Lorna George's Blog, page 8

The Trouble With Sequels

I like to think that when my actual blogging goes neglected for long periods of time, that you guys all know it’s because I’m busy writing. The truth is that while that’s often the case, this time it hasn’t been.

The last month has been agonising. You would be forgiven for thinking that’s how all my months feel, but no. I can be a little dramatic (I’m a writer; what do you want from me?) but truly, these last few weeks have wiped me out. I haven’t been this tired since I did six weeks without a day off as the manager of a clothes shop. Anyone who thinks that sounds easy has obviously never worked in retail, let alone in management.

Anyway! I digress. I’m tired, and a lot of things have been happening. I’m not going to bore you with discussions about the Penny Dreadful finale, or Brexit, or work, or the agony of wisdom teeth, or long lost relatives, or personal bereavements. It’s all terribly dull, not to put too fine a point on it, and I have a therapist for that. What I am going to talk to you about, however, is the pitfalls of sequels, self-publishing, and knowing when to stop.

Anyone who follows me on other social media, specifically tumblr and twitter (where my “professional filter” tends to be more of a vague gesture than a strict set of rules) will know that I’ve been struggling a lot with book two, despite proclaiming not that long ago that it was basically finished. Not for the first time in my life I had the wind knocked out of me by a pretty severe bout of self-doubt, and instead of working on the first draft of book three, I stared into space and even began another rewrite of book two.

I’m so afraid, you see. Book one wasn’t a success in the commonly acceptable way. I didn’t sell many copies at all, I have less than 2% of reviews comparable to Kindle downloads, and I receive regular messages from strangers telling me that I have no business writing. Now there are days when I want to quit because of all of the above, but I don’t. The reason I don’t is because there is a handful of people who enjoyed the book! People who go out of their way to make sure I know they enjoyed it, that they’re waiting for the sequel, and want to talk about the characters and the story and where things might possibly progress for Naomi in the future.

It sustains me through the bad patches. I have a folder on my desktop, labelled “FEEL-THE-LOVE” where I have screenshots of nice things people have said/written about The Redwood Rebel. On the very bad days I click through it to remind myself of what I’m doing. My mission statement, if you will: So Long As Even One Person Loves It, I Will Keep Going.

This is where things get sticky, though. I swing like a deranged pendulum between “some people loved book one” to “what if they end up hating book two”. I’ve read many a series myself where book one has been so promising, but the sequel leaves me feeling flat and a little disappointed. I don’t want to do that to any of the few readers I have, and so I’ve been working my tail off to make certain that book two is the absolute best I can make it.

As a self-published author, this can be quite difficult. The buck stops with me. I don’t have an agent or a publisher to look it over and tell me something needs to be changed. I have a wonderful group of beta readers, all of whom I’m incredibly grateful for, but they can only advise me so far. I have to decide for myself when the book is done, and that’s been really hard.

Book one was easier, because I reached a point where I put my pen down and thought to myself that it was ready to send out to prospective agents. That didn’t go well at all, of course, but I managed and I kicked my backside over that finish line anyway.

This time I haven’t had that defining moment of knowing the book is ready. I was waiting for it, but it never came. When I finished the eighth draft I felt like it was good, but I couldn’t be sure if that was just me copping out because I couldn’t bring myself to rewrite it again. I think that’s why I’ve been in this limbo ever since, and hoping for some sort of closure.

Today, at last, it happened.

I found a post on tumblr with some links to editing tools, one of which was this one. It’s a narrator program, and considering it’s free, it’s a pretty decent one, too. I pasted book two into it, and I hit play. At first it was sort of a laugh. I thought it might help me find typos (which it did) but as I listened through chapter one, I played about with the voice options, and my book suddenly came to life.

I listened to it for three days, before and after shifts at The Day Job. I lost a lot of sleep by sitting up so late and getting up so early, but this morning I finished it at last, and I just sat very quietly, looking at the last line. I thought to myself, “You know what, Lorna? That was good.”

…Not ashamed to admit that I then typed in “Banana” and “Bloop” and laughed for an embarrassingly long amount of time.

I went back, I made changes, and now I’m ready.

The book is ready.

July 1st – 4th: Free Kindle Giveaway of “The Redwood Rebel”

Get Your Copy Here

Review: “Nan Nose Best” by Jill Turner

Once again Jill Turner delivers a wonderfully fun and delightful read.

