Renee Miller's Blog, page 34

Up Yours, Anxiety

"Chainmail gloves will not prevent a plant from stabbing your hands. Also, they aren't gardening gloves and gardeners will not know what you're talking about."

I read the editor's comments, my gut tightening in that familiar way. "Really? Really, Miss Editor of the fucking year? What the hell do you think they wore in the time of sharp things stabbing at you constantly? Huh? They wore chainmail. Why? Because it gives you a chance not to die from the sharp things, you jackass."

I don't type this in the little message box we're supposed to write our "rebuttals" to the editor in. No, I'm quite pleasant as I go about explaining Medieval attire to this person, and how chainmail gloves are available to buy in many places and no, they aren't a typical gardening item, but when one works with this species of Yucca plant, one might want to avoid the leather cloves that the leaves can CUT RIGHT THROUGH. I hit send, knowing that the article will be rejected and I just wasted three hours of my life on an article that won't earn me the fifteen dollars I was hoping for. C'est la vie.

This is not the writing career I imagined a few years ago when I said, "I shall be a writer and I shall entertain the masses with my witty prose and amusing banter." Still, I have hope. I stare out the window. The dog barks. He thinks I'm looking at something interesting and bark-worthy. I've forgotten how he does that. I quickly look back to my screen.  He barks a few more times and settles back into the chair.

The email icon flashes blue. I have mail. It never fails to excite me just a little. I'll cop to that. Damn, it's that little Spaniard again with more of his brilliant ideas. I open the email and see a list of things we have to do before our monster book is published. I want to punch him in the mouth for this email. I tell him so. He is not alarmed. There's an ocean between us and also, he knows my fits of rage are short-lived. I dutifully save the list and wonder where I'll find time to do what it is we need to do. I suppose I could cut back to four hours of sleep instead of six. I've done it before.

Anxiety burns in my chest. I push it down. It resists. Fucking Anxiety. Why does it always have to be so confrontational? Anger goes back down without much fight, so does sadness, fatigue and that jittery feeling I get when I view Clive; what's Anxiety's problem?

I push it down with a bit more force than the first time. It settles in my gut. We reach a compromise.

Pulling up the page of notes I made the day before, I begin the next article that some copyeditor, whose name I'm not allowed to know, will surely take issue with and force me to edit to suit his or her whim, and I write. My brain fogs over while writing articles. I'm not entirely sure it's in a good way, and certainly not the same way it does when I write fiction. I don't hear anything else until my brain cramps and forces me to come up for air. I submit the fruits of that fog and cross my fingers.

I have a designated internet break half way through my day. During this break I flip through Facebook, Twitter, Goodreads, Cracked, and YouTube. It's a good way to decompress my brain and shake the ickiness of content writing from my heart.

My mind drifts to the queries I've resisted sending for an entire month. Anxiety tells me to send a query. Just one. But I'm sick of rejection. Sick of feeling not good enough. Sick of the hoops. But the anxiety pushes upward, telling me if I don't send a query then I'm stagnant. "Nothing worse than not doing anything." It says. I might argue that the awful feeling of failing yet again is worse, but anxiety won't have it. "You'll never publish anything. Ever. If you don't keep doing, you won't see a result. Probably better if you just give up right now. Have you ever experienced as much heartache as you have during this writing thing? No, I don't think you have."

Anxiety is right, in part. I have never felt this emotionally spent in my life. Not even when I truly believed I'd be alone forever because I was not good enough to be loved. (oh yeah, I was that pathetic) Anxiety also reminds me that with the Writer's Companion coming out, I'm in way over my head. How on earth did I ever convince myself I could manage such a thing? I'm just Renee Nothing from Nowhere Ontario who can't even manage a couple of dogs. How the hell would I make a book about writing successful? Why should anyone buy it? No one's bought my fiction so far. Obviously I'm doing something wrong. Even worse, if it's successful, people will expect more greatness. What if that's all the greatness I have? What then?

This folks, is my daily dialogue with myself. It's intensified right now because I have a book coming out in a matter of days and of course, I'm insane with worry over it, not because I think it sucks, but because I know it's good and I want it to get the chance it deserves. Also, it's not just my baby. Carlos busted his ass on this one too. I want it to be all that he envisioned as well.

Most of my trouble with this stems from the fact that we're publishing this book ourselves. We have an editor. Yes, a real one and we've spent months poring over every sentence, every comma, to make sure it is exactly as it should be. Nonfiction is one of those markets where self-publishing is encouraged, but it still bothers me. I got into that "must have a publisher" mentality and it's hard to shake it off. I feel guilty that I look at my manuscripts and feel an almost irresistible temptation to just go for it. Anxiety says I'll ruin my career if I do, but in the same breath it also says I'll have no career if I don't. I hate Anxiety.

Most days I don't have this double stress. Usually it's Anxiety telling me that the reason I'm not published is because I suck. Period.

Believe it or not, this inner dialogue is what keeps me going. It makes me study harder and push farther. Insane, I know.

I've fought self-doubt and low self-esteem most of my life. I was a shy, fat kid who didn't make friends easily. People liked me, but interacting terrified me. In my teens I was a freakishly tall, flat-chested girl who wore a back brace made of solid plastic that covered my body from just under my nonexistent boobs to my pelvis. Yeah, real popular with the boys. In my early 20's I wasn't as skinny and lost the back brace, but I had no view toward the future. I had no hopes or dreams. I was just living each day as it came and considered it a good day if nothing catastrophic happened. I don't want sympathy. I'm just explaining why I keep doing this thing that makes me want to stick my head in the oven at least once each week.While I am a confident person for the most part, I do get discouraged quite regularly. 

But...

I've never worked this hard for anything in my life. Quitting is not an option. When I start feeling like maybe I've made a mistake, it strengthens my resolve to "do this thing" and believe me, I plant to do the shit out of it.

And besides, we've established I am not cut out for housewifery.

Everything You Never Wanted to Know about Me, and a Few Things You Didn't Know You Did

My goal for this blog was to have every post related to writing and publishing in some way. I've been mostly successful I think. When I was pondering what to write about this week, Maria suggested a post about me. I thought, "But that's got nothing to do with writing."

But you know, it sort of has everything to do with my writing. Don't worry, I'll explain.

I've been working on my author bio for the Writer's Companion, the release of which is approaching faster than I expected (yikes), and I spent hours trying to make my very basic publishing experience sound fantastic and grand. Then I realized that it's not my published work the reader cares about, it's what makes me the writer I am today. What gives me my unique voice? What inspires the ideas for my work; the characters and the setting?  

So, here it is, my life condensed into a blog post. My early life was chaotic and sad and I won't share it here. I consider that life to be sort of like a past life, non-existent anymore and unimportant in the grand scheme of things. 

Bygones.

At the age of three my mother moved us to Tweed, Ontario. I left briefly in the late nineties because I was young and stupid, but came back because I'm a redneck at heart and you know, it's inspired many favorite characters. So, yay Tweed!

Everything you never wanted to know about Tweed, Ontario

I started life as a fat kid. No, seriously. Look.



I was painfully shy and would cry if strangers even looked at me. But it got worse. When I started school, I got chunkier. I couldn't play tag with the other kids because my thighs were so chubby I tripped when I ran. In Kindergarten, was too shy to let the lunchroom monitor (a snotty 12 year old from the school across the road who I secretly hated) know I had to pee, so I just wet my pants in front of the entire class.



Yeah, this kid peed her pants. Laugh it up.
By the age of 10 I acquire this baby mullet: 

By the way, this was my Princess dress. I wore it every other day for weeks because it was swirly and pretty.
I also discovered books. For hours on end I'd lose myself in stories far too adult for a 10 year old. But because I selected books my mother would never read in a million years (she's a Harlequin romance devotee) and then concocting the bald-faced lie that they came from the school library, I was able to devour most of the works of Stephen King in a single summer. This is where the passion to write began. I promised myself that one day, I'd write like that.

Of course, now I realize that promise was a bit impossible to keep. I have my own voice, and while I may be no Stephen King, I think I've got a good thing going on.

Things got better as I found my voice in other ways as well. This was largely due to my father. 



He might be a redneck, but most of my personality comes from him. Oh, and this dress:





Of course, up to that point, I had very little life experience. I was a shy, awkward kid who preferred to stay inside reading rather than do the insane things her friends liked to do, like breathe fresh air. I mean, who would play with a kid with hair like this?



