K.Z. Snow's Blog, page 16

Sentence of the Day

A pair of 'em, actually. (Swear to God, the block quote you see below consists of two sentences.) Have you ever seen such riotous punctuation? And there's more, much more where these came from.*

If I ever start writing like this, you're free to send me brownies laced with rat poison.

Call it the speculative science fiction epic willing to flirt with cosmic pessimism; the eternally recurring saga of the space voyage toward our point of origin or ultimate destiny (they generally turn out to be pretty much identical); the drama of metamorphosis in which animals become human and humans become machines; the proleptic chronicle of a future depicted as so endangered it may not even come to pass, and so unappealing we might well wish it wouldn’t. This in its various cinematic permutations constitutes our theater of dread, cunningly disguised as a game; our stab at a commercially viable form of Wagnerian sublimity: The Twilight of the Humans, an existential cosmic opera-in-progress sketched out in the 1950s in Forbidden Planet and the BBC television serial Quatermass and the Pit, ennobled by Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey and Tarkovsky’s Solaris, and continually reconfigured ever since. 

*Courtesy of the New York Review of Books, full article here.

The Special Snowflake Syndrome Redux

First-time author Ryan Quinn penned an opinion piece that appeared in yesterday's (June 9) Huffington Post. Mr. Quinn, who's always been an athletic guy, was understandably proud to see his sports-related coming-of-age novel, The Fall, reach #2 on Amazon's bestseller list for sports fiction.
The book also hit #1 on another Amazon bestseller list -- that for gay and lesbian fiction. In spite of the fact Mr. Quinn happens to be gay, he's not so thrilled about nabbing that spot.  I understand his qualms. He doesn't see his book as a gay story; he never intended it to be a gay story. The novel has straight characters and hetero couples in addition to a gay character -- in other words, the same mix of young people one would expect to find on most college campuses. "The Gay Fiction tent has gotten too big," laments Mr. Quinn, and he believes gay authors and/or books with gay characters shouldn't automatically be shoved into it.
This is an excellent point, and well taken. The one queer character in Mr. Quinn's book (which, by the way, I haven't read) is apparently no more or less important than the other MCs, and his experiences don't either delineate the plot or define the theme.
So far, so good. The author has a legitimate gripe.
However, it's unfortunate Ryan Quinn didn't quit while he was ahead, because he soon goes off the rails and right into Divaland with subsequent statements. Like these:

 . . . Grouping a coming-of-age campus novel (to throw out some more bookseller labels) with titles whose main premise is lusty homoeroticism is a disservice to readers. . . . I don't want readers to come to The Fall looking for erotic tripe and leaving disappointed for lack of throbbing and thrusting. I want readers to come intrigued, and then leave entertained and a little more conscious of this world we live in.

Uh-oh, what happened to my sympathetic understanding? Well, damn, it just left the building! 
"Reasonable and Compassionate Self," I called after it, "what's wrong?"
"Now the dude's talking out of his ass," it answered, and kept going.
I couldn't dispute this. Mr. Quinn, it appears, has literally been judging books by their covers and not their content. I doubt he's even so much as read their blurbs. Why do I assume this? Because he makes a point of mentioning the 15 out of 20 Gay Fiction top-listers "that feature [covers with] shirtless male torsos, or men embracing, or both." (Seems to me the logical target for his umbrage should have been publishers and their often-questionable preferences for cover art.) And his concern about "doing a disservice to readers" strikes me as a bit disingenuous. I get the impression, although I could be wrong, he's more concerned about a disservice being done to him and his novel. 
I don't think I've ever written a book -- not since my days at Ellora's Cave, anyway -- whose main premise (emphasis mine) is lusty eroticism, homo or otherwise. And I believe the vast majority of gay fiction/m-m romance authors can justifiably make the same assertion. When readers consider buying my "erotic tripe" -- especially the contemporary tripe -- I, too, want them "to come intrigued, and then leave entertained and a little more conscious of this world we live in." I want this very, very much and work hard to make it happen. Dollars to donuts most of my peers feel the same way.
But . . . maybe we should cut Ryan Quinn some slack.* He is a first-time author, after all, and a lot of writers with literary aspirations are pretty full of themselves when their initial efforts are accepted for publication. I guess it’s understandable** he feels soiled through association with genre fiction.  Anyway, read this article to get the whole picture. Bet you're going to see more blog posts about it. ;-)___
* Nah, fuck it. If he's so conscientious a writer, he should be able to choose his words more carefully.
** I’m bullshitting you.

