Allison M. Dickson's Blog, page 21

Book Sex

A lot of authors have certain scenes they hate to write. For some it's battle scenes or fight scenes. Others don't like writing scenes in which they have to kill off a character. I can handle those all pretty well now. But there is always a familiar dread that settles into my gut when over the course of a story, you start to notice two of your characters developing a "thing" for one another. And that "thing" inevitably will take them to a special place. Often it's a place with a horizontal surface, on which they can get it on.



Cue the sighs. Cue the hair pulling. Cue the tantrum-throwing toddler in the back of my mind rolling around on the ground, fists pounding the pavement. "But I don't WANT to write about fucking!"



Gaaaahhh...



It's a chore. It always has been. It's the part of the story where, ultimately, creativity goes on a smoke break while Allie attempts to find new and innovative words to describe fleshy bits banging into each other. And I hate it. I hate it so very much. But I also know that I can't always avoid it. Sure, I could have them close the door and wind up with a book that would certainly make the prudes in the audience proud, but I also know that's copping out. Readers have certain expectations. Maybe they don't want an all out fuck-fest either. I'm pretty sure that's not why people pick up my stories, to read some sweat-filled sex romp. But I'm also pretty sure they expect that if I have two characters who are going to "go there," I should be delivering the goods, at least to a certain extent.



But I have to put it on the record, let it be known, that any sex scene of mine that you read was done under a certain measure of duress and obligation. I have no interest in analyzing why this is so. I can say that I'm comfortable with any large amounts of sexuality in my books. I like subtlety. And hell, I love sex. But in books, I particularly like the energy and the chemistry that ultimately leads to it. It's the stuff you don't see (more that you feel, that undertone of anticipation) that I find more exciting. The payoff, the actual fucking, always just feels like the big boot that snuffs out that ember.



It's just the way my brain is wired, I guess.



When it comes down to the art of elegantly sticking penises into things, I just don't got it.

The Unexpectedly Completed Novel and Other Unexpected Good Fortune

It's official. The first novel I ever attempted to write has now become my third completed book. You can read the blurb in my portfolio.



At any rate, The Last Supper was one of those stories that had always burned a bright fire in my brain. From the moment I woke up with the remnants of a dream in my head about a man poisoning himself with a death kit described as a four-course meal, followed by a blazing two-day writing session that resulted in a 16,000 word novella of the same title (same basic ideas and characters, but without a lot of the mysticism), to the moment when I became sure that there was so much more to the story and embarked on an ambitious expansion that resulted in the currently 85,000 word book, I knew that this story had to come to fruition one way or another. (That was a long ass sentence, eh?)



But the writing wasn't without its difficulties. I wrote 70,000 words and then hit a wall. For whatever reason, I was attacked by a crisis of confidence, and I wasn't sure how to end the thing. Then I got started on several other projects, and the likelihood of returning to the book became less and less. Over that time, I became more convinced that the story was a throwaway and that it would never see the light of day in its current form.  At one point, I thought I needed to just start over and rewrite it completely in the third person. That never quite got off the ground. Most recently, I thought I would do a full rewrite and re-imagining of it for my last NaNoWriMo project, but my in-progress book, The Shiva Paradox, ended up taking its place.



It wasn't until I was discussing some back burner projects with my friend and partner in crime, Vincent Hobbes, that the subject of The Last Supper came up. I was trying to think of my one project that was closest to completion, and that was it. I then decided to open the file for the first time in three years just to survey the damage. I knew it was going to be an awful, overwrought, purple and nonsensical mess.



Imagine my surprise when I found that to be NOT TRUE. It's amazing what three years can do to one's perception of a project. It has a miraculous way of bringing things full circle and completely resetting the emotion button. You come to it with completely clear eyes, no longer clouded by failed confidence or warped expectations. You can clearly see the plot path before you where it once looked completely tangled and impassible. Oh sure, it needed a little work, but surprisingly very little for something so old. I saw a story written by someone who was a little green, but who was also completely unrestrained and unafraid to write from the gut. In many ways, I was reminded by how much I'd changed as a writer over the years, and not always for the better. My technique has somewhat improved, but my artistry has regressed a little as I've tried to gain more recognition in the professional sense. I've known this for quite sometime, but nothing proved it more than reading that old manuscript of mine again and being shocked at every turn that I had actually written something so goddamn...good!



