A New Idea

There was a two or three year period where I had writer's block, not all that long ago. And I mean that as in absolutely, completely, one hundred percent blocked. No ideas. No ability to write anything--no fiction, no creative non-fiction, no poetry, nothing.

Apparently, this current period is to make up for that.

I was hanging around in the chat (which, for the purposes of here, will be the Undead Chat, or just Chat) which I frequent, and some members were posting a few lines here and there of some of their bits of writing, and a new idea just hit me. A wonderful writer was giving us some of the beginning of something they'd written and haven't yet finished, and one line of hers triggered a new idea for me. They would very, very generally be about something similar, but the actual plot would be completely different. The amount of similarity is more like "a story about a guy who has xxxxx". I know it's an idea that's been done before (I think I may even have seen it around the NaNoWriMo boards last year, in a couple of incarnations), but there's really not anything new under the sun, now, is there? It's all how you work it.

The nice thing about this new idea, which is tentatively "Novel #5", is that it came with a title. A one word title, and I like it. I like the connotations (reminds me of domestication, and my pets, and loads of other stuff). It's kind of snappy. And it fits the general bits of the story, but doesn't give anything away that won't be known right off. It also lets me play with the idea in my head some more... I'm still trying to nail down if the character is in his current situation (which is the title, actually) of his own volition, or someone else's. Also, if his condition is more scifi, or fantasy.

I still have #3 to finish (trying to wrap up chapter 4 right now, in between typing this and keeping an eye on the Chat). Er... and #2, which was put on hold a bit for the freight train that was/is novel #3. And there's still novel #4, which needs to be fleshed out a good deal before I can begin to write it. And I really should edit #1...

For once, lots and lots of ideas, not enough hours in the day to get it all done and still function. I'm thinking I will concentrate on the 3rd novel, and take occasional moments to finish up the last 20% or so of #2, for now. #4 might be my NaNoWriMo novel for this year... and if it's not, #5 will be.

With Apologies To My Spell Check

I have stumbled upon yet another indication that I am writing fantasy. MS Word popped up with the message that there are too many spelling errors in my document, and it will no longer automatically check them. It is true very few of my characters have "normal names". Heck, *I* don't have a name the spell check will recognize. To give you an example of why there are little red squigglies all over my document, here's a list of some of the common words that are currently underlined:

Characters:

• MAIN: Varin, Laz, Melia, Theron, Ruele, Aedan, Cyne.
• SECONDARY: Kallista (Lista), Thais, Mataan, Okara, Kyto, Faran, Eirene, Finna, Uriel, Tillia... and some others.

Races:

• Prismata. Also, the plain old humans, called the Pallidus by the Prismata
  
• Subsets of Prismata: Laaien, Littorine, Viridian, Argenteum, Crymysin, Pleione.
  

Locations:

• Cereto and Arforah, at the moment. More starting shortly.

I am currently wrapping up the last bit of chapter four. All of the main characters have been introduced, and we've gotten a good feel for four in particular: Varin (our hero), Laz (his best friend. Laz is a nickname, by the way, and he hates the actual name), Cyne (the sister of Varin's love interest/girlfriend; also widow of Thais), and Aedan (an outcast due to his breeding, the only person who sees him as an actual person is Cyne, and she has good reason for it).

The plan is to finish the 4th chapter tonight and immediately start the 5th, where the actual physical quest begins. This story's actually been *fun* to write. Kind of exciting, too.

Book Review: The Elegance of the Hedgehog, by Muriel Barbery (translated by Alison Anderson)

My rating: 4/5 (an average--3/5 for the slow start, 5/5 for the language)

I read this after a friend insisted I should. At first, I had to push myself through it. The pacing was slow, and for the first seventy or so pages, I didn't care much for the two main characters. I *wanted* to care for them, but the story didn't pull me in and let me do it. It's not a quick mainstream fiction read, and best for those times where you can curl up with a warm beverage and spend quiet time thinking about philosophy. What kept me reading at all (besides the sense of duty toward my friend) was Barbery's use of language. The best word to come to mind is "sublime". There were a great many moments where I admit I may have lost some of the nuances of idea and concept upon the first reading, simply because of the beauty of the language.