I loathed pink. Despised it. Yet, my mother insisted I wear it. Even worse, she put teddy bears dancing across it.
Later, I dutifully went to college, although I was so terrified that for the entire month before orientation, I became physically ill each time I thought about it. I cried the morning of my first day…and the second day. Probably the third too. I have this fear of meeting new people. I also have a fear of driving, (actually, just being a passenger terrifies me too) and a phobia of feet. Blech.

In college though, I fell in love.



Okay, I fell in what I thought felt like love as I imagined it would be in my head. Turns out the feeling wasn't anything close. But I'll get to that later. We dated, moved out and got married the summer after I finished college. 



It was 90 freaking degrees outside, okay? You try to keep makeup in place and hair from wilting in that kind of heat. Also, it was 1997, everyone was doing poofy.
I got married the day before Princess Diana died. We came home from the reception, turned on the television (yes, a honeymoon that involves television is a bad sign) to see the news coverage of the crash. That wasn't the only bad omen that day, but when one is young, one ignores the signs of bad decisions hammering her in the head.

Besides, that mistake gave me this amazing gift:



Me & Courtney, July 1999. Again, the nineties, folks. Also, I had less fashion sense than I do now. Such a mess.
 The marriage dissolved rapidly after my daughter was born. Why? I realized what love really was and admitted that the feeling in my gut was unhappiness, not love. (cue the tiny violin)

The next three years were spent in a haze of making ends meet because my ex apparently had better things to do with his time than, oh I don't know, support his kid.

Bygones.

I worked several jobs at once for most of that three years. I was a waitress and a bartender at the Tweedsmuir. Oh, those were good times. For those of you that missed the Halloween post, this is me at the Smuir, October 31, 1999.



Good times.

I also worked as a gas station attendant. People trusted me to check their oil and the air in their tires. They also trusted me to put highly combustible material in their cars. Luckily, I managed the year without major catastrophe.

Later I worked in a lumber yard/building center. I started as cashier and worked my way upstairs into inventory control and about a million other little jobs that had no title. In that job I learned that sometimes, people can't handle that you're honest. Sometimes, people are idiots. Sometimes, you're further ahead to give into the urge to slam someone's face off the sales desk and call it a day. I didn't do that. Instead, when told I had to pretend to get along with a certain personality or get fired, I left.

In the early days of that job, I met Kurt. Yeah, he's still around. I only keep him because he gave me this:

And here's all my gifts together:

My pregnancy for Kennedy was a nightmare early on. They discovered there was only a two vessel cord, which is so rare that they can't really tell you anything at all about it without scaring the shit out of you. You're supposed to have three vessels in a normal pregnancy—for those that have no clue what I'm talking about—one main vessel, one taking things into the baby, and one taking things out. I was told horrible tales about babies born and dying within the first year, or born with severe deformities. They offered to do an amnio to determine if she was "defective" in any way and I could abort if I chose to. I didn't have to think about that one. I declined the amnio. I couldn't terminate the pregnancy even if I am pro-choice. (Go on, you bunch of freaks, send the hate mail.)

When Kennedy arrived, she had some issues. She had a heart murmur caused by two small holes. (These are now closed) She also had enlarged ventricles in her brain with too much fluid passing through. (Still there, but causing no problems) The most significant issue to me at the time was that her hearing in both ears was impaired. I know now it's not a big deal but we didn't see the bigger picture at first. When they throw this stuff at you all at once, you kind of focus on a single thing and freak out over that.

But then, at three months old Kennedy started crying one day. She cried all day, stopping only to sleep for about ten minutes because she'd exhausted herself. I took her to the hospital. They said it was gas. I took her home. She cried all night and all through the next day. I took her to the hospital. They said it was gas. I took her home. Her temperature spiked to 102 a few hours later and I took her back to the hospital. They tried to say gas and I lost it. Then, when they "humoured" me and began to remove her sleeper, we saw a rash all over her body. This was not there when we left for the hospital, although try to tell those idiots that.

Six medical personnel later, a pediatrician arrived. He promptly quarantined the staff and us. She had meningitis. Scariest moment of my entire life. We waited a full week before we could be assured she would make it. Suddenly, all that other stuff didn't matter. Hearing loss? Big fucking deal. We'll deal with it. Heart murmur? Nothing. She was sick every other week for the first two years of her life because her immune system was so badly damaged. But she was still here and I have never been more grateful for anything in my life.

My older daughter, Courtney, lived an interesting life then too. Mom would vanish in the night on yet another rush to the emergency room. When I was home, I was so tired I couldn't pay much attention to her. I'm lucky I have such an awesome kid. Not once did she voice or act out any resentment she might have felt during those days. She would just be her happy self and do whatever I needed her to do. During this I was trying to work 40 hour weeks too and I have to say, even working three jobs at once to support myself and Court was not as hard as those two years.

One day the backbone I fought so hard to develop when I was on my own with Courtney suddenly reappeared. I'm not sure where it went or what made it come back, but I quit the job I hated where I put up with constant bullshit from a single person day after day because I thought I had to, and took a job at Tim Horton's. I can't really say anything bad about that job. It was kind of fun. The drive-thru was insane. I spent more days cursing people in my head than I did actually enjoying myself, but you meet all kinds in a coffee shop. I quit that job after two years because while it was a better atmosphere, I was still dealing with a sick child and trying to help her manage in a world not used to accommodating her needs.

This was when my passion for writing came back. I hadn't written a single word since I got married. I lost the urge to write when I lost my self-esteem. It still tickled my brain now and then, but I often pushed it away thinking "What's the point?"

Then, one day while my daycare kids were napping, I scribbled a scene in a notebook. The next day I scribbled another. By the end of the month, I had a children's book finished. Of course, I made yet another mistake and believed that I could publish said book. I didn't consider it might be shitty writing, a rough draft, because that would mean I wouldn't be published, right?

Publish America took two books from me. I've been paid very little and doubt I'll ever see royalties for actual sales anyway. What hurts the most is knowing I cheapened something that was special to me and my daughters in my desperation to be published. It was my fault, my bad decision, and now I can't even look at the books without feeling nauseous and angry.

Bygones.

I've busted my ass to learn this thing called writing. I freelanced for a local paper where I got to cover fascinating news stories like the goat/sheep farming seminars, flower sales and the fire that happened before I got there. This was fun. I can't say it wasn't. Sadly, that didn't last.

Currently I freelance for online media, writing exciting articles about bedbugs, rose kingdoms and botrytis blight. It doesn't matter what I write about. They pay me. Also, I learn more about writing with each article I publish and I move one step closer to having my books in a reader's hands.

I write monthly challenges for Open Book Toronto as well. If you all want to check them out, I urge you to do so. Each month's winner is published in the e-zine.

Anyway, there's my ridiculously long post about how I came to write fiction…and how-to articles. Fascinating, aren't I? Actually, there's a whole history I didn't include because it might bother/hurt/anger people involved or incriminate me. (I jest.) You'll find bits of that in my writing. Someday.

Everybody, Just Calm the F*** Down

This blog post, as most of my blog posts,
will cover several topics. But this time I have a theme. It's called: Let's get
a fucking grip, people! Seriously.




You all wanted a good long rant, didn't you? I haven't indulged in a while.



Okay, first we'll talk about me and my
grip-losing insanity this week. For more than a year I've been querying agents
and publishers. It began with a single manuscript and over that period has
expanded to five manuscripts. Literally hundreds of queries have been sent
between the five. I've researched each one and sent the queries only to agents
or publishers I felt would like said manuscript and rejection, rejection,
rejection was the result.




So I stopped querying. I'm pausing to catch
my breath and decide what the hell it is I want out of this writing thing. Do I
want to be published? Yes. Do I need a publisher? I think so. Do I need an
agent? I'm not sure. Why not self-publish? Because I've worked hard and I want
a publisher and I'm good enough to have a publisher and if I self-publish then
it's like I just wasted 18 months querying. Right?




I want to traditionally publish my book for
more valid reasons than that. Really, it was a very well thought out decision
that had little to do with which is better and more to do with what felt right
to me personally.




Well, I have this one manuscript, I Do…And Other Lies We Tell, and it has
become a giant pain in my ass. I'm telling you it just keeps giving me trouble.
This is the manuscript that gets personal rejections nearly every time.
Granted, it's gotten a few form rejections, but I'd say 80 percent of the
rejections for this one have been personal notes that were encouraging, but
still turning me down. From commercial fiction agents/publishers I got this "While
the writing is excellent, we feel you would be better served working with
someone that handles literary fiction. It is not commercial enough for us.
Sorry." That's it in a nutshell. One particular rejection stated that the
characterization and dialogue in my sample chapters was "stellar", but sorry,
not commercial enough. Sigh.




