Monica Valentinelli's Blog: booksofm.com, page 69

On The Thing You Won’t Talk About – Part II

Today’s post is a continuation of On The Thing You Won’t Talk About Part I, from the makers of “things” and “talking.” I promised to talk about what makes me feel uncomfortable, so here it is.

For those closest to me, you know I’ve dealt with survival before in my own life. However, I don’t use this as a fuel for my work, because that’s not what I do to “put myself out there.” Instead, I tap into those tricky questions to tell a story that’s both mine and yours. Then, I tell another one. And another. And another. . .

I’m not going to consciously write about my personal relationships. In some ways, I have a photographer’s viewpoint; the stories I tell are mine and mine alone, sure, but it’s not like anyone else has taken pictures of birds, fruit, architecture, and people before. Rejection hurts, yes, but there’s always something to be learned from it, to apply for “next time” when you’ve missed your mark. I know when I fail before someone else believes it to be so, primarily because I have, with absolute certainty, a deeper understanding of those times when I don’t feel connected to my work. There are many ways to break that connection, and too much acceptance/tolerance is one of them.

Complacency, my friends, the slow trickle of acceptance that this is just the way the world works, this is just how things are and always will be, and there’s nothing you can do to change them – this is death to any writer and this I fear. When you become complacent, slowly, by inches, the wonder gets leeched out of your world and you no longer have a story to tell that you want to write – you pen tales out of obligation.

I am not saying that writing because you have to for income-related purposes is either a morally “bad” thing or something to be feared. That, my dear Readers, is poppycock. Everyone who’s ever written professionally knows that there are economic rules of scribing part-or-full time. What I’m saying, is that I feel that you have to protect and insulate and nourish the part of you that tells stories, either non-fiction (e.g. blogging) or of a fictional sort, so you can weather your ability to write regardless of circumstances beyond your control. And, of course, there are so many of them aren’t there? Besides our base emotions, which can infect our egos and force its way like a thorn into our hearts, there are other real-world concerns that can get in the way: money, opportunity, timing, perceived competition, etc. In other words, the act of writing should be the constant, not what you hope/want to get out of it.

We often lie to ourselves, masking in obscurity the hows and whens and whys we write, to justify our work so we can go through those ups and downs of the proverbial rollercoaster with grace and ease. (Even though, it is possible to fall from grace and stumble without any reassurance, whatsoever.) I’ve certainly participated in these lies. I’ve been privy to them, sadly, to argue with the voices in my head and also to witness them in others.

The terrifying truth my friends, is this: any writer can stop writing at any time. It is so, so, so real and it can (and does) happen, for a variety of reasons, in the blink of an eye. I’ve seen it over and over and over again – even with some who’ve completely given up, and who’ll never write again. You’ve seen it, too. While there are those that can and do imagine their lives would never be complete without writing, I feel that not writing is the eventuality that happens when complacency sets in, which leads to acceptance, or depression, or whatever. . . It’s a happenstance, a direct result, of not caring about oneself (e.g. one’s Muse or scribe).

So then, knowing that is one inevitability, one foregone conclusion, that perhaps it is easier to not write than it is to get the words out, and at the bottom of this justification lies the fact that this is “hard work” – especially if you haven’t gotten the movie/six figure book deal/etc. – what does that offer me? Comfort?

No. Discomfort. This is what makes me uncomfortable, that the easiest thing, more than anything in the world, is to simply give up Poe’s ghost – this is what fuels my work, because I do not want to quit. I have not quit. I will not quit. I will NEVER quit.

I don’t know what makes you squirm, but I hope you find that one thing you can’t talk about, and I hope you pin it to the wall and experience that emotion for all its worth, to keep w-r-i-t-i-n-g if that, truly and deeply, is really what you want to do. Because for me, not writing, this is the thing I fear the most.

Mood: Anxious

Caffeinated Beverages Consumed: That moment of perfect caffeinated bliss.

Work-Out Minutes Logged Yesterday: Yesssss?!?!?! Are you guilt-tripping me, again?