The styles of the two protagonists (fifty-four year old Renee and twelve year old Paloma) are different enough, yet each plays with words and phrases in a way that tells you that the characters themselves are in tune with language and put a great deal of stock in the beauty of words (this is constant throughout, but especially in the section entitled "On Grammar"). It took more effort to become comfortable with Renee's sections, and some of the passages seemed to preach a bit too much, but by the end, the book had won a place as one of my favorite pieces of literature.

I gave this book four points as a compromise. I'd have given it five points for the language alone--it really is beautiful. But the slow start dissuaded me from a giving a higher rating. I found that somewhere around page ninety, I did care for the characters after all, and I cannot really find a particular moment that switched on the feelings. The story came alive far too close to the end. If it had showed some of that same spark earlier on, I might have given this five points. But the end was touching and well-done. There were moments of humor interspersed with all the philosophy, and I could have done with a bit more of that, but I'd still recommend this for those I know who enjoy more than the easily-digestible bits of mainstream "airport" fiction (not that there's anything wrong with some of those tales), and especially for those who enjoy language and words.

A New Story Begins

I have begun the actual writing on that third novel. I have spent so much more time planning/researching/plotting and whatnot for this one than for any of the others (there was a decent amount of medical-related research for the second one, but this is different). It's the first time I've ever had to do true "worldbuilding". It can be fun, but it can also be...well, a pain in the arse.

So, here's the first section of the first chapter. I have more than that written, but it's a nice, complete scene. It's just over 5 pages, or about what an agent/editor would be likely to read before deciding whether or not to toss the whole thing into the bin, or keep reading. If anyone has any impressions or comments, I'd love to hear them (positive or negative, honestly). It is the first and roughest draft, and I haven't reworked it at all yet.

Varin caught himself slipping off the boulder just in time to keep from hitting the ground. He had a brief moment of confusion as he regained his position, then looked around to make sure no one had seen him. There was no one on this path into town—anyone coming in to Arforah had most likely taken the main road. That was part of the reason he and Lista liked to meet along this path. It was quieter, cooler, and there was little chance they’d be interrupted on their walk back into town, short as it was from this point. It was one of the best ways to unwind after a long day, and he was certainly feeling the strain after this one. Muscles he had forgotten he had were sore.

He settled himself back on the rock, kicking his feet in time to a melody in his head. The shadows looked wrong, and it took a moment to realize why—if he’d been sitting there long enough to doze off, then she must be running late. But even if that were the case, there should still be more light. He looked up through the trees, figuring perhaps another spring storm was on the way, but the sky was perfectly clear. He’d give her another two minutes, and then head towards Cereto. In the meantime, he’d rest his eyes.

He heard Lista coming down the path at exactly the two minute mark. He slid off easily, waiting for her bright hair to make an appearance through the trees. Crouching behind the rock, he smiled to himself. As soon as she got close enough, he’d jump out and grab her. He could hear her yelp and easy laugh in his head, and the grin spread wider.

There was a scream as he pounced, but it wasn’t the one he expected. He’d barely registered the different sound and a blur of grey before a fist slammed into his bicep. “Ouch!” He rubbed his arm and took a step back. “Geez, I’m sorry, Eirene. I thought you’d be Kallista. Weren’t you two together?”

Eirene’s brow furrowed as she smoothed her silvery hair back from her face. “You mean she didn’t pass by here?”

“No.”

“That’s odd. Maybe she stopped to pick some of the sugarberries she saw on her way out this morning. She mentioned them when we set out.”

Varin shrugged. “I bet you’re right. I’m going to head east though, and look for her. We should have been back to town already. She probably lost track of time.”