So I changed my focus. I don't feel it's
literary, but if the pros think it is so be it. I'll query agents/publishers
looking for literary fiction.




From literary agents/publishers I got "While
we think the writing is strong, etc. this is not literary fiction. It is too
commercial for what we represent/publish." WTF? Come on now. How can it be too
commercial and yet, too literary? This is not possible. Then I read this post by Nathan Bransford and I swear to you, I thumped my head off the table several times. I think I
lost consciousness briefly, but that's not important. Why hurt myself like that?
Because I found my brain saying, "You should totally self-publish I Do, because
it's the only way it'll be published. He's totally right. The market is
changing. You gotta change with it." I wanted to stick a fork in my eye to shut
my thoughts up. How could I, the one who is certain the path she wants to take
in her career, even entertain the idea?




Then I went to bed, got up grumpy, drank a
bucket of coffee and I got a grip. So what if I considered it? So what if self-publishing
is sort of appealing. He's right. Times, they are changing whether I like it or
not. The publishing industry is drastically different than it was just a few
years ago. It is a different game. Doesn't it make sense to reconsider your
options? I calmed down and here I am, gripped and sane.




What are your thoughts on Nathan's post and
my reaction? Should I? Is the industry so changed that anyone stands a better
chance with self-publishing?




Now, onto the rest of you who insist on
annoying me this week. Let's begin with Twitter.




The world of Twitter is remarkably small.
Oh yes, for all the billions of Tweeps there are out there, news travels at
lightning speed, and so does reputation. You can ruin yourself real fast on
Twitter.




It is a great marketing tool for writers.
But please, folks, use it properly. Tweeting about your book and only your book
is not how you market on Twitter. I'm sorry, but if you post a dozen or more
times each day a link to both your book or your blog and nothing else, I am
going to unfollow you so fast it'll make your head spin. No, I don't care if
you unfollow me back. I don't want you on my list anyway. Will I buy your book?
Hell no. The title now annoys me so much because it keeps FILLING UP MY
TIMELINE SO I CAN'T READ ANYTHING ELSE, that I never want to see it again. Get
what I'm saying here?




Twitter, when properly used, builds an
online presence, gives people an idea of who you are and what your books are
about and it doesn't annoy, harass or piss people off. In other words, post
something other than your own damn links. Retweet a tweet that made you laugh.
Post a quote or two. Say hello to a few followers you enjoy following back.
Tweet about your book and your blog or whatever it is you're selling.
Definitely do that. But don't be so aggressive you have the wrong effect on
people. Also, if you must tweet over and over again, be creative and change it
up. You're a writer for crying out loud. Surely you can find different ways of
saying "Buy my book" or "Check out my book". And don't bitch when people don't
follow you back or don't retweet your shit. That annoys me too. Just because
you put "RT" before or after the tweet doesn't make it law that I must retweet
it. Actually, just don't put "RT" at all, because my Irish instantly prevents
me from doing so. "Oh, so the wee lass is ordering us to retweet her little bit
of nonsense, eh? Well, I'm afraid that isn't going to happen. We cannot
possibly do what we're ordered to do by someone we don't know. Never."




Get a grip on how to use Twitter in such a
way that it doesn't annoy the shit out of people.




Next, pen names. Jesus, I'm already running
so long here. Let's see…okay, unless you're a children's writer who also writes
erotica or other extremely-adult fiction, why? Why would you want to use any
name but your own? Sure if your name won't fit on the damn cover, I understand.
If your name is Seymour Butts, Hugh Jass or Ben Dover, perhaps you might
consider a pen name. If you're Nora Roberts, Stephen King or some other
household name that can let it "slip" they're using a pen name to rebrand and
use this "leak" of information to let readers know the pen name indicates a
different genre than they're used to, then fine. Have at it.




If you're Joe Nobody who hasn't published a
single thing and wants to use a pen name because you're worried about getting
rich and famous and gathering so many haters/stalkers that your life would be
in danger…get a grip. It's not likely to happen anyway. Own what you write.
Honestly, this ridiculous fad (or whatever you want to call it) where we all
hide behind anonymity because we're afraid of offending this person or that or
because we'd never say these things without the protective cloak of a pen name,
makes me sick. It annoys me. Why? If you're so afraid to own something you've
written, don't publish it. If you don't have the balls to say "Yeah, I wrote
this" then you don't deserve to publish it. That's right, I went there. Get a
grip, folks. Don't assume you'll be disowned or people will come to your house
packing weapons or flaming bags of shit. Give people more credit than that.
They might surprise you.




And one brief mention for those of you who
have a problem with the Breast Cancer Awareness campaign that includes the
slogan "Save the tatas" or "I like Boobies", you all need to calm the fuck
down. Listen, every time a kid who is giggling maniacally at the words boobies
and tatas, buys a bumper sticker or a bracelet so he can go home and continue
to giggle with his buddies, money goes to breast cancer research. Every time
someone asks him what it's for, he must pause and consider that. If he doesn't,
well big deal. The thing is, it is helping a good cause. Kids are donating and
some are actually learning. My daughter came home last night saying a few
teachers believed an "I love boobies" bracelet was inappropriate for school. She's
upset because she wants to get one. She has an aunt (my aunt) who she loves
very much who is a breast cancer survivor. She was looking forward to wearing
her bracelet and telling people that while it is funny, she's wearing it
because she's glad her aunt is still here, that she won her battle. How can you
criticize that?




Get a grip. They're just words. Last I
checked, boobies was not on the offensive list. Do you all realize the more you
tell a kid not to like something, the higher his or her interest in it will be?
Laugh it off. It's a fad. The Cancer Society will benefit while it lasts and
kids get a little giggle. It's certainly better than posting some random
message on Facebook implying that you're pregnant or having sex on a table
while eating pickles, but keeping the reason you're posting such a blatant lie
a secret in an effort to spread awareness. But let's not get started on that.




Last, a very wise man (Paul Mitton) warned
that what we type online is "forever". It is. Everything that is published in
any format is essentially forever. That doesn't mean you should bite your
tongue, but you should use caution and common sense. Be aware that some things
you post/publish will anger some people. You can't please everyone and if you
think you can, well you're not going far before they strap you into a jacket
and carry you off.




I'm aware that this post could piss people
off. Do I care? Not really. That's why I'm posting it. Believe it or not, I
weighed my words. I deleted sections and rewrote them. I omitted some major
annoyances because I realized they're only annoying me this week because of
hormones and lack of sleep. Next week I won't feel the same and I'll wish I
didn't post them. So I removed those.




The rest? Well, it's how I feel. It's my
opinion. I own it. If you want to hurl shit at my door, go ahead. Just be sure
to hit the windows so that Kurt has to clean those while he's cleaning the door.
They're awfully cloudy. Oh, and run really fast. I might not like exercise, but
I'll definitely make sure shit-throwing doesn't go unanswered.

Almost Completely Useless Gadgets for Writers

I was researching links for something
completely unrelated to what I have listed here. This is what happens when you have
someone who is easily distracted in charge of herself. So instead of doing what
I was supposed to be doing, I stumbled across this stupid chair. Then I spent
an hour finding other retarded but strangely tempting inventions for writers.







You want a giggle? Here are some
strange/funny/kinda cool inventions that every writer must have…or at least
mock:




**Note: All photos posted are from the websites I've linked to and are not my own. I do not own this stuff and I did not photograph it...although, I might soon own a certain pen...



As a writer, I know it's tough to remember
to haul your ass out of that chair and get some exercise. I mean, when you're
in a writing groove, who has time to worry about the waistline? Well folks,
someone is looking out for us. I give you, The Hawaii Chair.


























 




Are you done laughing? Okay, seriously?
Look at how those women are flopping all over the place. Can you even imagine
typing while doing that? Whoever thought this replaced a good old fashioned
walked needs a Hawaii chair upside the head.









SafeType Keyboard












WTF is that? I asked the same thing when I
stumbled on this one. How does one use it? Why? Oh, folks, it gets better. From
the SafeType Website:




"there are challenges in adapting, we
recommend you contact us for suggestions. New users are unlikely to invent any
difficulties we have not encountered before, and we have workable solutions for
all of them."




And this:




"You cannot use this product properly if
you are not a touch-typist."




Oh we can't forget:




"Programmers, Editors, Accountants and
others who use the 10-key numeric pad or the arrow keys extensively should
order a supplementary keypad at the same time."