While I don't think I can let every piece of my work sit for three years before completing it, I've learned a very valuable lesson in how I need to get a little more outside my own head and trust my instincts more. I was able to feed off that belief enough to finish the story, and now I have a completed draft that I am quite proud of. Will anyone else like it? That's the ultimate question. I'm getting it polished and ready to send to Hobbes End Publishing very soon.



Speaking of which, I really need to give a shout out to the team over at Hobbes End (Jairus, Abby, Vincent -- you ROCK!). Here is a small publisher that really has its head on straight. Down the line, at every turn, the folks here have done stellar work. They love writing, are full of ambition, and they know how this business works. And they have done so much for my career in the last few months. Most recently, they've launched a GoodReads ad campaign that will help my work reach more readers. There are even bigger things on the horizon that I can't wait to tell people about, but trust me, meeting Vincent Hobbes and his team has been the greatest karmic gift I've received in awhile, and I have never been more enthusiastic about the future.

Juice Feasting: Day 1

As promised, I've decided to chronicle this event for the benefit of others, as well as myself. My husband, who is also doing this with me, will also be providing his thoughts and feelings on the experience as we go along. He's returning to work tomorrow and will have juice in tow. It will be interesting to see how his day goes.



We've both agreed to do this through Tuesday, with the option to continue it if we're feeling up to it. Three days is the typical length of one of these fasts, and really in my experience, if you can get over that three day hurdle, things get much much easier. Ideally, I'd like to go longer, but I don't want to think that far ahead. The secret to things like this is to just live in the present.



After spending roughly $40 on produce last night, most of which will be used up within a few days (ouch), I got my recipes together. I decided to start with the recipe featured in the documentary Fat, Sick, and Nearly Dead, since it seems to be the most popular one for people undergoing a similar "reboot."



That recipe includes:



6 kale leaves

4 stalks celery

2 apples

1 cucumber

1 piece of ginger (I did about a 1-inch piece)

1/2 lemon



I had decided not to use my juicer for this because it's so time consuming, but I may try it for the next batch just to compare how much more juice I get in the final batch. At any rate, I put everything in the Vitamix (the more "juicy" ingredients on the bottom to help jumpstart the process) and pulverized it for about 30 seconds on high. If you don't have a lot of Vitamix experience, you really can't wimp out on this. You have to use the tamper to really push the food into the blades. It isn't long before everything is a smooth green paste. Normally, I'd drink it at this point, but since this is a fast designed to give the digestive system a rest, I don't want to consume all that pulp.



This recipe managed to net about 3 cups of juice after I squeezed it all through my nut milk bag. Frankly, I was hoping for more. Especially since we're doing this for two. But I'm going to test it out with my juicer later and see if I can squeeze out more. I'm actually pretty sure my Samson gear juicer nets out drier pulp, so it may be worth the extra time spent. Either way, here's the verdict on the juice itself:





AMAZING.



Really, it's very delicious. You mostly taste the apple and the slight spice of the ginger. It's very fresh, very drinkable. The apples give it the perfect amount of sweetness. This will be an easy go-to recipe.



So here is a rundown of how we're feeling so far on Day 1:



Early Morning (Around 6:45):

Ken: Woke up at 6:45. On the Hunger Meter (scale of 1-10), he was rating about a 2.

Allison: Woke up around 7:30. Hunger rating was more like a 0 (I rarely wake up hungry). Went into the kitchen and started making juice.



Both of us agreed the juice was great. Even better if served over ice.



About 30 minutes later, I chugged down a glass of water and started making more juice to have later in the afternoon.



Mid-Morning (Around 10:30am):



Ken: Feeling a tad bit hungrier than he did this morning. On a the Hunger Meter, he's rating about a 3. Energy levels are normal.

Allison: I'm kinda hungry too. Not starving by any stretch, but definitely having a, "I could go for some real breakfast" kind of feeling. Rating more of a 4 on the Hunger Meter at this point, but I'm also about to drink a cup of hot tea, which helps a lot.



Afternoon (Around 4:00pm)

We have both been drinking a lot of green tea, lemon water, and of course more of the green juice. It seems to lose the intensity of its ginger and apple flavor after it's been refrigerated for a little while. If only it was more practical to make it fresh every time you drank it, but it just isn't. Still, it's a treat to have when you're hungry.



