Rick Just's Blog, page 234
January 19, 2014
First 100 pages: Q&A with Rick Just about his book, Blood Anjels
First 100 pages: Q&A with Rick Just about his book, Blood Anjels: 1. Who is your favorite character from Blood Anjels and why? My favorite character is Lasa, the heroine. Secondary ch...
January 6, 2014
Scramble
My mind won’t quit making words! This has little to do with my writing, though one might think constant word creation would benefit a writer. This is an unwelcome artifact of word games.
As I’ve mentioned before in this blog, I play Words with Friends and a couple of electronic versions of the game Boggle. It is my my mind’s obsession with the latter that gives me fits.
Boggle, as you may remember, is a game where letters are arranged in a 4 letter by 4 letter grid. In the pre-digital days, letters were on a six-sided cube (which is redundant, but so be it). The Boggle game itself was a plastic box which you could shake to randomize the letters. I still remember the rattle.
Today’s digital versions use randomization algorithms to assure that each game is different. The point of the game, digital or analog, is to find as many words as possible using only adjacent letters.
Doubtless there are certain words in the English language that appear more frequently, because the letters are more common. Every individual is probably drawn to certain letter combinations because of the way their particular brain works. Or, maybe the digital elves just like certain words. I notice that STONE, STONED, STONES, STONER and STONERS show up a lot. As far as I know, I’m not predisposed to seek out STONERS, but there you have it. Bonus: TONE, TONED, TONES, TONER and TONERS are hiding in plain sight when the aforementioned words appear.
Variations on TUNE, TRAIL, RAIL, DEER, DEAR, SEER, and several other letter combinations seem prevalent in my games. All of them are now prevalent in my mind. I find myself looking at a word and dissecting it for its parts. During the day, if I’m doing something that doesn’t take a lot of thought, my mind wanders through random words, restacking the letters in different ways. At night, I dream about making words with little squares.
This is mildly irritating to the top levels of my thinking machine. However, I know this is simply the way my brain--your brain, too--processes new information. I’ve had it happen before with games I’ve been obsessed with and with projects I’m really concentrating on at work. A dream about spreadsheets. Zippy.
Fortunately, this also happens when I’m deep into the writing of a novel. Writing novels is what this blog is mainly about, in case you’d forgotten or were distracted by whirlings of your mind.
As I’ve mentioned before in this blog, I play Words with Friends and a couple of electronic versions of the game Boggle. It is my my mind’s obsession with the latter that gives me fits.
Boggle, as you may remember, is a game where letters are arranged in a 4 letter by 4 letter grid. In the pre-digital days, letters were on a six-sided cube (which is redundant, but so be it). The Boggle game itself was a plastic box which you could shake to randomize the letters. I still remember the rattle.
Today’s digital versions use randomization algorithms to assure that each game is different. The point of the game, digital or analog, is to find as many words as possible using only adjacent letters.
Doubtless there are certain words in the English language that appear more frequently, because the letters are more common. Every individual is probably drawn to certain letter combinations because of the way their particular brain works. Or, maybe the digital elves just like certain words. I notice that STONE, STONED, STONES, STONER and STONERS show up a lot. As far as I know, I’m not predisposed to seek out STONERS, but there you have it. Bonus: TONE, TONED, TONES, TONER and TONERS are hiding in plain sight when the aforementioned words appear.
Variations on TUNE, TRAIL, RAIL, DEER, DEAR, SEER, and several other letter combinations seem prevalent in my games. All of them are now prevalent in my mind. I find myself looking at a word and dissecting it for its parts. During the day, if I’m doing something that doesn’t take a lot of thought, my mind wanders through random words, restacking the letters in different ways. At night, I dream about making words with little squares.
This is mildly irritating to the top levels of my thinking machine. However, I know this is simply the way my brain--your brain, too--processes new information. I’ve had it happen before with games I’ve been obsessed with and with projects I’m really concentrating on at work. A dream about spreadsheets. Zippy.
Fortunately, this also happens when I’m deep into the writing of a novel. Writing novels is what this blog is mainly about, in case you’d forgotten or were distracted by whirlings of your mind.