Where the hell will the additional keypad
go? On your head? Well, they answered this for you too:




"The supplementary keypad allows the user
to position the 10-key numeric pad with arrow keys anywhere that is most usable
and comfortable. It can be on the left or the right, or even in your lap. We
are constantly amazed by the tremendous variation in challenges and how people
find solutions for their own problems."




I don't know, I think I'm happy with a
dangerous keypad that's all straight and shit.




Edible Pens














This guy's site is awesome. I have to say,
these next two inventions are more funny than useless and as I perused his
site, I was in awe at his creativity. Let's look first at the edible pen. That's
right; edible.




Always chewing on your pen? Well, writers
this is for you. I know how it is when we're jotting down ideas or working out
an intricate plot in our notebooks, we don't want to get up for anything. Forget
breakfast, lunch or supper. But, with the edible pen, you can work AND snack.
Also, it comes in more than one flavour. Can you say that about a Bic? I think
not.






This guy also invented the Memo Block,
which really intrigues me. It looks retarded, but really, consider how many
times you've left a note on a post it and lost it? Huh. Well, why not just
write it on your block? The wind won't blow that puppy away. Also, since you're
not wasting a million pieces of paper each day, you're saving trees. Let's not
consider what it's made of or the ink in the dry erase markers you'll be using.
Just be happy you've saved a tree.






Pen Knife








Because writing, as you all know, is a
dangerous job, writers need to be ready for anything, including attacks by
crazed ninjas. The pen looks like any other innocent pen, but concealed inside
is a very sharp blade. "You think that chapter stinks? I'll cut you!"









And because we writers never know where we're
going to end up, the knife also works as a letter opener (for opening queries
and promptly slitting our wrists), box cutter…I've got nothing, and it can cut
ropes, duct tape…I don't know how many times I've found myself tied up and
wishing I had a pen that was really a knife so I could escape.




From the website:




"Pen Knives are actual pens that could save
your life. They look like an ordinary pen, but feature a 2.13 inch blade that
is revealed by pulling the pen apart."




And the best part:




"These pen knifes are easily concealed so
you can take them with you just about anywhere. No one will think that this
expensive looking writing instrument actually contains a knife that can be
unsheathed very quickly."




That's fucking awesome!! I love that anyone
could carry a goddamn blade on them and never be discovered. It's really
something you need in office situations where people tend to get tense as shit.
Really, it's a problem solver, no?




CARazy Table






First, from the website:




"DO NOT ATTEMPT TO DRIVE WHILE USING THIS
PRODUCT"




Do we even need that warning? Seriously? 












Yes, folks we do. Because although this
handy little traveling desk is designed for truckers and business people who
might have to sit in their PARKED  car or
truck and fill out invoices, orders, etc., we also have those jackasses who
will see this and think, "Brilliant! I can type and drive at the same time!"




Carazy table? Yes, I think so.




 I know there are thousands more of these gadgets which every writer wants but doesn't really ever need. Know a few? Please share. Give me an excuse to Google stuff. 

Twitter Tuesday

I had three posts written to publish today and I couldn't decide which one I wanted to post. Mostly they were very informative, writer-type posts. But you know, I think I've had enough seriousness for one week. Let's have a little fun. Sometimes I read through my Twitter feed just to see how sane/insane I look to other people who might (gasp) judge me on my tweets. So let's examine Renee's Twitter Timeline over the past few days. This will be a weekly (I hope) post titled Twitter Tuesday in which Twitter will be the theme of the post. Why? Well, I know some of you believe Twitter is the bottomless pit of all that is evil in the world, but it makes an excellent marketing tool if you know how to use it.  Of course, I haven't included replies from other Tweeps, or my daily promotional posts because it's more interesting that way. But when you tweet just promotional shit, people tend to ignore you. That's not good marketing. You have to interact, show who you are a little. No, that doesn't mean spending hours lost in the Twittersphere, it means few minutes here and there each week. These posts were over four days. Most of them were at night. I probably shouldn't tweet at night. I don't even enter the Twitter world until my daily "must do" work is done, but I try to post at least once each day. I've encountered some great writers I'd never have known otherwise, and gotten some valuable advice. I've also let the whole world know I'm crazy, so when I am rich and famous, my mental instability won't shock anyone too much.

Here we go, selecting a random starting point: It's be kinda warmish, no? – Don't type late at night or very early in the morning. This is how typos occur and you cannot take them back in Twitterland.

Interesting. I dance sober all the time. However, I'm much better at it when drunk. #fact

Apparently, sometimes while I write, I mouth the words and I stick my tongue out the whole time because it helps my concentration. Weird?

Okay, I'll have to fire bomb the house & shave the dogs. I'm sick of these damn fleas? The bastards are worse than face flies

The question mark in the last post was a bonus. I meant to put it there where it makes no sense.

Creepy is sometimes a disguise for brilliance. But most of the time, it's just creepy. – Deep thoughts, by Renee Miller. Feel free to quote me.

I can hear Elvis singing in my backyard. It's nice.

I know. Writers are weird, eh?

Ken (bursting into the bathroom): What are you doing? Me: What does it look like I'm doing? Ken: Dunno, how long you been sitting there?

Mmmhmm....

Me too!

I never get books or flowers. :( Sometimes he buys me booze though. What's he trying to say?

Good idea. Maybe a rest too. ;)

I kill anything that grows except weeds. Not on purpose.

Oh, and kids. I've managed to keep them alive so far too.

Bookmarks? My daughter has an obsession with them.

Actually he avoids drinking with me. Says I'm embarrassing or something stupid like that. Pfft.

Well all these child welfare laws help me make sure to water and feed them properly, so...

Jeeze, and I thought one cat was bad.

I should never have let that anal asshole in my brain stop to write a new outline this WIP. Now I can't focus on the damn thing. Grrr.

I have many pens and I get really excited over pretty/rare/shiny/new/cool pens.

1)I know. 2)I'm aware.

But in a good way.

Ha! I sleep like the dead...except for the little bugger who insists on waking me hourly. But we can sedate her.

Which one? The apocalypse one I left for a bit. Need to think on it. I'm working on a paranormal one now.

It's more like a play on "Is there a god? If so, which one is THE God?" But in a really sarcastic, funny style.

That tells you absolutely nothing, doesn't it.

Yeah. Have you read Jack? It's similar to that in voice, closer to my own natural way of antagonizing people.

Oh and erotica, it's kinda taken an erotic turn. Not so that it overwhelms the plot, but it's there. Lots of it.

No? Wow, I thought I'd used every reader possible for that one. :) I changed the POV on the last edit, so it's still icky.

I don't know about literary....

Jack? Sure. Don't worry about edits though. I'd love feedback on plot and characters. The basic bits I'm working on slowly.

I'm not so sure I'm that skilled at erotic, but it sure is fun to write.

Really? I just couldn't seem to relate to her. Weird.

I liked the plot, but I wonder how much is "his" and how much was added. I just didn't like her as much as others do.

You know it would be a lot easier to earn a paycheck if the damn site I'm writing for actually worked as it should. Grrr.

That's an awful lot of sirens. I don't like it.

There's a god of flatulence? Are you shitting me?

So, a fish-fry in this windy nonsense is a great idea, no? Better tie the kids firmly to the tables.

Me too! I hope everyone else gets excited too. ;)

Thanks. I appreciate that. Once I have a better date, I'll be annoying the shit out of everyone with my tweets.

Mmmm, Coffeee, it'd be an ugly morning without you.

A fine fuck you if I ever saw one. http://bit.ly/r7k46X The Write Agenda needs to climb back into its dark hole.

He never says anything but good things, does he?

Me: I'm stalk-worthy. Courtney: Um..not really. You just write. Me: I'm totally stalk-worthy. Go to bed.

I'm kinda attracted to them too...

Wait...lust is bad?

In my world, there is no such thing as TMI.

You've actually had to ask that question? Wow.

Usually when I have a what's in your pants moment, it's not in a lustful way.

I dream of Xena.

I don't know what kind of girls live around you, but around here we're pretty sure what's in their pants.

Of course, there has been speculations about my pants, but I freely admit to having balls. ;)

The Clive-stache? I'm gonna say nay. I think it looks kinda pornstar -ish. He's still hot as shit even with the silly thing

Just as long as everyone knows.

I was just teasing. But really, if you ever have one of those moments, you've probably been awake way too long.

Athena is like 100 Xena's. When I grow up, I'm going to be a warrior too.

There is no single cause for all the world's problems. That's the problem.

My hand-eye coordination is rather sketchy, and I do love a big, long...pointy weapon. So I'm gonna go with sword.