Allison: Energy level is still decent, but man I'm hungry. Definitely pushing a 6-7 on the Hunger Meter, but it's helped to keep my head buried in my manuscript. I don't think my body is actually hurting for the calories just yet. It's probably using up what's left in my digestive tract and will soon be moving on to the glycogen stores in my liver. But my stomach is sending up a very familiar alarm of, "Uh, hey lady? We're reaching critical mass here! Send down reinforcements!" Eventually, I know the energy will start to flag a little, as there will be a lull between when my body uses up the glycogen and moves straight on to feeding on my fat reserves (of which there be plenty). I am doing my best to meditate on this feeling and let myself experience it and understand it. Fighting it, complaining, and fantasizing about how I'd totally fuck up a pizza right now is the easiest path to saying, "Screw it. I'll do this some other time."



Also, I'm peeing. A LOT.



Ken: He says he feels hungry, but he also feels good. Rating about a 3 or 4 on the hunger meter. I think he's better at this than I am.



Evening (Around 7pm)

Made a juice of the following vegetables/fruits:

1/2 beet, peeled

4 roma tomatoes

3 stalks celery

1 cucumber

12 baby carrots

1/2 bell pepper

2 radishes

5 sprigs Italian parsley

2 big handfuls baby spinach

I also added some Tobasco and a little bit of Fleur de Sel to kick up the flavor a tad. The resulting cocktail is a very pretty wine color.



I've decided to dilute the juices 50/50 with water. It stretches the juices more and it makes them a bit easier to drink.



Allison: I somehow managed to bake a loaf of bread and survive the smell of the kids' dinner without losing every drop of drool in my head. The energy level is starting to flag a little, and I'm feeling a a bit sluggish, mentally. I anticipated this, though. I'm reminded of my first couple days on Medifast, but I also remember how good I felt after the initial adjustments, so it's enough to keep me pushing forward. On the Hunger Meter, I'm probably about a 5, which is better than I was this afternoon. I think it's because my stomach has given up its protest for the time being. Been squelching it as much as possible with big glasses of water and cups of green tea. I can endure this because I know that food is as far as my fridge if I ever decide to break this fast early. Remembering the people who don't have it this easy, who don't even have access to vegetables to eat, let alone juice, is helping me to keep the histrionics in check.



Ken: Overall, he's feeling okay. He also says he's glad to feel liberated from eating the kids' leftover dinner. He's rating about a 5 or 6 on the Hunger Meter, so he's definitely feeling it now. I look forward to seeing how he does at work tomorrow, but overall, I think his spirits are great. That's the thing about Ken. He knows how to keep his struggles off his sleeve, and I admire him for that.



Aside from drinking more juice, water, and tea, I don't anticipate there will be much else to report between now and dinner. Will be back tomorrow for another update. I expect to sleep very well tonight.

And Now For Something Completely Different: Juice Feasting

I have spoken on this blog before about my struggles with psoriasis. I've had it since I was a little kid, but it grew much worse as I entered my mid-20s, and it's been in a pretty steady holding pattern ever since. I've had some remission with tanning and topicals, as well as the biologic drug Humira, which I am no longer taking for reasons you can read about here. But it's always come back, and although I alternate through periods of either "angry red" or "placidly pink", the patches never really leave. Right now, I'm in a "placidly pink" phase, so it's as good a time as ever to try a method I've been meaning to try for awhile now: Juice Feasting.



This is not a new discovery for me. I was turned onto the concept over a year ago by several holistic publications I've read in terms of treating disease. First, I was looking for a way to alleviate my digestive systems, but then I discovered along the way that certain autoimmune diseases, like psoriasis, can be treated with excellent results through juice feasting (or fasting).



Why?



The idea behind a lot of disease is a true lack of nutrition. I'm a firm believer that we here in the Western world are overfed and undernourished, and I know for a FACT that I am. I've also suffered from problems with reflux and irritable bowel, as well as energy and attention span issues, asthma, and muscle inflammation. I've also realized that when I'm eating extremely vital foods (high vegetable and fruit, no dairy, little to no meat), I feel so much better. Mentally focused, energetic, and my moods are drastically improved. It's only when I've slowly reintegrated those things that I saw a return of those conditions. So do I believe there is something do this whole nutrition thing? Abso-friggen-lutely.