December 24, 2013
Giveaways
A little holiday giveaway for my readers. Christmas day and Boxing day, you’ll be able to get my newest book,
Blood Anjels
, along with the first book in the Wizards Trilogy,
Wizard Chase
, for free (the Kindle versions) on Amazon. Oh, heck, since it’s Christmas, let’s make the same offer for the
Keeping Private Idaho
. That’s December 25 and 26, only on Kindle.
December 7, 2013
Remembered for Writing
A thought occurred to me yesterday as I clicked the submit button on a grant application. I’ve published five novels, one nonfiction book and been the major editor on five other nonfiction books. Those books will provide some entertainment and perhaps a little enlightenment to readers. But, will I be long remembered for them? Probably not.
As a sometimes grant writer (a term commonly used incorrectly, including here) I might get some measure of immortality, I suppose. At least, something that comes from it might outlive me.
But, if I am really remembered at all for my writing it will be by one of the smaller, but more important, readerships I have. If someone a hundred years from now reads my writing and is glad for it, that someone likely be a future relative. My family will remember me as the driving force behind a little family history magazine I have been editing for 27 years, called Presto Press. It’s what I’ll be doing this weekend. Making memories, with the crucial help of other family writers. I’m a novelist, grant writer, blogger, artist, and producer. I’m glad for all that, but the most important thing I do is keep Presto Press going. Now, to it.
http://www.magcloud.com/browse/issue/...
As a sometimes grant writer (a term commonly used incorrectly, including here) I might get some measure of immortality, I suppose. At least, something that comes from it might outlive me.
But, if I am really remembered at all for my writing it will be by one of the smaller, but more important, readerships I have. If someone a hundred years from now reads my writing and is glad for it, that someone likely be a future relative. My family will remember me as the driving force behind a little family history magazine I have been editing for 27 years, called Presto Press. It’s what I’ll be doing this weekend. Making memories, with the crucial help of other family writers. I’m a novelist, grant writer, blogger, artist, and producer. I’m glad for all that, but the most important thing I do is keep Presto Press going. Now, to it.
http://www.magcloud.com/browse/issue/...
December 5, 2013
Y2K and Climate Change
Authors, particularly science fiction writers, often warn us of impending doom. In an odd little twist, if we believe doomsayers and act accordingly, the doomsayers then sound a lot like Chicken Little.
Remember Y2K? Airplanes were going to fall out of the sky, the power grid was going to collapse and we wouldn’t be able to see cats on the Internet. That didn’t happen, so the doomsayers were wrong. Right?
In that case, we listened to the doomsayers. Government, businesses, and citizens took steps to assure that computers would be able to get through the dreaded date safely. There were a few glitches, but no one died. Hardly anyone was inconvenienced. As a result, those warning us about Y2K were roundly ridiculed. People forgot that the reason technology did not collapse on a date certain was because those who recognized the problem worked day and night for months to see that disaster was averted.
Enter those warning of myriad disasters associated with climate change. Many in the general public are ridiculing the predictions of scientists. Meanwhile, many governments, businesses, and citizens are quietly taking measures to avert the disaster. We’re already seeing negative effects, so the chances are slim that we’ll come out of this one as cleanly as we did Y2K. But if the measures taken, combined with the positive impacts of new technology, do substantially forestall the worst effects of climate change, you can count on the ignorant to laugh at those who worked so hard to warn us.
Remember Y2K? Airplanes were going to fall out of the sky, the power grid was going to collapse and we wouldn’t be able to see cats on the Internet. That didn’t happen, so the doomsayers were wrong. Right?
In that case, we listened to the doomsayers. Government, businesses, and citizens took steps to assure that computers would be able to get through the dreaded date safely. There were a few glitches, but no one died. Hardly anyone was inconvenienced. As a result, those warning us about Y2K were roundly ridiculed. People forgot that the reason technology did not collapse on a date certain was because those who recognized the problem worked day and night for months to see that disaster was averted.