In My Ears: Muwahahahaha!

Game Last Played: Dragon Age: Origins

Movie Last Viewed: MirrorMask

Latest Artistic Project: In progress!

Latest Release: “Fangs and Formaldehyde” from the New Hero anthology through Stone Skin Press

On The Thing You Won’t Talk About – Part I

Where do you get your creativity from? When you’re writing a scene (action or otherwise) what do you use for fuel? I implore you to consider the one thing you won’t talk about. That is, to explore your discomfort in order to write. Seriously. What is it that makes you uncomfortable? Perhaps tapping into that, on a deeper level, will fuel your storytelling better than a personal experience ever would.

The thing is, deeply scarring memories will fade and you, too, shall pass through your current stage of drama. Perhaps you shall get a divorce. Perhaps you shall move cross-country to escape the uncomfortable heat. Perhaps you’ll get a part-time job so you have money to put food on the table, and then you’ll have more time to write.

Whatever the situation, if you’re always taking inspiration from your issues, what happens when those situations are resolved? Look around you. There is a literal wealth of stories in every corner of the internet, let alone the universe. What makes you uncomfortable? Apathy? Obesity? Murder or the justification thereof? Racism? An attack on intellectuals? Religious folk?

These are deeper social ills, true, but the secret to tapping into these particular veins is that they’ll never go away. There will never be a time when someone isn’t beating up someone else for land, power, money, sex, whatever. There will never be a moment when fierce forms of tribalism don’t exist, either, for this is part of what it means to be mortal.

These sample elements will always exist in some form or another, either quantifiable or not, and what you think about these things – perhaps what you don’t talk about openly, or what you don’t admit to yourself – it is these basic building blocks that you can tap into time and time again, eternally and ever more, to tell not just the one story – but 1000s of them. Not just the one story of the heroine who must resolve the differences with her teenage self to grow into a woman by facing her mother. Not just the singular tale of an unlikely hero who, time and time again, comes from the worst part of town to rise up and undo a terrifying foe. After all, if you tell just the one and only, what then? Will you get bored? Tired? Will you stop enjoying what you do because you know how the journey ends time and time again?

What makes me uncomfortable? More on that tomorrow in Part II.

Mood: Creepy, crawly, slimy, slithering.

Caffeinated Beverages Consumed: NOT ENOUGH ZOMG.

Work-Out Minutes Logged Yesterday: Outside time. Necessary.

In My Ears: The soothing sounds of the dishwasher.

Game Last Played: Dragon Age: Origins

Movie Last Viewed: MirrorMask

Latest Artistic Project: In progress!

Latest Release: “Fangs and Formaldehyde” from the New Hero anthology through Stone Skin Press

Thank You, Dark Horse!

A moment’s pause, to thank the excellent staff of Dark Horse, for being so awesome during my tour last week in Portland, Oregon. I came home with so many a-maz-ing toys, comics, and books, many of which will be worshipped on my alter of fabulousness, and I greatly appreciate the experience. (Yes, you too can add to your own collection… Just visit the Dark Horse online store…)

Special thanks go out to Mark B. for the story-telling and special glimpse where the magic happens; three cheers to the rest of the unsung heroes in both the creative and administrative sections of the company.

Also. HELLBOY. Just sayin’. :p

Mood: Oh, crap.

Caffeinated Beverages Consumed: Rotten eggs and the safety of mankind.

Work-Out Minutes Logged Yesterday: She took his picture. DAMN. She took his picture. She took his picture.

In My Ears: Sparky? Who came up with that? Myers?

Game Last Played: Dragon Age: Origins

Movie Last Viewed: MirrorMask

Latest Artistic Project: In progress!