A Book You've Likely Never Heard Of

Every couple of years, I'll blow the dust off a book -- one of my books -- that isn't in the m/m romance genre and show it off. (I have worn other author hats.) So in case you're unaware of it, I published a novel with Samhain waaaaay back when they first opened their virtual doors. It's a dystopian thriller without an HEA, but it's very much a love story. A multifaceted love story. And it's dramatic. And angsty. Moreover, it bears my first-ever Anne Cain cover, which I adore to this day.

The book never took off -- to say the least -- because shortly after Samhain got up and running, they decided to publish standard erotic romance to the exclusion of everything else. (In practice if not in theory, they pretty much had been doing so right from the start.) My red-headed stepchild was not a good fit in this family and thus ending up languishing in the cellar. Of course, the fact I published it under another name didn't improve its subsequent visibility.

So . . . here it is. Book Utopia Mom had the courage to write a review of this novel. The print edition is available at the publisher's site and Amazon. All e-book formats are also available at the publisher's site, or you can get a Kindle edition straight from Amazon. (It's cheap, too!)

A blurb follows. I believe the first chapter is posted at Samhain.



Books burned, adulterers stoned, gays attacked, government leaders and institutions controlled by a religious hierarchy, visions of a worldwide holy war—is it happening in the Middle East…or in the United States?

Paragenesis is a coalition formed by ultraconservative religious leaders and their devout followers. A man known only as the Summoner, never seen in public, is its leader. As this juggernaut gains momentum, cherished rights and freedoms are swept aside, and the United States becomes a theocracy as fierce and unforgiving as any within the Islamic world.

Two ordinary citizens—Catherine, a divorced woman, and Theodore, her alcohol-dependent former parish priest—set out to find the coalition’s secret nerve-center, the Citadel, gathering whatever information they can by traveling the “Devil’s Railroad” from one resistance group to another. In St. Louis they meet Martin Sovalle, a bisexual man of startling beauty with whom Catherine falls in love and who disappears following a vicious vigilante attack.

Unbeknownst to Catherine and Theo, the Summoner has in fact been luring them to his headquarters for the purpose of playing out an End Time drama he believes God has relayed to him in a series of visions. And Martin Sovalle has become his bait.

What happens once the lives of these four people collide at the Citadel is something none of them—except perhaps the unlikely mystic, Theo—could have foreseen…

Contains controversial material, graphic language, and moderate violence.

Let's Talk Turkey

Specifically -- how, in all subgenres of romance fiction, the inauthentic pansexual appropriation of marginalized feminist ideals can conceivably, even if inadvertently, construct a paradigm for oppression of . . .
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Ah, fuck it. What I really want to know is, am I a pervert for wanting to see Ashton Kutcher naked in that camera commercial where he sort of takes a flying stop-action leap with his legs spread?

Say it loud!

June is Pride month! (It's also Dairy month, but we'll conveniently skip over that. :))

Here's a bit of history from Wikipedia:

In the United States the month of June was chosen to commemorate the Stonewall riots, which occurred at the end of June 1969. As a result, many pride events are held during this month to recognize the impact LGBT people have had in the world. On five occasions, the President of the United States has officially declared a Pride Month. First, President Bill Clinton declared June "Gay & Lesbian Pride Month" on June 2, 2000. Then, in 2009, 2010, 2011, and 2012, President Barack Obama declared June Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, and Transgender Pride Month. 