Enter those warning of myriad disasters associated with climate change. Many in the general public are ridiculing the predictions of scientists. Meanwhile, many governments, businesses, and citizens are quietly taking measures to avert the disaster. We’re already seeing negative effects, so the chances are slim that we’ll come out of this one as cleanly as we did Y2K. But if the measures taken, combined with the positive impacts of new technology, do substantially forestall the worst effects of climate change, you can count on the ignorant to laugh at those who worked so hard to warn us.
December 4, 2013
Sacrificing for Art
When I sacrifice for my art, it means my butt is tired from sitting in a chair and writing. When Matthew McConaughey does it, he drops 47 pounds, putting his health at risk.
I saw Dallas Buyers Club last night and was struck by the lengths McConaughey went to for that role. I was also struck by how little I need to sacrifice for my various pursuits. Yes, I’ve burned myself a lot doing metal sculpture. I’ve probably breathed a little too many solder and glue fumes. And, my butt gets tired when I pound away at the keyboard too long.
Writing isn’t easy. Most art takes a lot of work and dedication. Even so, for most of us, we do it because we can’t not do it. I admire those who give so much of themselves to bring a vision to life.
I saw Dallas Buyers Club last night and was struck by the lengths McConaughey went to for that role. I was also struck by how little I need to sacrifice for my various pursuits. Yes, I’ve burned myself a lot doing metal sculpture. I’ve probably breathed a little too many solder and glue fumes. And, my butt gets tired when I pound away at the keyboard too long.
Writing isn’t easy. Most art takes a lot of work and dedication. Even so, for most of us, we do it because we can’t not do it. I admire those who give so much of themselves to bring a vision to life.
November 30, 2013
The Last Line
There has been much written about the importance of the first line of a novel. At some point I’ll probably add to that discussion, but today I want to spend a minute or two talking about the last line of a novel.
To me, a perfectly composed ending line is the--pun intended--bookend. I generally start working with some sense of the ending in mind. Midway through the novel it has coalesced in my mind to where I can nearly see it. Then, as happened to me yesterday on the way back from visiting with my dialogue coach, the actual ending comes to me.
It happened that way with Blood Anjels, the book I recently released. I knew the feeling I wanted to leave with the reader almost from the beginning. It wasn’t until the three perfect words came to me that I knew I had it. And, no, I’m not going to tell you those three perfect words. And, if you’re one of those people who reads the ending first, they will be meaningless to you. They are, in fact, words the character has spoken before, but in this context their meaning is multiplied and they hit you in the heart.
As it turns out, there are three perfect words that will end The Crappy Used Diary. In the case of the new novel, they will not have been spoken or written before, but their truth will have been evident for about halfway through the novel. The zinger here will be quite different from the one in Blood Anjels. I think both sentences will leave you with the same chill.
To me, a perfectly composed ending line is the--pun intended--bookend. I generally start working with some sense of the ending in mind. Midway through the novel it has coalesced in my mind to where I can nearly see it. Then, as happened to me yesterday on the way back from visiting with my dialogue coach, the actual ending comes to me.
It happened that way with Blood Anjels, the book I recently released. I knew the feeling I wanted to leave with the reader almost from the beginning. It wasn’t until the three perfect words came to me that I knew I had it. And, no, I’m not going to tell you those three perfect words. And, if you’re one of those people who reads the ending first, they will be meaningless to you. They are, in fact, words the character has spoken before, but in this context their meaning is multiplied and they hit you in the heart.
As it turns out, there are three perfect words that will end The Crappy Used Diary. In the case of the new novel, they will not have been spoken or written before, but their truth will have been evident for about halfway through the novel. The zinger here will be quite different from the one in Blood Anjels. I think both sentences will leave you with the same chill.
November 26, 2013
Ender's Game
Should readers and moviegoers boycott works of art because they disagree with the political views of a writer? This question has come up most recently in regards to Ender’s Game, by Orson Scott Card. The book is iconic in the science fiction canon. I’ve read it, and its sequels. I admire the writing of Orson Scott Card. Only within the past year or so, with the release of the Ender’s Game movie, have I learned how vehemently homophobic the man is.
Card has many views I find abhorrent. So, should I no longer credit his work? Of course not. His work stands on its own. However, I will no longer purchase anything he writes, and I certainly won’t see the movie.
