchers. But then it was done.

And for years I will have fun telling folks that I was there to see Langer, McGrath and Warne say goodbye to cricket. The way I’ve already been able to skite about being there to watch Steve Waugh get his in-your-eyes-selectors century off the last ball of the third day back in 2003.

Five-nil. Only the second time in the history of the more than century-old contest. Oops.

I don’t see England recovering any time soon. But it would be nice if they did. I’ve said it many times before but we need at least five strong test sides: Australia, England, India, South Africa, and the West Indies. And I would love for it to be eight with New Zealand, Pakistan and Sri Lanka. But right now not one of them is even close to being able to beat Australia.

Maybe the next ten years will show improvements all over. That would be lovely. I’m hopeful that enough Australian talent has been poached to help build up sides all over the world. Yep, that’s right cricket is now our Imperial export. In your eye, Douglas Jardine.

Maybe the next Warne will be from Kenya or Zimbabwe and they’ll have support from the rest of the team and from their bureaucrats and they’ll reshape the face of cricket, not just in their country, but throughout the world. Why not, eh?

(Just as long as Australia stays strong!)

Stygian gloom

Today I will share with you one of the many reasons I love cricket. This is more for me than for you, because I am currently very cranky with cricket—specifically with the Australian and English cricket teams—and I need to remind myself of the love.

Australia because they got out way too early: Warne? Gilchrist? I’m looking at you! Where were your centuries?

And England because they crumbled and lost five wickets. Yet a-bloody-gain.

I would like to remind you both that I have tickets for tomorrow’s play and right now I’m not seeing it go past lunch. A pox on both your houses.

I am also pretty dirty on the weather. What? You can rain all night? But barely disturb the cricket? Curse you!

But here’s my latest reason for loving cricket:

Stygian gloom has its own entry in Leigh & Woodhouse’s Cricket Glossary:

Stygian gloom: “The middle half of this game, and the end, was played out in gloom so Stygian Dickie Bird would have been reaching for the smelling-salts and a handy flashlight.” A topos for reporting on bad light at Headingley and in Hades.

Writer list

Things that it is useful for a writer to do at some point in their life:

  • Travel Call me old-fashioned, but it is way easier to describe a place if you’ve actually been there. Plus travelling really can broaden the mind.
  • Own a sommelier’s kit So you can learn to identify smells and thus how to describe them. Or—cheaper option—walk around smelling stuff and figure out how you’d write it.
  • Juggle, play a sport, or learn to dance, or a martial art So you can describe limbs in motion. Much easier when your limbs have been there. You can also just watch lots of juggling, sports being played, kung fu fighting, and dancing. Extreme slow motion is particularly excellent. But feeling it from the inside can you give that extra insight in the describing. And details: if I hadn’t fenced I wouldn’t know that it leaves you with tiny point-of-the-foil-sized bruises, and some bigger ones too—direct hit to the hipbone? Ow!
  • Learn another language Cause aside from everything else it makes you think about your native language in all sorts of new ways. Deeply cool for a writer.
  • Work in a book shop Good to understand as many bits of the book industry as you can. This would be supply.
  • Work as an editor Another bit of the book industry. The bit that wants to change your words. Best to understand why, right?
  • Work as a publicist So that you’ll understand that there are many of us and few of them.

Disclaimer: I have never worked in a book shop, or as a publicist, or editor. Nor do I juggle. I speak a little Spanish, but not enough to qualify as even semi-fluent. I did read a novel in Spanish once, but. I’ve travelled a fair amount and I do own a sommelier’s kit.

Over to you lot. Any other useful suggestions?

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 . . .

Young Adult v Adult

What is the difference between young adult literature and plain old adult literature?

Now there’s a question that should be first on my faq. I sure do get asked it a lot. Invariably by someone who knows nothing about ya, often by someone who hadn’t even heard the term until they asked me what I do for a living, and sometimes by someone with a big ole sneer on their face.