Yes, we old ones sometimes retain some of the shit we learn. ;)

I might have one of those really cool axe things for backup. Oh, and a tiny knife. Tiny knives are awesome.

A horse? I don't need a horse nowadays do I? I was thinking something motorized and not likely to bite me.

True, but with the poop-and-scoop bylaws around here, I'd have to have a second horse to carry the by-products, no?

Excellent point. My horse could poop wherever she wished.

Fine? (slice) There's your fine.

Horse diapers? Seriously? I'll have to hire a lackey to change those diapers. But, my bad self would have lots of those.

Titanium. I like that. Would it run on gas? Gas is like crazy expensive.

Cool. But what would the generator run on?

Throwing knives. Yes.

I want a lion. Ain't no one gonna mess with a chick on a lion.

No, sadly the porn-stache is a no-no for every man...and woman.

Poison tipped arrows are all the rage with badasses. Is your aim good? Cause I need to know whether to ride in front or behind.

That sounds very complicated and possibly easy for me to mess up.

What's unreasonable about that?

Of course you will.

Lions can totally be trained.

I'm angry at him just for having a name like Silas.

Come on, you know zombies aren't real. Besides, apocalypse? Pfft.

No one can kill Clive. Lord Silas shall experience much pain.

Fairies are totally real, but zombies make no sense at all.

Yes, but they'd never be able to organize, with the braindeadness and all.

Ah, I see. Well then, I need to find me some science types to find a cure. It's probably something simple like garlic or vodka.

We'll have to steal us some and carry them off on our lion and horse.

My seduction skills are rather rusty. But I'm not above getting them drunk and taking advantage of them.

Well, we better make sure they're cute scientists. I never get to have my way with anything. #excited

Vaccine first. Of course.



So, there's the persona my Twitter feed puts out into the world. I have to admit, I giggled once or twice reading these out of context. But as I tweeted, TMI doesn't exist in my world. Should it? Probably. What's probably frightening to many is that this is what it's like inside my head. Just a bunch of random tweets. 

Now, you pick five consecutive tweets from your feed and post them in the comments. I would like to be amused by you.

I Plotted But Still Pantsed

And this guy is to blame. Okay, not really. But who can think with something like this floating around her head? I mean, seriously.



Today I wrote nothing but this blog post. Why? Partly because I wasted an hour looking at photos of Clive, and partly because I decided that with the fleas and lice, and lord only knows what else, infesting my house this summer, perhaps it's time I broke down and did what all good housewives do; clean. Specifically, I shampooed the carpets. First, who the hell makes shampooers and where do they live? I'd like to discuss their idea of the height of an average adult and then thump them over the head with their stupidly short machine. Seriously, I'm not THAT tall. Second, I have white carpets. Well, silvery white, but before, they were beige. Like...double-double coffee beige. Wow. That's a dirty carpet. Tomorrow it's on to the basement and foyer. I can't even imagine what color those carpets are. It's like an adventure that's not really that fun because I have to work.



But you don't care about my carpets or my housewifery, do you. No. So let's get on to discussing writing. Today's post is about how easily I am drawn off course. Not distracted as in, oh look, Clive's picture! But distracted as in, I made an outline and I'm completely ignoring it. Not only that, but I've gone so far off course, it's not even the same story. I could still write the one I outlined and have two entirely different novels. What have I done?



Detour #1: Genre



Originally, this was to be a paranormal novel. Not so much romance as humor and kind of creepy. What genre is that? I have no idea. Let's say paranormal and forget about it. I've got about 40K words written and the novel is decidedly paranormal erotica with a dash of funny. The sex is ridiculous and I'm not sure it's even any good. What? Me too. I have no idea how erotica got mixed up in there, but it's sure to be a disaster with me writing it. I must stop thinking about Clive while I write.



Detour #2: Characters



In my outline, I had three main characters. Secondary characters are always made on the fly with me, so I expected one or two to pop up. However, the main characters were to be Nate: A god-type thing, Bianca: human changed into a god-type immortal thing, and Michael: sweet, sexy, HUMAN, and the third wheel in the love triangle with Bianca and Nate. By the way, Michael was supposed to win the game in the end. Now, I have Michael as Nate's nemesis, sort of. Bianca is the Chosen, which is really a fancy name for shit out of luck, and each side of the equation has about six additional characters. Also, the bad guy came out of nowhere and he's a woman.



Detour #3: Setting



The paranormal element wasn't supposed to play a big role. Sure, it was obvious, but I didn't plan to do a lot of world building so beyond their immortality, the story focused on action and a right versus wrong theme. Everything was suppposed to take place on Earth. So, how did it end up on two parallel worlds? Your guess is as good as mine.



Detour #4: The Whole Plot



It's nothing like what I'd planned. Actually, I don't even know what's happening. I'm as much in the dark as the reader at this point. Scary.



Solution: New outline or start over.



That's all I can do. I'm not a pantser by nature, so this 40K words of unknown story that remains is really bothering me. Actually, it's keeping me up at night. I have to know how I'm going to end it so I can write toward that ending. Make sense? Sure it does. I also need to have an idea of how much more world building I need to do before I get there. Believe me, I've written myself into a few corners before and I really hate doing that.



My question this time is for all the Plotters out there. Have you ever gone so far off your original outline that you completely changed the story? If so, help!

Revelations, Prophesies and Mumbo Jumbo Like That

I've been working on a novel recently, titled False Prophet. In it an apocalypse has occurred (or has it?) and before writing, I had to research a variety of things. First, how would such a thing happen? I read through many theories, both scientific and crackpot and you would not believe the nutters out there in the world, just running loose and wreaking havoc. Or, perhaps you would. I was fascinated and horrified at once. Do people honestly believe these things they concoct in their crazy heads? Oh yes, they do. Very much.

I love these nutters, quite frankly. Why? They are a fiction writer's dream. Actually, most of them are fiction writers. But, I've gone off topic…

One character in my novel is religious to the point of annoying and scary. While she has good intentions most of the time, she's a fanatic to the batshit crazy degree and has taken the Bible's messages and interpreted them to suit her own needs and purposes. I know what you're thinking. Who would do such a thing? Imagine, misinterpreting the very clear messages in the Bible. Impossible. (yes, that would be sarcasm)

So all of this had me thinking, what a great discussion topic it would make. The apocalypse; fact or fiction?

What do I believe? I believe it's going to happen. How? Oh, I have many ideas.

Let's begin with theories in general. By the way, has anyone else noticed that nearly every version of the eventual end of the world includes an earthquake? No? Well in all the theories I looked at, earthquakes are a must. Maybe they're onto something, maybe not. We'll have to compare notes when the big day comes.

School of Thought #1: Revelations

One theme in many apocalypse theories is that the predictions based on the Bible's book of Revelations. This little gem was written by a guy named John. John who? No one seems to be clear on that, and although many speculate who it might be, they just can't agree. Now, John is on the Greek island of Patmos, around the year 96, as he sits down to write his apocalyptic tale. Here's where things get muddy for the first time. Many have speculated on whether John was exiled or whether he went to Patmos willingly. Maybe he was exiled. I mean, can you imagine if he carried on like that in front of the Romans? His neighbors were probably like "Dude, stop with the God shit, okay? You want to get us all killed?" and when he didn't stop, they just sent him away somewhere he couldn't cause trouble. Maybe, with this story brewing in his mind, he needed some place quiet to lay it all out. All the war and the dying and the crazy Roman crap going on around him had him too worked up to think clearly. So, like any writer worth his salt would do, he just left.

In my mind, I'm wondering whether how he got there really matters. To me, the important thing to know is that when he wrote his chapter of the Bible, he and all the Christians and Jews around him were going through a time of great upheaval and stress. The Romans, who didn't understand how anyone could believe in just one god, did what the Romans were good at and made life miserable for those who refused to do things their way. It's why they were so powerful. Otherwise, the people they conquered would have been mocking their skirts and funny headpieces.  

If you can read Revelations objectively, John's writings show a bitter, angry man, probably rightly so, who is lashing out against those who are persecuting him; people he believed to be blaspheming against God with their worship of false gods. The numbers, should you choose to examine them, all relate back to the emperors and the events of that time. No, I won't list it all. I'm not a scholar, nor am I writing a book. It's a blog post, not long enough to pick such things apart. Google it, you'll see what I mean.