I would not take that stand if Card were a run-of-the-mill conservative. I can disagree with someone’s political views and still respect them. However, I can’t support someone who would like to see friends and relatives of mine become outlaws because they were born gay. I cherish those people for who they are. Being gay is integral to that.
The question can get complex, and the link I’ve included here cleverly addresses some of the those complexities. Enjoy.
Meanwhile, I won’t be seeing the movie. No doubt, there are readers out there who won’t read my books because of my views. Good for them.
http://unplugthetv.com/post/68104462987/how-is-seeing-enders-game-a-political-action
Card has many views I find abhorrent. So, should I no longer credit his work? Of course not. His work stands on its own. However, I will no longer purchase anything he writes, and I certainly won’t see the movie.
I would not take that stand if Card were a run-of-the-mill conservative. I can disagree with someone’s political views and still respect them. However, I can’t support someone who would like to see friends and relatives of mine become outlaws because they were born gay. I cherish those people for who they are. Being gay is integral to that.
The question can get complex, and the link I’ve included here cleverly addresses some of the those complexities. Enjoy.
Meanwhile, I won’t be seeing the movie. No doubt, there are readers out there who won’t read my books because of my views. Good for them.
http://unplugthetv.com/post/68104462987/how-is-seeing-enders-game-a-political-action
November 25, 2013
A Dear Diary
I’m pondering this because the book I’m currently writing is based on diary entries of two (sometimes three) girls. The entries are one hundred years apart, 1914 and 2014.
As I have mentioned previously I use a few methods to get the language right. I have a 15-year-old niece I am using as a dialogue coach for the contemporary girls. I also use Urban Dictionary for additional help, and I plan to hang out in coffee shops where that age group hangs out, so I can listen to their conversations. Call it creepy, if you like, but how else can I get it right?
For the 1914 girl I have a family diary from that period. Unfortunately, the journalist was a grandmother when she was writing. It helps me get a sense of the times, but I was still missing the vernacular of a 14-year-old girl in 1914.
I contacted TAG Historical Research and Consulting to see if they might know of any resources. Bingo! Elizabeth directed me to the Idaho State Historical Society Archives and to one diary in particular. The diarist was a teenage girl who lived in Boise at the right time.
I’ve learned much about what a teenager then would care about and the style of writing of one bright and engaging girl. I’m picking up some terrific tips from her. I need to use underlining for emphasis. The ampersand was a common shortcut. Spelling--at least the spelling of this girl--was spot on. They did use contractions. She used exclamation points, sometimes in multiples.
Reading this young girl’s diaries, her musings on ordinary life and something about her dreams, makes me melancholy. I feel a little like a voyeur. At the same time, I feel like I’m letting her live a little more than she did. A few of her thoughts and feelings will fly forward one hundred years, though she herself died at age 17.
As I have mentioned previously I use a few methods to get the language right. I have a 15-year-old niece I am using as a dialogue coach for the contemporary girls. I also use Urban Dictionary for additional help, and I plan to hang out in coffee shops where that age group hangs out, so I can listen to their conversations. Call it creepy, if you like, but how else can I get it right?
For the 1914 girl I have a family diary from that period. Unfortunately, the journalist was a grandmother when she was writing. It helps me get a sense of the times, but I was still missing the vernacular of a 14-year-old girl in 1914.
I contacted TAG Historical Research and Consulting to see if they might know of any resources. Bingo! Elizabeth directed me to the Idaho State Historical Society Archives and to one diary in particular. The diarist was a teenage girl who lived in Boise at the right time.
I’ve learned much about what a teenager then would care about and the style of writing of one bright and engaging girl. I’m picking up some terrific tips from her. I need to use underlining for emphasis. The ampersand was a common shortcut. Spelling--at least the spelling of this girl--was spot on. They did use contractions. She used exclamation points, sometimes in multiples.
Reading this young girl’s diaries, her musings on ordinary life and something about her dreams, makes me melancholy. I feel a little like a voyeur. At the same time, I feel like I’m letting her live a little more than she did. A few of her thoughts and feelings will fly forward one hundred years, though she herself died at age 17.