Latest Release: “Fangs and Formaldehyde” from the New Hero anthology through Stone Skin Press

On the Importance of Good Chocolate

Today, I’d like to give a shout-out to a chocolatier of indeterminable size – DB Infusion Chocolates, which is located here in my fair city. This particular chocolatier has impressed not one, but three choco-lovers in my life recently, and I’m scheduling a trip back when the wintry special, that flavor of snowflakes — Peppermint – debuts. (That and I am recording a particular promise to pick up drinking chocolate here as a “Thank You” to that most excellent of writers AND hostesses with the mostesses, Lili Saint Crow, forevermore. :-p)

Hands down, at the moment my favorite chocolate of choice is the fall seasonal Cider Caramel. Is it messy? Ab-so-lutely. It has a fantastic complex of flavors founded upon that unlikely of textures, that surprising first floor – a dash of vinegar. Clearly, this is a lesson learned: take the sweet with the sour.

When was the last time you spoiled yourself? Hrmmm? Challenge thine tastebuds, be it chocolate or vanilla, dear readers. – YOU DESERVE IT.

Mood: Must worship the gods of chocolate.

Caffeinated Beverages Consumed: Caffeine balance restored.

Work-Out Minutes Logged Yesterday: These Smurfs Were Made For Walkin’…

In My Ears: The GTalk ding notification

Game Last Played: Dragon Age: Origins

Movie Last Viewed: MirrorMask

Latest Artistic Project: In progress!

Latest Release: “Fangs and Formaldehyde” from the New Hero anthology through Stone Skin Press

GalleyCat, Vampires, and Yours Truly

What does one of the most popular blogs about writing/publishing have in common with Varney the Vampire? Well, pull up a chair and listen closely, for you, too, can feel the scare, the absence of breath, and sharp fangs sinking deep into your neck.

GalleyCat has hosted a contest of indeterminable size — hundreds of writers, including myself, are re-writing sections of Varney the Vampire in a variety of flavors. My particular taste of choice happens to be inspired by a stellar vampire flick: Shadow of the Vampire.

Each entrant was assigned a chapter. Now, many of you know how I feel about wasted words — and my entire section was about the decision (or not) to pick up weapons and where to meet next.

So, I had a little fun. Hee. What better way to highlight the sordid decision and the absurdity of (the equivalent of) half-an-hour’s worth of conversation than to drag Hollywood, kicking and screaming, into the mix?

Ah, yes. I am evil, but I’m not the only one! GalleyCat is doing the entrants proud, by publishing each section on both their blog, which is available here, and their Tumblr account. (The book will also be available in its entirety later on. More to come on the new tome.)

Grand fun! And so far, the entries have thrilled me with their creativity in both form AND function. regardless of who wins or loses, and I got to write about a vampire who closely mirrors that which I know in my heart to be true – a blood-sucking fiend, a predator who can easily mimic its mortal counterparts for his/her own nefarious desires. But to what end?

Well, read my section and find out! There are two ways to do that, visit GalleyCat on Tumblr or be sure to keep up-to-date on the GalleyCat blog.

P.S. — I’ll likely blog about this later, but FlamesRising.com is hosting a NaNoWriMo contest. Comment there to win!

Mood: Nom nom. Nom. Nom nom nom.

Caffeinated Beverages Consumed: More water than caffeine. WHAT HAVE I DONE?

Work-Out Minutes Logged Yesterday: Strollin’ through the dog park.

In My Ears: Nuts and honey.

Game Last Played: Dragon Age: Origins

Movie Last Viewed: MirrorMask

Latest Artistic Project: In progress!

Latest Release: “Fangs and Formaldehyde” from the New Hero anthology through Stone Skin Press

Instead, a Niggly Dragon Age Question

What does one do when one’s brain has left the building? Get intrinsically, monumentally, paltry questions stuck in one’s head, of course! So, instead of a blog post, a question.

Why do darkspawn carry money? If they are killers, who don’t care about the trappings of life in Ferelden (or beyond), then why can you loot their corpuscles — I mean, that is to say, corpses — and find pittance of coin on them? Do they psychically draw these coins to them just to subtly piss off villagers and townsfolk? Or are they sifting through valuables and money is a token of their kills? So, for every coin they have. . .