To most who can't look at the work objectively, he is prophesizing what will be. I mean, seven-headed beasts, mystical numbers, and big fancy words always mean someone is psychic, no? The bottom line is if you don't think as a Christian man of John's time and situation would think, then how can you possibly interpret the mumbo-jumbo laid out in his writing? How could anyone of this day and time understand what he was thinking when he wrote it? No one can. This is why the apocalypse predictions based on the book of Revelations are so varied and often wrong.

But how can they all be wrong? Throughout the Bible there are a series of great earthquakes, the years (2000, 2014, and 2113) in which they'll happen clearly encoded in the text. These clearly show the apocalypse is coming.

Um…sure. Clearly. Because if they were say, ambiguous or not there at all, we wouldn't be in total agreement of when the end of the world was going to happen.

Wait…

The thing is, much of the Bible is written in such a way that each person who reads it will take away a different meaning. This is brilliant in my opinion. I mean to write anything that can be so personal for each reader is awesome. However, it also means that one must try not to read too much into it. As in, grain of salt folks. Common sense. Logic versus crazy imaginations working overtime.

Here's my take on the whole, "God is going to strike us down and he's told us exactly when and how" school of thought. Why would an all-knowing, all-powerful, all-loving, all-forgiving being, who clearly has more important things to do with his time, fuck with our heads by speaking to certain individuals at times too far in the past to even understand or clarify what they passed on, and convince them to write a book with messages so confusing, so open to interpretation, that no one can agree on their meaning or purpose?

In my mind, such a being would simply not tell us at all or he/she/it/they would let us all in on the plan. Why waste time messing around? Why make us wonder when it is we'll pay for being so imperfect and human? It makes no sense. If the God of the other parts of the Bible is the God that is running the show, this screaming ball of vengeance he's about to throw at us would not be predictable. He's just gonna throw it. When he does, it's not going to matter who predicted it. No one's going to be around to pat them on the back for their accurate guesswork anyway.

School of Thought #2: The Mayan Calendar

For anyone who's done the research, the Mayan calendar does not predict the end of the world. No, really, it doesn't.

Let's discuss the Mayan's a bit first, shall we? They existed from about the year 250 to 900 A.D. Their longest calendar, called "The Long Count" is the calendar that many imaginative folks have claimed predicts the world will end in December 2012, or thereabouts. But this is not so. People just saw that the great Mayans ended their writing on this particular day and proceeded to go completely insane on the subject.

Maybe they ran out of time. Maybe the guy writing it died. Maybe, just maybe, we've misunderstood.

Gasp! Us? Misunderstand? Surely you jest, Renee.

No, not jesting at all. You see, we must examine how the Mayans used these calendars before we panic and start building the space shuttles to Mars. They used these calendars to document both past and future events, but until the advent of the Long Count, the other calendars only documented a relatively short period of time. These calendars were intended to span a generation, or the lifetime of an individual, which at that time was approximately 52 years. What if they wanted to record an event that happened more than 52 years ago? They couldn't. So, they created the Long Count calendar to solve this problem. It is not based on any ancient measures of time like the others were, however. Don't worry, the professionals have studied this and confirmed that fact. I didn't pull it out of my ass. Promise. Google it.

The Long Count was set to begin in the year 3114 B.C. (according to our modern Gregorian calendar) and most scholars have agreed that it runs out after 5126 years. The end date of course is 2012 A.D.  More than 5000 years. Can you imagine creating such at thing? Just for one second, humor me, okay? You're a Mayan guy or gal, way back in the day and you're working on this calendar. The townsfolk are like, "Dude, when you gonna finish the damn thing?" and you're like "Well, we don't want to make another one, so we're trying to cover as much time as we can. This rock is hard and we've already used all out best chisels and I want to take a vacation with the fam next summer, so let's discuss this." So you and all the other thinkers gather and discuss how long life could possibly last. Considering that previous calendars span around 50 years, a generation, you all look at your work and say, "Well, surely after 100 generations, mankind will have evolved or created some automated sort of beast to track these things. No?" Then Joe Asshole who always has to ruin shit says, "But what if future people think we stopped because we thought the world would stop? What then?" You all stare, quite pissed that he's trying to guilt you into writing the stupid calendar forever and refuse to do anymore. Joe asshole says, "It's impossible for the world to end. This is gonna cause problems later you know." You ignore him and take that vacation. Soon after, something happens and your civilization ceases to exist. You all move to Vermont or get sucked into some kind of freak vortex, no one knows because you're all gone. But, somewhere in space and time, Joe asshole is still mocking you. Because he was right.

Tangent. Sorry.

Seriously, consider the problems first with trying to make the Mayan calendars correlate with our modern calendar. When a major event is found in the Mayan calendar, archaeologists have to translate their system of measuring time into our current system of months, days and years. They've done this, using methods I do not understand nor do I care to learn. Bottom line is I believe they've figured out with considerable accuracy that the calendar will run out next year. What I have a problem with is what the date means. Is the date right? Maybe. Maybe it's a few days or months out. That's not the issue. The issue is that no one has determined whether the Mayans intended to use this Long Count as a cyclic calendar, meaning that only the first cycle of the calendar runs out in 2012, or is it prophesizing, meaning that they're predicting that time ends completely on this date?

I won't discount the theory completely until January 2013, but I will point out that logic, as I know it, forces us to acknowledge that these people might have been ridiculous-smart, but they couldn't know they'd die out or vanish or whatever happened to them. They didn't know that their civilization would come to an end. They didn't know many things. True, they were an amazingly advanced civilization for their time, but if they were compared to modern civilizations, would they still be perceived to have superpowers? No. They were smart, industrious, and adaptable. They realized their calendar system didn't work for them, so they created one that would. Had they been given more time, perhaps we'd have another Long Count in the wings. We can't know for sure.

School of Thought #3: Science

I'll make this short because scientist, that thoughtful bunch are pretty much in agreement on their theories of the apocalypse. Basically, for science it boils down to this: The universe is finite. We can agree on this, no? Scientists agree that at some point the Earth and everything on it will cease to exist. Whether it is a big bang that obliterates us or the sun going dark, the fact remains that we will be gone. And we won't care because we will be dead.

Before you go screaming into a panic, let me reassure you it won't happen in your lifetime or mine. We'll be dead long before the universe is. And if it did happen tomorrow, or next week, it's highly unlikely you'll realize it's happening before you die anyway.

The Bottom Line as I See It

Let's be clear that I am not saying I'm right or anyone else is wrong...okay, so I'm saying some people are wrong obviously. But I don't have the answers either. I don't believe anyone does. 



Whether the Bible's John, the Mayans, or Science has the right answer, the bottom line is when it happens, it's highly unlikely we'll know in advance, nor will we care. Why? When the world as we know it is over, it's going to be a big giant fireball/earthquake/smiting that will obliterate everything in its path.

What can we do about it? Not a damn thing. We can do nothing about angry vengeful deities, predestined prophesies, or flaming balls of fire losing gas or suddenly dropping out of orbit. Why? We don't have the knowledge to do anything about any of it. Perhaps at some point, some crackerjack in a lab coat will be all "Well shit, I've just figured out how to save humanity from certain death." And we'll all applaud him, make him King of the World and offer to have his babies, etc. before we find out some random fact that makes us want to forget him again. I'm sure he tortures kittens or puppies in his spare time. But the future King has lots of time to figure it out and we have lots of time to find out his darkest secrets when he does.

So, grab a drink, put up your feet, be nice to the asshole next door, love your kids and your dog (or cat), and stop worrying about it. Live the life you were given for crying out loud, instead of whining like a bunch of ungrateful little brats.

Despite what the theorists say they've found in the Bible or the Mayan calendar, it's not likely to happen for a very long time. Besides, we're probably going to leave Earth before anything bad happens anyway. Don't you know we aren't the only beings out there in the big bad universe? 

And thus inspired, the writer keeps writing.

A Special Announcement, and a Favor

So, I've been keeping secrets from many of you. When I finish this post, I hope you'll understand why. If you don't, well you'll have to suck it up. Have a drink, talk to Clive, you'll feel better when you're done. Clive makes everything better.

Anyway, a couple of years ago, a crafty little Spaniard whispered an idea in my ear. Okay, so he wrote it, in an email, and it travelled across the ocean to me. But the intent was there. He wanted to whisper. What did he say? It's not quite that simple. The idea took form over several conversations until one day we were like "Well, should we?"

Between us, we (meaning me and Carlos J. Cortes, aka The Crafty Little Spaniard) have heaps of books on writing, grammar, publishing, and cooking. Now, the books on cooking, one can never have too many. The books on writing, on the other hand, you can definitely begin to muddy the waters if you collect more than you can possibly digest in one lifetime.