“Nan Nose Best” is humorous and real in a way that many books often don’t manage, with a wonderful protagonist who anyone who went through awkward teenage years (and let’s be real; we all did) will immediately feel a connection to. It isn’t often I’ve had the privilege to read about an ordinary teenager, and by ordinary I mean that, no, she does not have any special powers and isn’t going to fulfil a prophecy or anything like that, but mostly because she comes from the same background as I did.

Her family is struggling financially, her parents are unhappily married, and her school life is up and down like a yo-yo. You don’t often see a real and honest portrayal of that lifestyle and situation, so I take my hat off to the author for doing it true justice.

The supporting characters are all lively and bright in their own ways, particularly Jade’s Nan, whose antics made me laugh aloud on more than one occasion. Jade’s friends are so true of cliques at school that I found myself truly impressed that it had been written by someone not currently experiencing it for themselves. Sometimes I find that authors –particularly older authors- are very out of touch with how things really are for teenagers, and it can be horribly cringe-worthy. Jill Turner does the entire thing with such finesse and honesty, it’s a book I truly feel many writers could learn from.

The style and tone are very appealing, and the plot moves along at such a fantastic pace I couldn’t put the book down. I admit I was a little unsure about the diary format at first, but only a few pages in I felt like it was the right stylistic choice and added to the charm of the story as a whole.

Always looking forward to more work from this talented author. In the meantime, I can’t recommend this book highly enough.

Going Under: Part 1

The first time she summoned me, neither of us realised she had. It was only long after the fact that even I understood how she had called me to her side, and longer still for her to believe it. We did not recognise one another for who or what we were that first time, which was more my mistake than hers. I am as old as time itself; older even. My domain is the dark depths of the ocean, my power as strong as the currents and my strength implacable as the tides. She was only a child of six, living in the human world.

There is a storm ravaged and remote beach along the south coast of England, a place where I had visited a few times in my existence, the small patch of sand only visible for a few hours each day before being swallowed up by the sea, leaving only the sheer, red cliffs to be battered by the ocean. That was where I first saw her, not questioning for even a moment how such a small thing had managed to get there, let alone how she planned to get back out again.

I stayed away from humans for the most part, but something about this child called to me, her carefree laughter like music and her blue eyes dancing with a wonder that I knew was only brief in their realm. She saw the magic of the world, but human society had a harsh tendency to blot that out of their young as quickly as possible. I was tired from my travels, lonely perhaps, though I would not have admitted it at the time, and this small child caught my attention.

She was quite alone, racing back and forth and laughing as she played tag with the waves, shrieking in delight each time I caught her. I had not meant to play along, but her simple pleasure and innocent glee made my involvement irresistible. Her black hair streamed out behind her, her round face red with exertion and hilarity as my waves chased her back and forth, and as we played the small game, I noticed save for her tiny feet she was completely dry. Perhaps it was cruel, though I tend to believe it was mostly thoughtless, but I felt challenged by that. I am old, as I have said, and details occasionally slip away from me. Details such as young human children being unable to swim.

I pulled my power back, then pushed forwards once again, with much more force than I had been using, and the little girl hardly had time to cry out as the wave washed over her head and knocked her over. The act itself was careless, but when I look back now I am filled with abhorrence that I almost decided not to help her. I am often accused of cruelty, but have always shrugged it off as a human concept, far beneath my notice. I suppose that is what comes of being as old as the world and commanding the power of the oceans.

Still, save her I did, despite my brief hesitation. I felt responsible for her predicament as her body was dragged back into deeper water than she could possibly survive, her little lungs filling with cold ocean as she tried to cry for help. She fought against me, even as I lifted her up to the surface and pushed her tiny body back towards the safety of the beach. She continued to inhale more water than was safe for a human, and I knew she did not understand that I was trying to help.

I pulled together my power until I was a solid form, making certain it was human-shaped, and swept her little body up in my arms. I thought little above the basics of the shape I took; male, black hair not unlike her own, and adult. A normal sort of human shape, I believe, and other than the sea green eyes that I couldn’t help, relatively unremarkable. She coughed and spluttered, heaving and crying as she clung to me while I carried her to dry land, and I remember thinking how very small and easily broken these creatures were.

‘There there,’ I said patting her back and helping to expel the water from her lungs. ‘You are safe now, little one.’

She said nothing, but continued to cry and gasp, pointedly refusing to let go of me. I tried not to sigh in resignation, sitting down on the sand and rocking her gently as I waited for her to become calm. It’s difficult to explain in terms that can be understood how it feels for me to contain myself to a body. It isn’t uncomfortable, exactly, but it is unusual. To me the world is small, the creatures who reside here smaller still. When I confine myself to a solid form I do not feel small, but I feel like I ought to. I occasionally make myself far too large for the species I am attempting to impersonate, but as I held this shivering bundle of frightened human child, I had never felt larger. She was so tiny and helpless, and for the first time in my long years, I felt clumsy. It was odd, and in my confusion, I became annoyed.