It’s a hard question and my answers depends on how irritated I am by the asker. Here are a few:

  • Unlike adult fiction YA is actually good
  • YA can be read in less than a day
  • YA is never about a middle-aged professor who has affairs with his students
  • Or about anyone moving to Mexico or Indonesia to find themselves
  • YA is commercial fiction where the writer gets to experiment with the form without their publishers’ head exploding
  • A YA writer can write whatever genre they want—romance, crime, sf, fantasy, horror, western, whatever—and still have all their books be in the same place in the bookshop and not lose the love of their publisher
  • YA writers get to meet some of the smartest teenagers around (hi, Erinn!)
  • And hang out with all the cool librarians

Anybody else wanna add to the list?

Newsletter

Sometimes when the writing is not going as fabulously well as it could, I procrastinate do other work, like update mine and Scott’s websites, or muck around with various plugins for this blog, or list software.

So, um, I now appear to have a newsletter. It’s mainly for those folks who write me wanting to know when my next books are coming out, when my books are going to be made into movies, when they can read me in Italian, and when I’ll be doing an appearance in their town.

If you want to get the newsletter you can subscribe here.

Is there anything else you’d like to hear about? The weather in Sydney? Fashion tips from Tom? Hints on how to travel the world in comfort? (Actually, maybe youse lot should share some of those with me . . . ) Let me know.

Happy new year!

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!

Resolutions

There’s a bunch of kids playing loudly next door and one of them just yelled out, “I am the ruler of the universe!” I’m thinking that’s not a bad resolution, but a tricky one to follow through on. The kid next door did not succeed, because now all the kids are yelling that they are the ruler of the universe. Scott included.

I like the idea of resolutions. I like the idea of trying to better or test yourself in some small concrete way. And I especially like the idea of lots of folks all over the place all resolving to do stuff at the same time. But like most everyone else I’m usually crap at sticking to them.

I was going to resolve not to eat all the fruit in the house within a day of purchase, but who am I kidding? I’ll never stick to that. Especially not now when the mangoes are so ridiculously good. Also the figs and the nectarines and cherries and apples and bananas and passionfruit and . . .

I was also going to have another shot at the not-biting-the-nails thing. But that’s really about stress. I bite ’em when I’m stressed and don’t when I’m not. I can be non-stressy and have finger nails in Sydney, but it’s impossible not to be stressed while on the road or in New York City. Must spend more time at home!

So instead I’m going to try and waste less water and electricity. More turning off lights and other leccie powered stuff around the home and less long baths and showers.

How about you guys? Are you with the cool crowd what eschews resolutions as foolishness? Or have you got some you’re prepared to share?

4-0 and England weeps

What is wrong with England?

  • shite fielding: Look at Australia in the field and then look at England. The Poms with a few exceptions (Collingwood, Panesar, Pietersen) have no intensity. They don’t run down every single ball, turning fours into threes, twos into ones, and saving singles. They look lethargic and bored.
  • shite captaincy: Flintoff looks lost. He’s not leading by example given his poor batting displays and erratic bowling and he’s not leading on the paddock. His field placings have been all over the place. He elects to bat when the wicket is iffy. He doesn’t seem to know whether he’s playing test cricket or Sunday arvo mah jong. And way to not show any confidence in your new bowlers Panesar and Mahmoud. Give ’em three overs here, then pull ’em off, and never let ’em get their rhythm going.
  • shite field placings: What’s with the defensiveness? What’s with giving Monty fields that allow the batsmen to score at will? What’s with no consistent plan of attack?
  • shite batting: You’ve got eleven blokes with bats. Surely you can get two or three of them not to throw their wickets away? And do none of you know how to shepherd the tail?
  • shite selections: Monty Panesar a very promising spin bowler. Chris Read is a million times the keeper that Geraint Jones is and Sajid Mahmoud’s got promise and all. Why were they kept out of the side by way less promising and performing players?
  • shite protection of your top secret bowling plans: I mean, honestly! Did you really have to make the farce farcier?

Your boat is listing, England, fix it. World cricket needs you. And I need you to get your shit together so there’ll be a fourth day in Sydney. I’ve got tickets! C’mon, people!