“Probably.”

He could tell from the half-hearted echo that Eirene didn’t believe it entirely, either. Something gnawed at him in the center of his chest, but he pushed it aside. Lista knew these woods even better than he did. The odds of her getting lost along the path were nonexistent. “You should head back to your parents’ place. I know they’re all anxious to have you visit.”

Eirene bit her lip. “Soon. I’ll come with you, though. Unless you mind?”

He smiled, but it felt tight. “No, of course not.” They walked along, feet padding over the fresh blanket of leaves left strewn about after yesterday’s storm, each keeping an eye out for a glimpse of Lista’s figure through the trees. “Why did you and Lista separate?”

“I told her to go on ahead without me. I wasn’t feeling well, and she was worried about being late to meet you. She was worried about me, but I told her it was just the baby and she eventually picked up the pace while I sat for a bit.”

Varin just nodded. He’d forgotten Eirene was already expecting. He couldn’t see it. It had been a month since her wedding, but the ceremony had been in Cereto; it had been a fairly small affair, and he hadn’t gone. Lista had been involved, of course. It was hard to keep the two girls separated for long, though things might be changing now that the other girl lived in the Palladus city with her husband. Cereto was nearly four times the size of Arforah, and as nice as it was, Varin couldn’t quite see himself settling there. He hadn’t discussed it with Lista yet, but he was fairly certain she would be okay with staying where they had both grown up, with their people. The farther they walked, the more that unsettled feeling increased. “Where exactly did you two separate?”

“Just this side of the bridge.” Her hand went to her middle and rubbed briefly. “I couldn’t imagine she’d be too—”

Her voice was lost in a crash of thunder. Eirene jumped and grabbed onto Varin’s arm, and he let her hang on instead of shaking her off. His ears rang, and he shook his head to clear it. “What was—” His voice faltered as a scream drifted through the air. It wasn’t the startled, amused shriek he’d hoped to hear ten minutes ago. It was the same voice, that much he knew for certain, but the owner was either terrified, or in great amounts of pain. “Lista.”

He took off running towards the sound, which lingered for much longer than seemed possible. He could hear Eirene calling after him as he sprinted through the woods, dodging trees and logs hidden under moss, but he didn’t slow. The scream seemed to come from all around him, sustained by an infinite stream of breath behind it, and Varin had a hard time pinpointing the exact origin of the sound. It cut off suddenly, leaving behind a sharp silence, where not even the rustling of the leaves could be heard. Varin stood still, trying to survey everywhere at once, his heart thudding painfully beneath his ribs. Three-quarters of the way through his slow spin, he saw caught a glimpse of cinnamon colored hair among the damp leaves.

Dropping to the ground, he rolled Kallista onto her back. Her eyes were half-lidded, and for a sickening moment, he was sure she was dead. Pressing his ear to her chest, he could hear a faint rhythm, slower than the blood pounding through his body. He let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and called her name, his voice sharp, and getting sharper with each repetition. He kept waiting for her to stir, but she continued to lie face turned to the sky, taking breaths small enough or slow enough that he couldn’t see them.

“Is she…?” came weakly from his elbow and he almost pitched forward, startled by the noise.

“No. She’s alive. But we’ve got to get her back to Arforah.”

“What happened to her? Is she hurt? I don’t see any blood—”

“Your guess is as good as mine. It doesn’t matter at the moment. We’ll get her back home and the Pleiones can take care of her. Grab her things.”

“Can you carry her on your own?”

Varin didn’t answer. He doubted Eirene would be able to help if he’d needed her to, but he knew it wasn’t going to be a problem. Lista was a year older than he was, but she was quite petite, and he’d carried her on his back while they’d taken walks through the forest before. Carrying her in his arms shouldn’t be that much harder.