November 24, 2013
The Circle
I just finished reading The Circle, by Dave Eggers. It would like to be the new 1984. Things are moving too fast for that. By 2015 it will sound dated, maybe even quaint. His message that we’re allowing our privacy to slip away in the name of connectivity, is obvious, but no less important one. For me, the message is clouded by one extended metaphor that needn’t have been so sloppy.
One of the triumvirate that runs The Circle (think Facebook, Google, Apple and the Moonies merged and ravenous), has a fondness for fish of the deepwater kind. With his billions he builds a one person diving device that can take him to the bottom of the Mariana Trench. The deepest spot in the trench--and the ocean--is nearly seven miles below the surface. On it’s maiden voyage, the diving vessel brings back an assortment of never-before-seen creatures.
Here’s where Eggers loses me. He makes no effort to tip his hat toward science. With 25 words he could have superficially described the care they took to keep creatures evolved to survive beneath more than six miles of ocean alive. Instead, he spends a couple of pages describing a transfer between one apparently open tank to another in which the deep sea creatures are dropped into the water in baggies so they could slowly acclimate to the temperature of the new tank.
All the critters had eyes, which would likely be superfluous at the bottom of the ocean. Yet, none of them were affected by the light streaming in from beyond the glass where people were watching.
To make his metaphor work--and I have to stop here and mention that I accidentally typed in “meataphor,” which is actually apt. To make his metaphor work, the shark he has captured is insatiable. It is also transparent, which lets us watch it eat then digest other critters. Plausible enough, but he has to push the metaphor. The process from fully functional turtle to little digested flakes drifting down to the sand from the waste chute of the shark takes about 60 seconds.
Writers have to give us some excuse for our willingness to suspend disbelief. Yes, we can accept that people might fall for the allure of a perfect company that gives them infinitely useful stuff in exchange for every nanoparticle of information about them. But if a writer also asks us to believe that you can just take a deep sea shark and plop it in the equivalent of a goldfish bowl, they risk losing our suspension of disbelief. We know they’re pulling that part out of their--let’s say, shark chute.
I enjoyed most of this cautionary tale. I would have enjoyed it more if the author had spent a little time making us believe the scientific plausibility of its central metaphor.
One of the triumvirate that runs The Circle (think Facebook, Google, Apple and the Moonies merged and ravenous), has a fondness for fish of the deepwater kind. With his billions he builds a one person diving device that can take him to the bottom of the Mariana Trench. The deepest spot in the trench--and the ocean--is nearly seven miles below the surface. On it’s maiden voyage, the diving vessel brings back an assortment of never-before-seen creatures.
Here’s where Eggers loses me. He makes no effort to tip his hat toward science. With 25 words he could have superficially described the care they took to keep creatures evolved to survive beneath more than six miles of ocean alive. Instead, he spends a couple of pages describing a transfer between one apparently open tank to another in which the deep sea creatures are dropped into the water in baggies so they could slowly acclimate to the temperature of the new tank.
All the critters had eyes, which would likely be superfluous at the bottom of the ocean. Yet, none of them were affected by the light streaming in from beyond the glass where people were watching.
To make his metaphor work--and I have to stop here and mention that I accidentally typed in “meataphor,” which is actually apt. To make his metaphor work, the shark he has captured is insatiable. It is also transparent, which lets us watch it eat then digest other critters. Plausible enough, but he has to push the metaphor. The process from fully functional turtle to little digested flakes drifting down to the sand from the waste chute of the shark takes about 60 seconds.
Writers have to give us some excuse for our willingness to suspend disbelief. Yes, we can accept that people might fall for the allure of a perfect company that gives them infinitely useful stuff in exchange for every nanoparticle of information about them. But if a writer also asks us to believe that you can just take a deep sea shark and plop it in the equivalent of a goldfish bowl, they risk losing our suspension of disbelief. We know they’re pulling that part out of their--let’s say, shark chute.
I enjoyed most of this cautionary tale. I would have enjoyed it more if the author had spent a little time making us believe the scientific plausibility of its central metaphor.