Meanwhile Australia is doing just fine. Every single player has more than proved their worth during this series. Andrew Symonds has finally shown what he can do at test level, Brett Lee has got his groove back, Stuart Clark is fabulous and Warne has proven once again what a gobsmackingly incredible cricketer he is. Oh, how I will miss him!

Did anyone else get a tad teary as he walked off the MCG with McGrath?

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.

Don’t

Somewhere out in the dangerous land of the intramawebby, an author is being bent out of shape by a less-than-positive review they have accidentally stumbled across using the magic of “google”, or “blogpulse”, or “icerocket”, or some such fell black witchcraft. That author is prolly contemplating their witty riposte, or deciding what to call the vengeful sock puppet they will loose upon the malign and malodorous writer of the less-than-positive review.

Don’t.

Truly. Just let it go. If you publish stuff you have to learn to do the duck’s back thing. Folks are going to read your stuff and hate it. You cannot stop them. And if you try you will only look really really really pathetic and tarnish your reputation amongst readers who really care about what they read. Like I said before your book no belonga you.

And those reviews? Bad or good: they’re not about you or for you. Believe it or not, most are written without giving the real, living, easily wounded author of the book a second thought. A wise friend of mine points out that they are written for readers. Just as most literary prizes are about canon formation, about pointing librarians and booksellers to the books they should be making available, and scholars to the books they should be writing about. Rewarding the author is a mere side effect.

Or to put it more simply: you are not your books. You just writes them.

Boxing Day

It’s a good day to be hungover a bit under the weather. The Boxing Day test starts in less than an hour. Will it be too cold and wet to start? I hear it was freezing in Melbourne yesterday. Will Shane Warne take his 700th wicket today?1 Will England get its shit together for more than one or two sessions? All excellent questions to contemplate while languishing on the couch.

I was going to post about how 2006 was for me and how 2007 is shaping up, but the idea makes my head hurt. How bout youse guys? Tell me about the good things that happened to you this year and the good you’re looking forward to in 2007? I’ll post mine when the ghost of wines drunk yesterday aren’t haunting me.

Happy Boxing Day!

  1. Unlikely, I hear the MCG is favouring pace. I reckon it’ll be day 3 before Warnie gets his 700th scalp. []

Summer in Australia

I just came across a lovely piece by Mark Lawrence about the outsiderness of living through Australian summers while knowing very little about cricket:

What [being a migrant] means is that I have very little understanding of the finer points of cricket, and don’t play it at all well. I can’t tell the difference between ‘long leg’ and ‘short leg’, and I have absolutely no idea where ‘mid-on’ is. After over a decade living in Australia, I do have an idea of how the game is played, but only a middling understanding of how it is scored or how a test proceeds. Strategy? Not a scratch. So much so that during the recent Ashes test in Adelaide, I had trouble keeping up with what was going on, while my colleagues could assess exactly how the day’s play had progressed and what the scores meant in an instant. I was left going, ‘What happened? What happened?’.

Of course, as he points out, there are lots of Australians who don’t give a damn about cricket, actively hate it even. Sadly many of them are friends of mine. At dinner last night as I was trying to talk with another cricket-loving friend about Shane Warne’s retirement, the rest of the table stuck their fingers in their ears and starting humming. It is to sigh.

But, yes, during an Australian summer cricket is everywhere. It’s the main headline on the sports page and quite often the front page too. You see it played on television (free-to-air and cable), on the various cricket grounds around the country, in parks, on beaches and in backyards. It’s played at all levels: from muck around family games where the stumps are an esky, through school competitions, grade and state levels, all the way up to international test series.

For me, even more than cicadas, the voices of Alan McGilvray, James Maxwell, Geoff Lawson and the rest of the ABC’s radio commentary team past and present has long been the sound of summer. Cricket discussions with my family, my (non-insane) friends, cab drivers, wait staff, people in queues for the bus are as much a part of summer as mangoes and passionfruit.

What will our side be without Shane Warne? Is Langer going to retire too? What about Hayden and Gilchrist? Is this the end of Australian cricket supremacy? How long before Murali takes Warne’s world record?