‘What are you doing playing with the ocean if you cannot swim?’ I asked, the question being the very justification I would have gifted myself had she not survived. She looked up at me, and I could see the hurt and fear in her sky blue eyes, the innocent joy of only minutes before completely dissipated.

‘It wasn’t supposed to do that!’ she cried, her lips quivering. ‘I was only playing! We were having fun!’

Her choice of words confused me for a moment. ‘We?’

‘Me and the sea!’

I watched her carefully, but felt an odd shame for my actions. She did not mean to accuse me, at least not in the sense of her knowing I was personally to blame, but it cut me somehow. We had been having fun, and I had ruined it. It was not her fault that I had become carried away.

‘You must be more careful in future,’ I cautioned, sweeping my strange reactions aside in the face of her sense of betrayal at my hands. ‘The ocean is dangerous. It is vast and deep, and cares little for those who treat it with no respect. You must learn to swim if you wish to play again, but even then you must understand and accept the dangers of taking so lightly a timeless creation.’

She looked up at me, the wonder at my words plain on her open face. Perhaps it was a little heavy for one so young, but I felt compelled to warn her if I might. She shifted slightly on my lap and the movement jolted us both as the red, bleeding scrapes along her legs and arms where the sand and sharp stones had dragged against her helpless body pained her. Tears again began to well up as she noticed the state she was in, and I found it almost laughable that humans were more upset by the site of an injury than the actual pain itself.

‘There now, don’t weep,’ I soothed, looking at the injuries and assuring myself they were only superficial. There was no real damage, no broken bones or even seriously damaged flesh, but her tears came anyway, a fresh tide of salt water pouring forth. ‘Hush little one, won’t you? It is not serious.’

She hiccupped, her emotions more volatile than I had expected, her own anger and frustration at her tears flashing forth. ‘It hurts!’

‘I can heal you, if you choose?’ I asked, my dislike for the sound of her weeping becoming stronger with each moment. Elementals such as I are governed by strict rules, the most important of these that we cannot give without receiving, nor can we take without giving back. So far we were balanced, she having given me her laughter and I had given her life back. There were always loopholes, ways around certain things in order to get or do what was needed, but to heal her injuries would require more obvious payment.

‘Can you?’ she sniffled. ‘Do you have a plaster?’

I believe I may have smiled at that, her innocent misunderstanding of my offer, her childlike belief that a strip of man-made plastic would set everything right once more was endearing and sweet. ‘No little one, I do not have a …plaster. I have instead the ability to make your wounds vanish immediately, but it is very precious. If you wish me to use it, I must ask for something in return.’

‘What?’ she asked, the simplicity of a child much more refreshing than her adult counterparts. There was no suspicion, no disbelief for my words or claim, and I became a little saddened that one day this would leave her. She would become as jaded as every other human at some point, and it was a terrible shame.

I considered my options as I looked at the child. Payment must be taken, but she had nothing to offer me. An adult, in the rare instances that I had offered any service, could be bought off with a kiss or some personal gesture, but this was a small girl and I did not want such a thing from her. I saw the tears on her round cheeks, the way they had tracked to her chin and mingled with the water of her near drowning, and I was struck by an inspiration.

‘May I?’ I asked, reaching out carefully to her face. She nodded, and I gathered each droplet upon my fingers, using my magic to bind them together. A small drop of her blood was mixed in with the tears and seawater, and I gently extracted it into a separate creation. With these things, I forged a pendant for myself, a milky stone from the water and salt, decorated with swirls of silver and adorned by the tiniest red gem from her blood. I looked at the beautiful thing and smiled, creating a slim chain and looping it over my head to wear. It would remind me to have more care with my power.

When I looked back up at the child, still sat upon my lap, she looked at the pendant with awe. I smoothed her black, wet hair back from her face, then offered her the pendant to look upon. Still on its chain about my neck, she took it up in her tiny fingers and caressed the smooth stone and raised silver design. While she was distracted, I washed my power down her broken and sore flesh, mending it immediately. She appeared not to notice.

I allowed her to sit and fiddle with the charm I had made from her pain for a while, the peace of the moment soothing. Eventually though, I became afraid she might fall asleep, and knew the time had come for the tide to turn.