Why did we collect them? Well each held an answer to a specific question that the previous did not. You see, most books on creative writing focus on a single aspect, such as grammar. Others might include plotting, characterization and show vs tell, but tell you nothing about formatting a manuscript or how to know which form of a word to use and when. There are thousands (or more) of articles published online and many of these are priceless. I've bookmarked many a site because it contained a brilliant article on dialogue or a kickass commentary on beta readers. The problem is, remembering which book and which site contained the information I need when I need it. Often, I just say screw it and figure it out on my own or I asked one of you.

We have a ton of resources at our disposal. But actually using them effectively, especially for those of us that are new-ish to certain parts of this insanity, is damn hard to do. So, Carlos and I began a project we've called the Writer's Companion. We kept it secret because we didn't know how long it would take. I kept it secret because I was terrified of the whole idea of writing nonfiction. I dreaded hours and hours spent writing and researching. You all know how I feel about research. But to be honest, most of it was a lot of fun because this is a subject that never bores me. Carlos had to hold my hand and ply me with booze through grammar and punctuation, but I survived.

With the Writer's Companion we wanted to provide in a single book the tools, answers, and resources that fiction writers, whether serious addicts or hobbyists, need for success. But (and this was my main goal throughout) we wanted to write it in a way that was easy to use (as in no searching and searching for a single article) and to read (as in not so dry your eyes fall out after a few pages).

Well folks, it's almost ready. We've finished the draft. Thanks to several writers (Rita, TJ, Mike, Wendy, Henry, Paul, and Deb to name a few and I am so sorry if I've forgotten anyone because it's not on purpose and we really benefitted from all of the writers who read this for us.) we weeded out rambly sections, repetitions, omissions and grievous spelling errors to finish said draft. Most of that has edited to a beautiful shine by the lovely and amazing Donna Johnson, without whom I can't even imagine what state this book would be in, and it is almost ready for publication.

What we have is a book that ensures that a writer easily understands the structural skills required to craft solid and coherent plots, learns a variety of storytelling skills, gets a stranglehold on fiction elements that can be elusive, such as POV, characterization, narrative, exposition, and atmosphere, and explains grammar and syntax in a voice that doesn't make you want to swallow a bullet, with hundreds of examples how each form or pattern affects fiction writing. But there's more. We've also included a wide range of editing methods, practices and suggestions, so that the writer can adapt one or more to his/her personal style, sections that discuss formatting and preparing manuscripts for publication, and a section full of hundreds of doubts, confused word-pairs, syntax mistakes, misused expressions, and other frustrating and annoying errors.

Holy shit, Renee, that's gotta be a gigantic book. It's long-ish, but not really that long when you consider the information packed into it. No longer than many of the 1000 page fiction novels we plow through quite regularly. And we've broken it down into six parts. Each part has clearly titled, easy to find articles that discuss and demonstrate all of the things I just mentioned. Actually, if you check out our website you can get all the dirt on what we've done and why. Drop by the forum and say hello. Suggest a thread I've missed if you're looking for a particular subject.

So, why am I blogging about it if I don't have a book yet? We've scheduled publication for September. That's not far away. The book needs to be tested. To be tested, it needs reviewers. Those reviewers must be of a special variety; they must be fiction writers, editors or publishers. We need reviewers who know fiction writing or who want to know about fiction writing.



I was terrified to attempt this little project, but as I researched and wrote the bits and pieces with Carlos, I realized that my own writing benefited as a result. The fear slowly ebbed and excitement took its place. My hope is that the Writer's Companion provides a rope to those of you who, like me, are wading through this mire half blind and slowly sinking under the weight of all the information we must know in order to write well. If it doesn't do that and you all leave me here to wallow in my failure, well there's always vodka and my bald cat; good for hours of amusement.

Industry Watchdog? I Think Not.

I wasn't going to blog about stupidity, simply because I don't want you all running over to check out the site I'm about to mention, providing them with hits and all that, but after researching who they are (which I wasn't able to clearly identify) and what they do, I wanted to vomit. When I saw my name on their little site as part of a naughty list, I was amused. When I realized what they do to fill these little lists they make and how they operate in general, well, the Irish came out.



The Write Agenda came to my attention thanks to Gwen (a writer friend) who posted a link to an article written by Victoria Strauss. To be honest, I didn't think any more about them until yesterday, when that same friend posted that she'd been listed on The Write Agenda's author boycott list. Why? As far as we've been able to determine, it was because of Gwen's original post on our Goodreads group where we all pondered what kind of dick would bother with such a hateful and meaningless site. There is no reason provided by them as to why she should be boycotted, just that she should. This appears to be true of many of the authors they're boycotting. You don't need a reason to boycott these writers, just don't buy their books because The Write Agenda has told you not to. Yeah, sounds completely logical to me.



Now, I might have continued to ignore them as I'd done before, but when I checked out the boycott list, I noticed another page that looked interesting.  And look, there's my name quoting a comment I made in OFW, listing me as a critic of their bullshit. I'm flattered at the quote, and I do believe they spout nothing but lies and nonsense, but the particular words used, really don't prove any point. Love that they've placed Gwen at the top of their little critic list.



By the way, what is this list even about? Why is it there? What is its purpose? To me it proves this site is run by a group of paranoid bullies.



With these questions in mind, I clicked on their About Us page, which I thought should clarify who The Write Agenda really is, shouldn't it? Let's see:



We are a group of individuals, writers, want-to-be authors and inquisitive wordsmiths that have become "literally" numb from reading the numerous author help related blog posts. Many of these postings are subjective and do not offer any substantial documentation regarding purported claims regarding publishers and other industry professionals. In addition, many of these sites have become nothing more than complaint boards that disseminate speculative claims without any substantiation. We do not discount the validity of some claims made. However, we want to question both sides of an issue and to assist other authors in making informed decisions. If a fact is proven true we'll support it. If a claim is twisted, slanted, incomplete, not updated (retracted) or smells like innuendo . . . we'll challenge it.

We will not engage in self-promotion, post links to our books or encourage you, in any way, to purchase our books.

 And yet, you can find them on Facebook. Just click the link very clearly shown on their site. If you should find them on Facebook all by yourself, then you can like their page, which is not at all promotional, and click links that go to their site, but not as part of a promotion of their site. Of course not. These folks don't self-promote at all. Sure we could split hairs and agree that they don't promote themselves individually. That might give a visitor to their site some idea of who the fuck they are. But they do engage in personal promotion in relation to their site, which is an extension of them as a whole. Still personal promotion folks. But I'm nit-picking. Let's give them a point for not trying to sell their books or whatever else they might promote to the masses.



A little tip: As a group of writers, want-to-be authors and inquisitive wordsmiths, they must stop letting the "individuals" write their content. Grammatically incorrect (the entire second sentence, for example) and some minor typos and run-on sentences are rampant. Just saying.



If they managed to weed out frauds and liars on a broader basis, I might be willing to believe they have the greater good in mind. But they don't. They've focused this entire site to a few individuals. Their favorite targets appear to be Victoria Strauss and Ann Crispin, whom I've found to be an invaluable resource to new authors, but what do I know? I'm just an f-bomb dropper, like Victoria. Oh, I should explain that. Let's look at The Write Agenda's opinion on Victoria's statement that she hated the "fucking" sidebar on Facebook (you know, the one that pretty much everyone on Facebook is annoyed to some degree by):



"Victoria Strauss and Ann "A.C." Crispin you have once again offended the publishing community that you claim to serve. Your arrogance and pompousness continue to inflate your egos and deflate the confidence of those that look up to you. Your flagrant vulgarity and the tag-team acquiescence will not continue to win followers; yes, it is eroding thanks to The Write Agenda. Moreover, your lagging Amazon Sales Ranking performance illustrates that your self-promotion strategies are not fruitful.

Victoria Strauss and Ann "A.C." Crispin, you are despicable! Yes, Ann "A.C." Crispin, public perception is everything and you and Victoria Strauss continue to squander the perception of Writer Beware™ in the face of authors, prospective authors and others in the publishing industry. This is exactly what turns "watchdogs" into "weinerdogs" (click here).

Hand-in-hand, with the Science Fiction & Fantasy Writers of America (SFWA) on their back, Victoria Strauss and Ann "A.C." Crispin continue to wave their middle fingers in the face of the publishing industry. Wake up people . . . this is arrogance. Offended? You should be."

We should be offended, they say, because she said fuck. Fuck is a sign of arrogance. My goodness, if fuck is outlawed I'm …fucked.