Lawrence worries that his cricket ignorance will affect his son’s progress in the game:

To an extent, my concern is whether my son will lack the necessary cricket skills, as I don’t want him to miss out on learning the game and being included in the matches that will invariably spring up at school, or at the beach or park with friends and family as the summer progresses.

But I recognise there is more to it: some of these concerns stem from my anxieties about what it means to be a migrant in Australia and, by extension, being an outsider. It is also an anxiety about whether I can truly prepare my son to be at home in Australian culture – to not be an outsider through no choice or fault of his own.

My father is the son of migrants from a non-cricket playing country (Poland/Ukraine) who knew nothing about the game and cared less. But he grew up loving and playing cricket and passed that love onto me and my sister. (As did my fourth or fifth generation Australian mother.) I grew up listening to, watching, talking about and (very) occasionally playing cricket in the backyard.

In my teens, inspired by the Bodyline mini-series, I started to read about the history of cricket. The first book I read was a very poorly written biography of Donald Bradman. The first book I enjoyed was Sid Barnes’ autobiography, which confirmed my admiration of Bradman the batsman and dislike for Bradman the man. I also discovered Keith Miller and fell in love.

The history of cricket is the history of English colonialism; they brought cricket with them wherever they went. In some place it died out: For my birthday this year Scott bought me two gorgeous American prints from the 1870s. One of them shows international cricket being played in New England. The other shows a game of baseball looking remarkably like a game of cricket.

In some places it did not: A quarter of the world’s population lives in cricket-playing nations. Just read C. L. R. James’ Beyond a Boundary on cricket in the West Indies and Ramachandra Guha’s Corner of a Foreign Field on cricket in India and Pakistan. They are not only extraordinary books on cricket, they are amongst the best non-fiction books I’ve ever read, bringing the complexity of the game and its history alive. They are about race, class, caste, gender, nationhood, politics and colonialism, because it’s impossible to write a good book about cricket without touching on those issues.

The books of Gideon Haigh are also remarkable and have taught me a great deal about the history of cricket in my own country. And thus a great deal about Australia. You don’t have to like, or give a rat’s arse about cricket to be Australian. But knowing a little of the game’s history teaches you a little more about Australia’s. For example, our first team to tour England was Aboriginal, and yet the official Australian team has had almost no representatives of Aboriginal ancestory.

I didn’t start loving cricket because of its happy history of illuminating colonial relationships, but reading its history has made an already rich and complicated sport irresistably fascinating to me. There are few sports with as long and rich a history. And I can’t help but want to share that fascination with other people, Australian or not.

I hope that Mark Lawrence is curious enough to read some of those books. It is truly not necessary to know the difference between “long leg” and “short leg” to enjoy them (or cricket for that matter). Though if he does want to know there’s a rather helpful *cough* *cough* guide right here.

Magic Lessons shortlisted!

Magic Lessons has just had its very first Australian award shortlisting—it’s up for an Aurealis. I’m dead excited! And Scott’s The Last Days is nom’d too. Woo hoo!

Here’s the full list Young Adult shortlist:

Monster Blood Tattoo: Book One. Foundling. D.M. Cornish (Omnibus)

The King’s Fool. Amanda Holohan (ABC Books)

Magic Lessons. Justine Larbalestier (Penguin)

Wildwood Dancing. Juliet Marillier (Pan Macmillan)

The Last Days. Scott Westerfeld (Penguin)

The rumours I’m hearing are that Monster Blood is going to take it. And why not? Great title. Plus it’s illustrated! Why don’t my books have pretty pictures? Not fair!

Many fine writers are shortlisted in other categories such as Deborah Biancotti, Grace Dugan, Margo Lanagan, Lucy Sussex, Anna Tambour, and Sean Williams. Damn my country is full of talent!

No way! (updated)

Shane Warne is retiring. I cannot believe it. He was good for another three or four years easy. What the hell?!

Thank God I get to see him bowl in Sydney. He is the best bowler I’ve ever seen tweaking the leather. And I’ve seen some greats. I don’t know what I’m going to do with no Warne to watch? Aaaarggh!!