He realized how wrong he’d been before they even made it into the village. She was still light enough to carry, but now she was all dead weight (he refused to think of that term literally, and shoved it roughly out of his mind), and his muscles had been fatigued even before he’d scooped her up against him. By the time he stepped into Arforah, he wasn’t sure he could move her much further. “Quick. Get somebody. Find a Pleione. Any one you can. I’m going to try to get her home.” His throat burned raw, but it only registered at the back of his consciousness. He’d take care of himself after he got her help. He didn’t hear Eirene reply, but he could sense her move away from behind him.

Her house was on this side of the village, but he hadn’t gotten more than a half track into Arforah before someone had spotted him. “Varin? Is that Kallista?” Too sapped to speak again, he nodded. Ruele approached him at a run. “Here, let me help. What happened to her?”

He swallowed, ignoring the strain, and forced his voice to work. “Don’t know. I sent your sister to find a Pleione.”

“Eirene’s okay?”

Varin nodded, letting Ruele take Lista from his arms. She moaned low and long, and the fire in his throat and in his muscles dipped to make room for the pain in his chest again. It was the first sound she’d made since he’d found her.

As big as he was, Ruele moved a lot faster than Varin had. Once they passed the threshold of the stone cottage, Varin lost track of everything. He saw everything in little stops and starts—seeing Lista laid upon a bed, her parents moving back and forth, and three separate Pleiones flying in and past him, like he meant nothing. Eventually, Ruele came out holding a glass of water, making him drink it before he answered any of the questions Varin threw at him. It didn’t matter much; Ruele had few answers to give.

“What do you mean, they don’t know what’s wrong with her? That’s half of what they do! What good are healers if they can’t do anything for her?”

Ruele ran his hands through his hair. It was lighter than his sister’s. This was one of the few times Varin had ever seen him without it secured at the base of his neck, wrapped with a small bit of leather. “They’re trying. They just… haven’t seen anything like this before. The only thing that’s even come close was what happened to Thais.”

Varin jumped up from his chair. The room spun around and he gripped the edge of the small table in front of him, knocking over the empty glass. Ruele set the glass upright, not looking directly at him. “But this can’t be the same thing. He was in a bar fight. Lista said there was blood everywhere when they brought him in. She doesn’t have a scratch on her.”

“I didn’t say it was the same thing. I just said it’s something new to them, and so was that. The Pleiones would like to speak to you about what happened.”

“I don’t know what happened.”

“I know. I told them that. But they still want to speak to you. They think maybe there’s some detail they don’t know that might help. Will you go over what happened with them?”

Eyes squeezed shut, Varin nodded. Anything that might help. He sat down again as Ruele left the room and took a breath as he opened his eyes and dropped his gaze to his feet. “Rue?”

“Yes?”

“Has anyone told Cyne what you told me? About it maybe being like Thais?”

Ruele paused. “No.” Without another word, he ducked back inside the bedroom.

Man, I suck at titles

At present, I have 3 novels in various states of completion. In short:

Novel #1 is a completed first draft, at about 87,350 words (287 double-spaced pages). It's literary fiction, leaning toward romance. It's written in third person, present tense, and the main character's a woman in her early thirties. I have extensive notes to incorporate into the editing, but I haven't started that yet.

Novel #2 is about 60-75% written (first draft). It's currently sitting at 87,337 words (wow, so close to the completed first novel), and is 144 single-spaced pages. Oddly, I write in single-spaced, and double-space when the draft is done. It comes from a paper-writing technique that worked for me in college. It's also literary fiction, though it could also be considered mainstream fiction, I suppose. It's less "literary" than the first novel is. It's written in first person, past tense. The narrator/MC is a male, aged 26.

Novel #3 is still in the planning stages. I'm actually quite close to beginning the actual writing. This one's fantasy, most likely Young Adult (I may drop the YA aspect, but I'm not 100% set on that yet). I need to plan a wee bit more to figure out if it's more high fantasy or sword-and-sorcery. It took me 4 full days of research and brainstorming to name my main species and the assorted races within (in addition to figuring what to call the non-magical humans and what the other magical creatures/people were and what they'd call themselves). It took an additional 3 days to give my main characters (all 7 of them, plus an 8th who is the catalyst for the action/plot) names. Pronounceable names, without apostrophes. I'm currently just nailing down some of the main plot points before I begin the actual writing. It will most likely be written in third person, past tense.