Like I said. I had a question. It wasn’t necessarily a good one, though.

Mood: Write. Write. MUST WRITE. Write. Write. MUST.

Caffeinated Beverages Consumed: Methinks, perchance, I have losteth track.

Work-Out Minutes Logged Yesterday: Walkin’ on through the streets. Uh-huh.

In My Ears: The screams of a thousand somethings or others.

Game Last Played: Dragon Age: Origins

Movie Last Viewed: Looper

Latest Artistic Project: In progress!

Latest Release: “Fangs and Formaldehyde” from the New Hero anthology through Stone Skin Press

NaNoWriMo by the Numbers

Wondering how to write 50,000 words in a month? Well, here’s some estimated numbers for you:

There are 30 days in the month of November. If you write every day, you’ll need to write 1,667 words per day.
On average, 3 to 400 words can fit on a single-spaced page in 12 pt Times New Roman font. That means, you have to write between five to seven pages in Microsoft Word per day to reach your goal.
If you skip one day, you need to write 1,725 words per day (or an extra fifty-eight words) to make up the difference.
If you skip the three-day Thanksgiving weekend, you need to write 1,851 words per day (or an extra 185 words) to achieve your goal.
If, for some reason, you decide to take a week off? You need to write 2,174 words per day to reach 50,000 words. That’s an additional 507 words, or an extra page and a half of text.
Edited words will slow your progress because they don’t count as new words. In some cases, you could lose words and put yourself back into the negative territory — SO DON’T EDIT WHILE YOU WRITE.

Though I am not doing NaNoWriMo, I am slogging away. I must. After all, no one else is responsible for my career. . .no one else is going to help you with yours, either. Get the words out, forget about quality woes, and revise AFTER you’ve hit your goal.

GOOD LUCK!

Mood: I am consumed by words.

Caffeinated Beverages Consumed: Not enough.

Work-Out Minutes Logged Yesterday: Airport jaunts.

In My Ears: Going Through The Motions from Once More With Feeling

Game Last Played: Dragon Age: Origins

Movie Last Viewed: Looper

Latest Artistic Project: In progress!

Latest Release: “Fangs and Formaldehyde” from the New Hero anthology through Stone Skin Press

Happy Halloween! A Spooky Buffet of Links and Treats!

Happy Halloween! I wish all of you the finest and spookiest of days. May your spine tingle, your ghosts haunt, and your day be full of portents and ominous signs. BOOOOOOOOOOOOOooooooooooooo!

And now for a few necessary announcements.

Don’t forget to sneak over to FlamesRising.com this week, for the site will fill you up with scary blog posts perfect for this time of year, like my review of Frankenweenie.
If you applied to become one of The Thirteen , check your e-mail. Today, you will find out whether or not I accepted your application.
NaNoWriMo starts tomorrow. Yes, that’s TOMORROW! Ack!
Want excellent chocolates? http://www.infusionchocolates.com/
Need something new, but you’re strapped for cash? Free spooky radio dramas from the Golden Age of sound. Visit RadioRelic.com and listen to a-mazingly scary tales!
Traditional? Believe Halloween is perfect for divinatory exploration of the tarot-reading kind? Free tarot readings are available at Facade.com.

And now for a witchy manicure demonstration. (The silver version is what nailpolish I’m wearing this week over orange-and-black polish!)

And now, to leave you with a curious look from one of my cats, Rimmon. (Appropriately named the god of storms. . .)

Mood: I vant to suck vour blood.

Caffeinated Beverages Consumed: Come to think of it, my victim’s blood did taste a little like Starbucks.

Work-Out Minutes Logged Yesterday: Practiced my swoops and creeps!

In My Ears: Dark Desire by Nox Arcana from Dark Tower

Game Last Played: Dragon Age: Origins

Movie Last Viewed: The Raven

Latest Artistic Project: In progress!