And what is he going to do now? The mind boggles.

How can I go to bed on this calamitous news?!

Update: I have deleted comments on this thread which I deem to be disrespectful. When I am in deep mourning my sense of humour is impaired. I do not mock your sporting idols (okay, except for Johnny Damon. But that’s different.)

Are short stories necessary?

Now this is interesting, the comment thread on Tobias Buckell’s survey results has turned into a debate about the efficacy of writing short stories for learning how to write novels and for establising your reputation so that it’s easier to get your novels published.

Given that I can’t write a decent short story to save my life and have sold three novels I don’t think short stories are necessary to build a career as a novelist. Short stories and novels are very different kinds of writing. Being good at one does not mean you’ll be good at the other. There are the folks who are genius short story writers whose novels are well, um, not anywhere near as good as their stories. Like I said, they’re different forms.

On the other hand, I wrote hundreds of (broken, crappy) short stories before I wrote my first novel. Every one of those stories taught me something about writing. So as I began that first novel I’d already had a lot of practice writing dialogue, describing magical anvils, blowing monsters up. All of which came in very handy when I started writing the fictional form that I’m much better at.

Then there’s the publishing side of things. Science fiction has long had a very strong and vibrant short story market. So many well-known sf writers started out publishing short stories: Asimov, Pohl, Silverberg, Russ, Delany, McIntyre etc. etc. So it used to be true that a great way to break into sf was to make a name for yourself as a short story writer. It’s not nearly as true as it used to be. Though if, say, Ted Chiang had a novel to sell I imagine the editors would be lining up around the block.

Romance and young adult and crime and other genres do not have anywhere near the same kind of short story market so that path into publishing is not available. You want a name as a romance writer then you have to publish novels because there’s pretty much no one publishing romance short stories.

So here are my questions: How many of you write both short stories and novels? How do you see the relationship between the two forms? Is one harder for you than the other? Or does it depend on the kind of story you’re telling? Do you read short stories as frequently as you read novels?

Survey Results

Tobias Buckell’s survey results are up. Remember? He was trying to find out how many novelists sold the very first novel they wrote. There were 150 respondents and 35% began their career with their first written novel.

I’ll admit I’m surprised. That’s a bigger percentage than I thought. But it does confirm my anecdotal impression that most people do not sell their first novel.

Thanks, Tobias! Will you be keeping the survey open? Be great to get even more respondents from other genres.

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.

The Ashes

The Ashes are back where they belong and all is right with the world.

Now if only they’d give us the actual urn!

I love my job: part the millioneth

There are many reasons I love my job: I don’t have to wake up at any particular hour, I get to work in my pjs, I get to travel and meet lots of fabulous people, and I get paid to make shit up. But all of that pales in comparison with the joy of having fans and their wonderful responses to my work. Tis really the best thing about being a writer.

Breca Halley has created a movie poster for Magic or Madness. Isn’t that fabulous? I particularly like the idea of Rupert Grint as Tom. And at one point Keisha Castle-Hughes’ name came up as someone who could play Reason. (That option never happened, alas. Hollywood! They just toy with you.)

And Kate Egan has created some more Magic or Madness art. I’m putting it behind the cut on account of it is a tiny bit spoilerish for Magic Lessons

The third day . . .

I haven’t been blogging the third test because I’ve been sitting in front of it entranced, transfixed, and incapable of typing (plus there’s the whole absence of wireless thing). Those first two inning were something else, weren’t they?

I can’t tell you how thrilled I am to see Andrew Symonds back and making magic for the Australian test side. He’s one of the best fielders of all time. His bowling was fabulously effective—if only he could stay in a tad longer he’d be a lock on the number six spot. Frankly, I think his performance in this test should bag him number six no matter what. His fielding alone makes an insanely big difference. Plus he’s one of the most entertaining cricketers in the world.

And speaking of entertaining cricketers—how about that Monty Penasar? He’s a bit of alright, isn’t he? And not nearly as crap in the field and with a bat as we were led to believe. Are the English selectors mentally challenged? I reckon that’s the end of Ashley Giles’ test career. Go, Monty!