Milwaukee's PrideFest will be celebrating its 25th Anniversary (woohoo!) with an incredible array of events this coming weekend, June 8-10, at the Summerfest grounds (Henry Maier Festival Park). Sorry to say I can only be there in spirit.

So, a very happy and proud June to all my GLBTQ* brothers and sisters, wherever you live. Long may you defy the nay-sayers with your joy and love!

Mooovelous!

Democracy in action?

Unless those of you who live in the U.S. have taken up residence in a cave complex, you probably know there's a gubernatorial recall election going on in Wisconsin today.

I've had very mixed feelings about it.

Mahlon Mitchell, running against the despicable lieutenant governor, Rebecca Kleefisch 
On the one hand, I've never voted for a Republican in my life, which means I'm not exactly a huge fan of fatcat-backed Scott Walker, who's now in office. And I very much like and respect Democrat Tom Barrett, Milwaukee's mayor. He's a decent, intelligent man, loaded with integrity. (This caring guy even got himself seriously injured when he intervened during a purse-snatching incident.)

BUT . . . Walker was elected fair and square, and hasn't committed any malfeasance (that I know of). Should millions of tax dollars be spent on a recall election simply because one small portion of the electorate is disaffected with the incumbent? Somehow, this doesn't feel right.

Public employees' unions, which initiated the recall, have been pissing a lot of people off. They trashed the state capitol building during their protests. Would've been nice if they'd cleaned up after themselves, but they didn't. Taxpayers had to foot the bill. They've also evinced a sense of entitlement that workers in the private sector -- who generally earn far less and must get by with minimal-to-no benefits and pension plans -- find disgusting. (I, for one, have seen firsthand the dismal results of the state's public education system, so I have precious little sympathy for teachers who are being handsomely rewarded for their ineptitude.)

My gubernatorial vote remains undecided.

HOWEVER . . . this election also gives voters the chance to split their tickets and remove a far more odious politician from office: the lieutenant governor, Rebecca "good Christian woman" Kleefisch. She's a reactionary, anti-gay-rights, anti-women's-rights nitwit reincarnation of Joe McCarthy, as much an embarrassment to Wisconsin as Palin was to Alaska, and my X will go into her opponent's box as fast as my hand can move. (There are no voting machines in my township, so yes, we must mark paper ballots.) Call me a hypocrite, but I don't have a single qualm about giving her the boot. I hate the bitch and everything she stands for. No religion-driven ideologue is fit to hold public office. That's my bottom line.

So, playing out today in my corner of the world is a perfect, and perfectly crazy, example of democracy in action -- complete with personal agendas, special interests, virulent prejudices, and lofty ideals.

Which reminds me: I have to get my Common Sense Party up and running pretty soon. ;-)

Striving for a WIP that's actually "in progress"

The arrival of spring combined with the arrival of a less-than-sunny attitude toward writing has really slowed down the flow of my creative juices for the past couple of months. I started two books, felt the sluggishness set it, waffled between both projects, then set them aside. Many things about the GLBTQ* writing community have recently (and rather seriously) stanched my enthusiasm for it. So I've been disengaging myself from the whole author thing.

Last night I lay awake, thinking about my two stalled WIPs and how I need to get one of them going. I can't publish a story every two to four weeks like some writers in the genre -- a feat that profoundly boggles my mind -- but I should be able to manage something every three to six months. My position on this overcrowded playing field is tenuous enough. I need to keep my name out there. I need to produce, and to the best of my ability.

That final clause threw my thoughts onto another track. Does it even pay to write well? Maybe I should follow the lead of some of my peers and strive for quantity, compose a few tearjerkers or sex romps or chuckle fests every couple of months. There'd be nothing wrong with that. Readers seem to enjoy the output of speed writers as much as or more than that of poky writers. My books thus far haven't exactly blown people away, so I wouldn't have anything to lose.