There is a novel #4 lurking in the back of my head, but it's only about 20% formed. Once I solidify it, I'll post more about it. I originally thought it would be a short story, but I'm now positive it'll be at least one novel, if not a small series of them (urban fantasy).

Now, you'll notice I refer to them all as "novel #1" and so on. That's because I haven't titled them. At all. They haven't even had working titles. This is a new problem for me. I've never had a problem titling my work before this. Then again, everything before this has been short stories, novellas, plays, poems, and essays/articles. But with the novels, I fail. I have no idea why. In the past, the title of what I'm writing comes to me quite early (in fact, sometimes it's the title that hits me first, before I even have a somewhat coherent story idea). Sometimes they change. Usually, they don't.

I'm not quite sure what's up with this. I have no idea what to do about it. I'm very curious what will happen when I write my next short story--will it start out, as most of the others have, with a title that just smacks me over the head? Or will this problem carry over? I certainly can't leave these stories unnamed. It'd be awfully hard to pitch a story to an agent or editor with it nameless. I suppose that having a beta reader or two might help, just so I have someone who can tell me their impressions and with whom I can bounce ideas around (someone with an understanding of all the characters and little plot elements and such). But finding a good beta isn't as easy as many might think. Not only do you have to find someone who's WILLING to read the story (which, depending on their speed and free time, can be quite a time investment), but you also have to find someone who will help on the level you're looking for. A simple "yeah, I liked it" doesn't help at all.

Now that I've rambled about my title issues, I'm off to do a bit more planning on that third novel, followed by some actual writing on the second--I haven't done any actual writing in a couple of weeks. How naughty.

Rejected (but not dejected)

Though I've been writing pretty seriously for a good many years (since elementary school), I haven't exactly done much on the "trying to get published" front. In the seventeen or so years I have theoretically been working on getting published, I've submitted fiction a grand total of... two... times. Yes, that's absolutely shameful. I am sorry. If only you could see my head hung pitifully right now.

I submitted a piece called "Todo Estará Bien" about a year and a half ago, to Glimmer Train's Short Story Award for New Writer's contest. I didn't win, but I did make it into their Top 25. I'd have to call that story (which started life titled Conversations With My Grandmother) my strongest. I've made a few small revisions to it since then, and trust me, it will keep going out for publication in the future.

I submitted a second piece just a month or two ago, also to Glimmer Train. I submitted this one to their open call for submissions (not a contest, so there's no ranking, and they only accept one/pay one person. And the payment is approximately what they pay the 3rd place story for one of their contests). I heard back, and they won't be publishing it. Honestly, it's what I expected (they get over 4,000 submissions a year, and it's probably a few thousand over that now, since they've added new categories and such). The piece was titled "Requited". And after I got it back, I thought about it some (I'd consider it my second-strongest short story at present). I think I can make it a lot stronger. And I can do this by changing the ending. Not entirely, but I can make it hit a little harder by adding just a bit. Really, all it takes is cutting most of the last paragraph and adding another 2 or 3 more.

So, that's what I'll be doing tonight, while it's still fresh in my mind. It won't be a late night, as I have somewhere to be in the morning. Last night was a late one. I was up until after 3 a.m., working on some research so I can plot my third novel. Over 8 hours of reasearch in one night. No, the second one isn't finished yet. I'll most likely be working on that one until sometime in July. And I'll certainly post when I do finish it. And once I have any sort of income at all (and am not having to pay more in bills than comes in during the month), I will be submitting to other places. Sadly, almost everyone requires a reading fee. And I just don't have it. But come August, I promise, that will change.