And now tis almost time to turn the tellie on for the third day’s play. Heaven!

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!

Why do all the writers know each other?

I sat in on a young writers’ workshop in Brooklyn a few months back. In the midst of our chatter about the horrors of the publishing industry, the joys of writing, and the inadvisability of living on a steady diet of ramen noodles, one of the students asked how come all the writers seem to know each other and are always thanking each other in the acks of their books. The question was sparked by a student telling us his favourite writer is Jonathan Lethem and my mentioning that I once house sat for Lethem. (Yeah, yeah, I know, shocking name dropping.1)

Sarah Mlynowski answered that writing is a lonely business and that as soon as she moved to New York City she made it her business to meet other writers because she didn’t know any. I met her that very day at the workshop and we’ve since corresponded some more. Cause that’s one of the ways writers know each other—they meet at workshops.

One of the first writers I met and became close friends with was Yvette Christianse«. We were both postgraduate students in the English department at Sydney University and shared an office. Neither of us had published books at the time, now we both have. I also met Mandy Sayer that way. Later at my first science fiction convention I was introduced to so many writers I thought my head was going to explode. Some of them, like Ellen Kushner and Delia Sherman, have become dear friends.

I met Scott Westerfeld at the Dixon Place Science Fiction reading series. Now we’re married.

So how do all us writers know each other? From hanging out in places other writers are likely to be: conventions, conferences, book festivals, university English departments, writers’ workshops.

Which means that those teenagers in that Brooklyn workshop were also writers meeting writers: each other, as well as their teachers and all the folks, like me and Sarah, who come to sit in on their workshop. When I first started meeting other writers (like Yvette and Ellen and Delia and Scott) I was an unpublished aspiring writer.

Now, there’s the added avenue of the intramanet making it easier and easier to meet other writers. All these blogs and chatrooms and critique groups and NanNoWriMo etc.

Not very mysterious at all, eh? It is, however, wonderful. Sometimes I have to pinch myself when I think about all the amazing and talented writers I know. Samuel R. Delany! Karen Joy Fowler! Angelica Gorodischer! Margo Lanagan! Very cool indeed.

  1. I am now house sitting for Melina Marchetta. Nyer nyer! []

Your book no belonga you

Recently, I’ve come across a few writers complaining about idiotic readings of their work. Which is fine I’ve been known to do the same. But one writer went so far as to claim that there is but one true way to read their work, and that they are the only one privy to it, and yet anyone who reads their work differently is deeply stupid. Excuse me?

Your book no belonga you. If you wrote about the nobility of bad bad banksia men and one of your readers chooses to read your book as a racist attack on bad bad banksia men then that’s their reading and nothing you can do or say will change that reading.

You can write whatever you want, but no matter how finely crafted, no matter how clever you are, some reader out there will read it in a way you find completely inexplicable. Like the friend of mine who persists in thinking that Magic or Madness is a thinly veiled autobiography. What now?

You cannot control the way your books are read. Once a book is published it’s no longer yours. It’s out there being read and interpreted and enjoyed and hated and there’s nothing you can do about it. Not a single thing. Your book no belonga you.

And you know what? That’s mostly a deeply cool thing. I especially enjoyed this review of Magic Lessons by Tansy Rayner Roberts because she talked about one of my characters in ways that surprised me. I honestly hadn’t thought of Esmeralda in that way.

One of the greatest delights of being a writer is having readers reveal your books to you in unexpected ways. Sure, I mightn’t agree with some of their interpretations but so what? They probably don’t agree with some of mine. Cause, you know, my books no belonga me.

What not to wear*

My friend Tempest is running into some trouble for dissing the wearing of ill-fitting corsets. People are rightly saying that they can wear whatever they bloody well please. And Tempest is rightly saying that she can rant about whatever she bloody well pleases.

While it’s incredibly rude to lecture people to their faces1 about the inappropriateness or ill-fittedness or ugliness or general appallingness of what they’re wearing, it is perfectly fine to hold forth about it on your blog, or with your friends, as long as you’re not naming anyone (unless they’re famous2), or posting photos (again doesn’t apply to the famous).