Stephen King, the decades-long Grand High Master of every bestseller list in existence, seems to imply it doesn’t pay to fuss over craftsmanship. He’s proclaimed that James Patterson is “a terrible writer,” Dean Koontz is “sometimes . . . just awful,” and Stephenie Meyer “can’t write worth a darn. She’s not very good.” (I have a feeling Steve was pulling his punches when it came to good ol’ Steph.) Yet King readily admits – because really, the facts speak for themselves – their books sell like crazy.

I've seen this in the m/m romance genre too. It's a compelling argument, I realized, for altering my mindset.

After my thoughts took a few more turns (and by then it was 2:00 a.m.), a title for one of my WIPs popped into my mind. Remember that story with the polka band? I decided to call it Xylophone. Unfortunately, along with the title came a premise that's heavy rather than light. So much for altering my mindset. After hours of tossing from side to side and considering how to jump-start my productivity, I landed back at the same place: facing a project which, like Merman, is going to take a while to complete, strain my brain in the process, and yield the same unspectacular results in terms of reception.

Damn, I hate the way my imagination works. I so wish I could just say FUCK NO to most of my ideas, devise a works-every-time formula, and keep capitalizing on it!

Wha . . .? Who IS that dude?

Y'all have probably heard that authors often don't have much control over their cover art. It's an unfortunate fact of this business.

Now, I'll be the first to admit I've been spoiled. I've been graced with some extraordinary (and two award-winning) covers. The one for Carny's Magic is quite nicely done. But . . . but . . . who's that dude in the foreground? Frankly, I haven't the slightest idea. It's like he sneaked in from somebody else's story, because he doesn't resemble any character in this one.

It's been bugging the snot out of me.

So of course, being as spoiled as I am, I feel the need to clarify. Here's roughly how I envision Carny, Peter, Jackson, and Adin (not that it matters; I'm only the author). All the details aren't exact, but these are fair approximations.

  Carny
His face, his build, his spirit.

Peter
This is a lovely Silver Publishing cover.
My character has brown eyes and no wings. :-)

Andrej Pejic would do, too.
Jackson
This is the image that appears on
the covers of InDescent and
To Be Where You Are,
and it's amazingly accurate.

Adin 
(Take your pick!)
Top photo is from the cover of Kresley's Cole's
Dark Needs at Night's Edge.
Bottom photo was ganked from M.J. and Piper
at Babes in Boyland.

P-Day

Available HERE.

Excerpt 2: Carny's Magic

Happy Memorial Day to all U.S. readers. And happy weekend to the rest of you! 
I'd promised another snip from Carny's Magic, and here it is. This scene takes place after Carny and Peter have grown close and life at "Casa Spey" starts getting seriously, disturbingly weird. 
* * *
I see no light through the small window beside Peter’s door, so I don’t knock. He could be asleep. Instead I go into stealth mode and let myself inside. Peter has left his door unlocked since we started seeing each other.
Immediately I know he’s here. His scent is stronger when he’s here, and I also pick up the sound of his soft, even breathing. Within seconds my eyes adjust to the gloom.
Filtered white moonlight clings to the body on the bed, or at least portions of it: Peter’s face, pale as a wafer, turned into the pillow; his arms, resting limply on his torso; one bent leg and the smudge of his canted foot. A dark-colored sheet obscures the rest.
He moves his head but doesn’t awaken. Even though silver minnows swim through his hair.
I want to tuck in his arms and that lone, out-flung leg, pull the sheet taut around him to make a protective bunting. Right now I could swear he’s a will-o’-the-wisp, seeping through the seams of night. The image frightens me. I want to make him solid again and anchor him to my world.
What am I going to do?
Pad over to his bed, for starters. Sink down beside it. Take one of his hands in both of mine and rest my forehead on this small bundle of us.
“Carny? Is that you?” He sounds groggy, wrung out. And very vulnerable.
“Yes.”
“I’m so glad you came. I’m really sorry. It hurts, feeling this sorry.”
My throat begins to clog. “I know.” I kiss his hand.
“Don’t give up on me.”
My mouth forms the words I won’t.