Be warned; if you say fuck on your personal Facebook page, you are unprofessional and evil. Saying fuck proves that you cannot be trusted and all of the work you've done to protect authors and their work is a grand conspiracy to…do something really fucking bad. Shame on us.



In addition to several rants about the Writer Beware folks, they hate anyone associated with SFWA. For example, they went so far as to rate all of SFWA "officer" Sean Williams' many novels with a 1 star rating in order to drag his overall rating down. Um…childish much? This is disgusting behavior. They claim to be a group of authors? A group of authors would not routinely defame, insult and attack other authors. Sean's only sin is being affiliated with SFWA. If he's committed some other horrible infraction (maybe he said fuck or worse, fuck-shit-damn) it's not listed on the Author Boycott list. Just his name and affiliation with SFWA. Seriously? No, authors and writers they are not. These people expect to be taken seriously with their retarded lists and random attacks which have no valid reason behind them?



They wonder why people laugh at them and write them off as losers with nothing better to do with their time when they use words like weinerdogs (two words, by the way, or at the very least, add a hyphen) and flying monkeys to insult these people?



This group trolls the Internet just looking for people to hate. They search for their name and for the names of those on their watch list (whatever you call it) and weed out those comments that might be perceived as slanderous or defamatory and post these comments on their page, often without context.  By the way, what is a Defamation Watch? I tried to learn more about this ominous and frightening list, but you can't access it without a password. So um…yeah.



Renee, these people aren't worth the time it took to write a blog post. Why bother? I bother because there are new writers out there who might see this site and think they've found someone who can help them navigate the treacherous waters of the publishing industry. After all, don't they promise to enlighten authors and help them make an informed decision? Yes, but from what I can see, they don't follow through. Listing only one side of the equation, ranting, making anti-this person and anti-that person lists, and fraudulently rating books which you've never purchased nor read is not helping anyone. In fact, based on their claims in their little About Us nightmare, it makes them hypocrites; doing the very things they're criticizing Victoria and Ann for.



This site does not help anyone make an informed decision. It attacks people and organizations with proven track records of being an honest and trustworthy place for authors to find information. My only conclusion as to why they would attack these sites is that this "group of individuals, authors", etc. is in fact personally affiliated with one of the people or companies that their victims are warning us about. Why else would they post such ridiculous things as a boycott list? If they were authors, true writers, they'd never do what they're doing.



I'm blogging about it because well, they entered my personal space and used my words in their little venture. They also rated a book which I and 19 other authors worked very hard on with 1 star without reading a single page. It was FREE jackasses, FREE. You might have at least peeked inside so that your review could hold some weight. I'm not saying the book is brilliant or even good, but at least read the damn thing before rating it. I doubt these folks would know good writing if it slapped them in the face anyway. They did this because one contributing author of said book spoke against them. The review they posted was removed, but the rating remains. As does the false ratings they gave to hundreds of other books that they never read. Who does that? Liars. That's who.



I believe in helping new authors. I believe in allowing everyone the opportunity to speak their mind. I do not believe in attacking people based on association rather than facts. You want to use my name in your little smear campaign? Fine, I'll give you something to quote:



The Write Agenda does nothing to help or inform new authors. The Write Agenda is a personal vendetta against a group of individuals and all those who dare to associate with them. It uses fear tactics to shut people who might question their motives up, and attempts to ruin writers who have done nothing but try to offer sound advice. If you consider The Write Agenda to be a useful group who are there to help you after reading everything they've got posted on their site, then you deserve to be fucked.



And, just so no one's confused, I am in no way personally affiliated with SFWA or Writer Beware. I do not know Ann or Victoria personally either. I'm just allowing folks to see both sides of the story, so you all can make an informed decision.

Please, Hate my Protagonist

Jackson Murphy has it all, but he can't seem to hang onto it. His wife, Jenny, threatens divorce. Ray, his business partner, threatens insanity. Add to that a vindictive, but oh so sexy mistress and a con-artist cousin, and his plate is nearly full.

Jack didn't get rich by lying down and taking his lumps. No. He eliminates his problems--first Jenny, then Ray--by carefully plotting their demise. No one suspects his involvement. Then Michael Thorne, a new contractor in Pickleton, hops onto Jack's list of trouble and his good luck train derails.

Now he's harassed by a whale of a homicide detective and the mob. His life takes a leap into utter chaos when he accidentally sleeps with his mistress's mother.

Jackson Murphy stands at the edge of certain death, jail, or happily ever after. He's not fond of prison and dying is not an option.



Jackson Murphy is an asshole. But you'll love him just the same. 

What the heck? This is what I call an intro…you know, a lead into what the post is really about and that is unlikable protagonists. Personally I think anyone who says that you have to write a protagonist that's likable is full of shit and a bunch of other nasty stuff no one wants to be full of.



The first unlikable protagonist I created was old Jack. And you know what, he works. I've had several beta readers critique this manuscript since I finished the first draft in 2009 and unless they're a bunch of lying bastards, Jack is a character the reader loves to hate.

Of course, you can't just go into writing an unlikable character all willy-nilly without careful plotting, meticulous attention to detail and …okay, I'm just messing with you. While it's not hard to create an unlikable character that "works" you do have to combine certain elements to ensure that the reader will stay with the asshole for 300 pages.

This is what (IMO) a writer has to consider when developing an unlikable protagonist:

First, give the reader something to relate to. Give your jerk traits that the reader is familiar with; characteristics she sees in family, neighbors or coworkers. Perhaps those traits she might not like, but sees in herself. Common flaws.



Do not exaggerate badness for the sake of badness either. What? The unlikable protagonist doesn't have to be a loud-mouthed, racist, murdering pig just because he can be. In Dirty Truths I have a character named Thomas. Mind you, he's not the protagonist, but he's an unlikable character that most of my beta readers liked and wanted to know more about. He's a drug dealing, murdering mob boss who wouldn't think twice about slitting the throat of a young mother just because she's getting in his way. However, Thomas is not loud or racist or cruel even. He is not irrational. He's calm, subtle, and he always gives his victim a chance to plead her case. He believes in justice and should said victim prove she doesn't deserve to die, he won't kill her…he's also kinda sexy in a dark and dangerous sort of way, and that helps.

Another important thing to remember is that assholes should suffer just a little. No, I don't mean he should be punished for his crimes to ensure the happily ever after. What I mean is that you need to balance the unlikability with a bit of suffering. Let the reader feel it's okay to relate to him. Let's look at an example you all might recognize more than my little circle of characters. In Anne Rice's Vampire Chronicles, Lestat is a horrible creature. He is selfish, evil and just not a nice guy. But she made him suffer. Lestat suffers in many ways, both obvious and subtle. The reader feels sorry for him, and therefore can keep reading and hoping that maybe, just maybe, he'll show some tiny reason for her to like him.

Wait, I have a better example: Hannibal Lector. Yeah, Thomas Harris created an amazing character without an ounce of likability and we ate him up. (pun intended)

Let's not forget (because I almost did) to consider your antagonist as well; the opposing force to your asshole. You're thinking maybe he should be a good guy, to balance out the bad protagonist. Maybe he's the cop chasing down your murdering main character, one that attends church every Sunday and eats all of his vegetables, even the green ones.

No. Don't do that. The antagonist must be less likable than the protagonist. How is this done? Well, he doesn't have to be more evil or more bad. Just not as relatable for the reader. Perhaps he's annoying as shit, like that guy at seminars who always has to ask those million stupid question when everyone else just wants to leave the damn room. You might make the antagonist bad in a more unforgivable way than your protagonist. So, maybe he doesn't kill people for kicks, but he's a rich prick who sexually harasses his secretary and kicks puppies and kittens to see how far they'll fly. In Jack's story, the antagonist was a police detective who was just…gross. In the end, she did something that was in many ways worse than all the bad things Jack did. She wasn't more evil than him, just less likable.

I think all of these things boil down to one "must" when writing unlikable protagonists: context. Don't just have a protagonist who is an asshole because he can be one. Don't have him doing shitty things to people without a reason. Give him a motivation, a purpose. You can make it subtle, written in the whitespace for the reader to feel rather than read. Or you can make it as obvious as a neon sign that screams "I'm a murdering bastard because my mother never breastfed me" which is what I'm told will happen to my kids because I bottle fed them. I'm okay with that.

Okay, your turn. What do you think about unlikable protagonists? For or against? Neutral? As a writer, would you write, or have your written an unlikable protagonist? Are there any tips that I've missed?