That’s freedom folks: you can do whatever you want so long as it doesn’t break laws, and people are free to bitch about you doing whatever you want. Cause, you know, what do we live for but to make sport of our neighbours?

I really enjoy dissing other people’s clothes and I really enjoy hearing other people do the same. I know that makes me a bad person, but there you have it.

I am not sartorially perfect. I have worn many things in the past that I wish I hadn’t.3 I’m sure that I will also wear embarrassing things in the future. Hopefully less than in the past, but who knows when my attraction to bright, shiny, glittery things will next overturn my judgement? Feel free to bitch about what I wear. Just don’t tell me about it.

I am currently bitching about the following clothes:

    Formal shorts—An abomination! On men or women—knees are not to be displayed on formal occasions. I don’t care how hot it is!

    Micro mini skirts—They don’t look good on anyone because to wear one is to be in constant terror of revealing your gyno bits to the universe

    Gypsy skirts—What can I say? I was traumatised by Stevie Nicks at an early age

    Too tight stove pipe pants—Is it so wrong of me not to want to see the outline of boys’ reproductive bits?

    Lowriders—Will they ever go away? Your date is not for sharing with the world. You don’t like it from plumbers, why do you think it’s okay for you?

    Espadrilles—In the last year I’ve seen them on four different continents and they never once looked good. Make them go away already!

What are your most hated items of clothing that the cruel cruel cruel world keeps subjecting you to? Bitch away!


*The original UK “What Not to Wear” is one of my favourite shows ever. Much bitching about fashion and taste plus nasty sublimated class warfare. What is not to love? I also adore that the two arbiters of taste sometimes wear truly appalling clothes. Bliss!

  1. Yes, even if you’re their parent. Especially if you’re their parent! []
  2. Which is why we have the joys of gofugyourself. []
  3. Exhibit A: A 1980s ill-fitting blue satin jacket. Ill-fitting because I made it myself. Should not have been worn because I made it myself. Would probably still have been hideous if someone competent had made it. []

How to write a fantasy novel (Updated)

So I was going to write a sequel to my earlier post on how to write a novel specifically about how to write a fantasy novel. There was going to be lots of stuff on world building, on inventing your own languages, not to mention how to build a robust magic system. It would have had all that jazz, but it turns out that such a text already exists.

That’s right, to save me lots of time, effort and typing Diana Wynne Jones has helpfully written the one true guide to writing fantasy novels. That book is called The Tough Guide to Fantasyland and it is a work of unsurpassed genius.

It first came out in 1996, but the recently revised and updated edition published by Firebird books in the US of A is the one you want because it is thing of beauty and surpasses the usefulnesss of the first one a hundredfold.

If you love fantasy you need this book. Because it’s really really really funny. You will recognise every single thing she makes mock of.

If you hate fantasy you need this book. Because it makes mock of everything you’ve ever hated about the genre. You will laugh and laugh and laugh.

If you’ve ever contemplated writing a fantasy novel you need this book. It covers every possible cliche of the genre in long and mocking detail. Once read you will never use any of those cliches. Or if you do you will breathe new life into them. For if you do not Diana Wynne Jones’ mocking voice will leak into your dreams and you will never sleep well again. Trust me, you don’t want that.

And if you’ve never read any of Diana Wynne Jones’ novels then on your bike! I recommend Fire and Hemlock or Archer’s Goon or Howl’s Moving Castle or, you know, pretty much all of them.

She’s one of the best fantasy writers working today and in Tough Guide to Fantasyland she shares all the tricks of the trade. What more could you ask for?

Update: Sharyn November, who edited this edition, reminds me that the original was a Hugo finalist (which means I have something in commone with Diana Wynne Jones! We were both shortlisted in the same category of the Hugos! Woo hoo!) and a World Fantasy award finalist. Sharyn says that the Firebird edition is completely redesigned, has a new map, and Wynne Jones has written additional material.

I’d also add that the Firebird edition is not littered with typoes like the original was. I don’t often notice typoes, but, wow, were there a lot in the original edition.