Latest Release: “Fangs and Formaldehyde” from the New Hero anthology through Stone Skin Press

On This All Hallows Eve, For You a Free Tale

Provided just for you, dear Readers, is an atmospheric tale to get you in the mood for Halloween. May your trick-or-treating yield fantastic results, and may the spirits be kind. . .

A Different Kind of Treat

Written by Monica Valentinelli

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Blood-red shafts of sunlight filter through a dirty cabin window, kissing a row of colorful glass bottles. One by one the bottles shine with anticipation as they reveal their grisly contents. Three eyes spin in a green flask; a pair of wings beats urgently in another.

“What’s that, Momma?” A child’s finger points to a jar of wrinkled entrails sitting high on a kitchen shelf. The boy, who stands about three feet tall, is covered in dust and flour. His skin is marred with muddy blisters.

“Oh nothing special, Alwin,” Belinda replies airily as she pulls a frilly apron over her head. “Just something I cook with now and again. You hungry?”

“Want candy.” Alwin rubs his bloated stomach. “Chocolate, ‘specially.”

The witch flashes him a crooked grin and picks a small book off the burnished wood counter. Has it really been a year since she last made her favorite recipe? Lately, it seems like all of her time has been devoted to nursing Alwin. No matter what she gives him — cinnamon, tincture of licorice or willow bark roots — nothing seems to help him get any better.

“Maybe I missed something,” Belinda whispers as she scans through the book. Her gnarled fingers turn the pages gingerly, as if each leaf of paper is a cherished family heirloom.

“What’s this, momma?”

Belinda rolls her eyes. She has to concentrate and she can’t think if he keeps talking. Of course he’s lonely, but there’s nothing she can do about that. Born under a harvest moon, Alwin’s only friends were the ravens that often circled the skies above their cabin. His insatiable curiosity was the only thing the witch didn’t like about him. Still, empathy was never her strong suit. He was dying and she wasn’t sure her magic could cure him.

“What’s what, honey?”

“This.” Alwin shows her a fistful of waxy hair. “It’s from my head.”

Belinda’s paper-thin lips crumple into a disapproving scowl. She can’t afford to babysit Alwin while she mixes and measures the necessary ingredients for tonight’s confection. Either he’s going to help her in the kitchen, or she needs to find something else for him to do. Thinking quickly, the witch pulls a red bottle off a shelf. “Just put those strands in here and we’ll figure out where they belong later.”

Alwin ignores her and yanks more hair from his crusty scalp.

“ALWIN!”

Dark splotches bloom all over Alwin’s pasty neck; the witch now knows for sure what they mean. Her last spell was a total failure. Thinking quickly, she tries something else, and asks: “Why don’t you grab your costume?”

Alwin runs around the room in a circle chanting at the top of his lungs. “Trick-or-treat. Smell my feet. Give me something good to eat.”

Belinda crosses her bony arms and regards him sternly. She has to get him out of her hair, does she have the heart to kill him? The boy doesn’t have that much time left, but she still feels responsible for him.

“You can collect some firewood for the oven first.”

The witch knows the boy won’t stray very far from the cabin. If the trees and the corn fields don’t confuse him, the owls will. Just last night, Belinda had awakened to the sound of a screeching owl perched above his bed. It was as if the entire forest not only knew what Alwin was, they were eager to share the secret. Lost in her thoughts, Belinda barely hears her son’s whimpering plea.

“Outside, momma. Outside.” Alwin moans softly.

Leaning forward, Belinda looks at him straight in his copper-colored eyes. “Do you think you’ll back by supper?”

“Yes, momma.”

The witch knows Alwin won’t last that long. His skin is crumbling and his fingers are starting to dry out. If that isn’t bad enough — he’s beginning to reek of mold.

To take her mind off of Alwin’s predicament, Belinda turns back to her favorite recipe. She can’t help but smile as she gathers the proper ingredients and dumps them into her cauldron: tiny snails, fat slugs, pumpkin seeds, a virgin’s eyes.

Dropping a pulsing heart into the thickening dough, Belinda stirs it once, twice, three times. “This’ll turn out right this time, I just know it.”