‘Time to return home, little one.’ I said more softly than I’d intended. She said nothing, only releasing the pendant and nodding once. I helped her stand, and she ran a pudgy little hand down her leg as she realised her injuries were gone. She gasped in surprise, but I was already gone. I did not want her to thank me, as it had really been my own fault to begin with.

It was only when I had moved miles from the coast that I realised she had no way out of the enclosed beach, and without thought, I turned and went back again. I chose at the time to not too closely examine my concern for her as I rushed back to the patch of sand on that rocky outcrop that I knew full well would be almost swallowed whole by now.

When I got there, however, there was no sign of the child.

[UNTITLED]

The Royal Sentinel

Months have passed since Naomi’s escape from Ffion.

At last she has reached Asuya, the capital city of Tsumetai far to the frigid North. Seeking council with the Empress, Naomi believes her family connections and past deeds of valour will be enough to gain the support she needs to reclaim her home from Adrienne’s grasp.

When it becomes clear it could never be so simple, Naomi has to balance her loyalties, learn diplomacy, and protect both herself and those around her from the threat of her increasingly desperate enemies.

It certainly doesn’t help to find a very unpleasant surprise awaiting her arrival.

A Short Note From An Exhausted Author

As some of you will already know, I finally finished this rewrite of book two! I’m feeling incredibly optimistic about this one, and I think it will probably be the one to make it through the editing process.

I sent it out to my Alpha Reader (all hail the Alpha Reader, for she is patient and wise) and a few Betas, and so far the feedback has been encouraging. I’m incredibly relieved right now, because as much as I love the story, eight drafts is a bit much. Nine drafts? Well. I was getting ready to chop off my fingers, wrap them in bacon, drizzle them in olive oil and cook on a medium heat until crispy.

It does still need some work, of course, but I can’t see another massive rewrite on the horizon, at least, and that’s no small victory. There’s still a few people I have to contact in regards to getting as wide a variety of feedback as possible, then once I’m all straight in my own mind and the manuscript is as tight as I can make it, I’ll send it off to be looked at by a professional editor.

I have a tentative launch date circled on my calendar at the moment, but it looks like it definitely won’t be this October now. Instead I’m aiming for early February 2017, but I’ll be sure to post when I have something more solid to go on.

In the meantime, I’ll start work on the first draft of book three, and the whole process can start all over again!

As difficult as “The Royal Sentinel” has been to finish, I do feel like I learnt a lot along the way. More than learning new things, however, I feel like the most important thing I’ve taken from the experience is a reaffirmation that the best thing a writer can have is perseverance.

Thankfully I’m nothing if not pig-headed.

Captain America, and Other Opportunities

is there an echo in here?

A lot of the time, people seem to think that increasing LGBTQA+ presence in media is a matter of less popular content with good diversity and representation (on all fronts) rising up to become more popular. But, in truth, while inclusiveness is good regardless of the source, popular media has a responsibility to provide representation.

For one thing, the annoying truth is that it’s really hard for less popular media to become successful with so much negativity and competition out there. It can be hard to find a large enough audience to be successful, and even then, the amount of people exposed to good representation is still vastly smaller to the numbers of people consuming popular media. For some reason, it doesn’t seem to occur to people as often that larger franchises, with pre-existing fanbases who are already invested in the characters and storylines, can include diversity of any kind…

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When Women Say No — Jen Ponce Author

There was a man on Facebook crying misandry when a friend posted a meme about the fear women have when they say no. He felt that since he, personally, didn’t push it when a woman said no, then it was safe to say that women just overreact when it comes to strange men asking them…

via When Women Say No — Jen Ponce Author

Now Only 99¢ on Kindle!

 

“In the aftermath of civil war, the people of Ffion starve. The trade has dwindled, the harvest has failed, and all power belongs to the cruel and corrupt. Those few who could have fled the forest continent for other lands, but most are trapped by their poverty and love of their homeland, with little hope for change.

Far beneath Chloris Castle, the rebel Naomi has been incarcerated since the tyrannical Princess Adrienne stole the Redwood Throne. Starved of light and warmth for the past four years, she has had only her rage and determination to keep her going as she both fears and yearns for death to claim her at last.

In a violent sweep of fate, she is dragged back into the light once more, the Princess and her Councillor hoping to use her as a pawn against the powerful Dragon King of Koren. Faced with an almost impossible choice, Naomi strikes a deal with her captors that will set her free at last.

Unfortunately, she soon finds she has taken on much more than she bargained for.”

Buy it here!