Alwin pulls a rubber mask over his crumbling face. “Can I help?”

“Not this time, Alwin, but you can watch Berthold rise.”

“Who’s Berthold? Is it candy?”

“No, he’s a different kind of treat, Alwin. The kind that’ll stay fresh forever.”

“Sounds tasty, Momma.”

Belinda licks her lips. “Oh, I hope so, Alwin. I hope so.”

© Copyright 2010

Progress! Reward. Dragon Age: Origins Replay

Re-aligning my schedule means that I’m also plotting out free time and marketing-related activities. With the weather getting colder, my work-outs remain inside the house rather than outside, and time spent with friends and family is typically holiday-or-hobby related. I had a little slip-up last week, where I delved into Whiny Mc Whine Whine Pants once again, which is why I need to acquire and cross-stitch this sign as soon as humanly possible.

However, there was progress made and a direction forward. This, my friends, is the beginning of the slow ride back up to the top of my winding rollercoaster. Though the motor be broken, the wheels rusted or bent, and the cart a little wobbly — the important thing is that it *is* moving again after a period of required maintenance. The creative life is full of ups, downs, and sideways turns; some things are in your control, some aren’t. Understand that? And you’ll weather any storm. Seriously.

But life isn’t all about blue roses (that’s a blog post for another time, by the way), one also needs to balance out work with turning-off-brain-activities. So, I’m replaying Dragon Age: Origins as a male elf assassin named Thorsgaard. (And the Mabari hound is named Loki.) I like Dragon Age because there isn’t one path to interpersonal relationships with the other characters; some are extremely faceted and the female characters DO stand out in their own right. That’s important to me for a lot of reasons, because when you treat ANY gender/sex/etc. as its stereotype, whether that view originate from your own mind or not, it makes the game/story/whatever perpetuate older viewpoints that aren’t realistic anymore.

[Insert a lament of seriously missing Kurt Vonnegut.]

We’re experiencing, right now, a cultural evolution because we communicate faster together than ever before. This won’t last, sadly, if the economics of the internet outweigh the ability to express ourselves freely — something I do think will still happen down the road if technology and methods of delivering content don’t continue to evolve faster than businesses can keep up. Sooner or later, we’ll reach the point where the two converge. After all, we have seen this sort of thing before.

Anyway, apologies for the sidebar, but I feel contemporary game design plays into that concept. Dragon Age: Origins is a re-playable game for me because of its nuanced and complex storytelling approach. It’s not the linear story that draws me to the property; it’s the facets, split plot lines, multiple origins, and the way characters approach the different sexes/races. Even so, I have a lot of freedom to get out of the game what I’m comfortable with. I know some were appalled that a male character made some advances on another male (or vice versa) to which my response is: get over it. That’s realistic and could easily happen in real life. Have you ever been hit on by a member of the opposite sex you couldn’t stand? Yeah, that can happen, too. Why wouldn’t a storyteller provide that as an option in a game — especially one that’s meant for a large audience?

I should also point out, that the ability to save at any time during a game is a huge deal for me. After all, I can break out ye olde timer and gauge playtime accordingly. I foresee a lot of words in my future. Hee.

The only trouble is, playing Dragon Age: Origins has given me other ideas for dark fantasy stories of the original, sure, but also of the Dragon Age and Ravenloft varieties. What can I say? I like my fantasy to have a little necromancy. There are a lot of dead things in the world, not all of which are human.

Mood: It’s the Eve of Halloween. What’s not to love?

Caffeinated Beverages Consumed: Coffee, coffee, coffee, coffee, coffee.

Work-Out Minutes Logged Yesterday: Must. Continue. Movement.

In My Ears: The screams of darkspawn as I slay them mercilessly.

Game Last Played: Dragon Age: Origins

Movie Last Viewed: The Raven

Latest Artistic Project: In progress!

Latest Release: “Fangs and Formaldehyde” from the New Hero anthology through Stone Skin Press