The fast is appealing to me, though, because it removes all variables from the equation. If my problems are related to any of the macronutrients I listed above, then several days drinking vegetable juice could very well help me figure that out. I also like it, because it gives my body a much-needed break from processing the things I'm asking it to process. I've been on a long term "fast" before, when I spent nearly 3 months on the Medifast diet. It was an 800 calorie a day, nutrient-dense diet that (aside from its expense and the fact that a lot of their supplements are full of things I'd rather not eat anymore) helped me lose a good bit of weight. But that wasn't really the important thing to me (at least in retrospect). I remember after the initial recovery period, when my caloric intake was chopped nearly in quarters, my body never felt better. I was happy, I wasn't mentally sluggish. I was able to exercise (at least moderately) without any of the things that had plagued me before. I was mentally clear enough to finish a novel project that I had put off for over a year (Scarlet Letters).



So I KNOW there is something to this methodology. Vegetable fasting is a purer way to accomplish those feats. And I'd really hope to be able to see some improvement with my skin. I'll be checking back over the next few days to report how I'm feeling, as well as to give recipes for some of the juices I'll be trying using my Vitamix. I do have a juicer, but juicing in the VItamix is faster and easier. Just pulverize and strain through a nut milk bag.



My initial goal is to go three days. But we'll see how I'm feeling as we go along. People have followed this for up to a month or even more, so I'm in no danger of overdoing it by going even two weeks if I'm feeling up to it.  You can read more about juice fasts by Googling as well as watching some YouTube videos for some tasty recipes.



Again, this is NOT starvation, and this is not an extreme measure. I'm not doing a crazy David Blaine stunt. I'm pumping my body full of vegetables instead of toxic drugs and junk food.  I will also be supplementing with green tea and fish oil capsules. I'm not being crazy, I'm not on some crash diet. In fact, I don't expect to drop much weight by doing this at all. Maybe a few pounds of water weight. But my end is not weight loss. I'm giving my body the tools it needs to attempt to heal itself.

How to be a Writer and Get a "Real" Job

Being an author is your life's passion. It might even be your career. But chances are overwhelming that you will not be able to fully support yourself (or your family) on your writing craft, at least at first, if ever at all. Depressing, isn't it? Well, maybe a little. While a day job can suck away hours I'd much rather spend working on my latest project, I've always viewed working outside the home as a bit of a helper in the writing department. Not only do day jobs provide some much needed dollars, but they also give me the opportunity to get out of the house and interact with people, something I am not terribly inclined to do on my own much these days. And interacting with people is always a great opportunity to find new story ideas. After all, inspiration is out in the world and you gotta give yourself a chance to get out there and find it. Even if it means you have to put on a uniform and a name tag to do it.














But let's say you've been spending a lot of years perfecting your craft, and you're sitting across the table from a perspective employer who is asking you about your qualifications. Are you going to use your writing as a tool to sell yourself for the position, or are you going to throw it into the hobby portion of your resume and keep your mouth shut about it? I've done it both ways in the past, but I decided not too long ago that it's time to put "full-time writer" front and center on my resume. After all, it's what I do.




Even if the job in question is pretty menial (cashier, stock clerk, assembly line worker, janitor), you can always use your writing as a way to sell yourself, even if you have to be creative about it (and that in itself is one reason why you should do it: showcasing your creativity). Some managers are all prepared to lump "writer" in with "slacker," or "daydreamer." But with the list I'm about to generate for you below, they'll soon find that you're the ideal candidate. So hopefully, when you're polishing off your resume, you can keep the following in mind:





Working Independently: In my experience, employers love nothing more than subordinates who won't be buzzing their ear off constantly for assistance. If you're a cog constantly in need of grease, you'll slow the whole operation down. Well, writers are veterans at working alone. That is completely self-evident. Sure, you might need help with the editing, but everyone needs a hand from time to time, regardless of their line of work. The important thing is that you envisioned your task, and you had the discipline and the know-how to sit down complete it without having to have someone hold your hand. 
Multi-Tasking/Time Management: Yes, you've proven you can work alone, but now you have to prove you can not only do your job, but juggle about fifty other things as well. Writers know that the sun doesn't rise and set on the current WIP. You also have to read, review, and sometimes edit for your colleagues, put together query packages, work on self-promoting, update your website, track your sales and financials, prepare and mail submissions, and think about the next book or story. And that's in addition to showering and feeding yourself and raising kids and running a household. Being an artist of any kind often means you're working on your projects in addition to everything else the world demands from you. Trust me, you're a multi-tasker. 
Attention to Detail: Oh employers love this little nugget. They want to know that you're able to not only see the bigger picture (we're pretty good at that too), but also make sure every "i" is dotted and every crumb is accounted for. Writers are naturally detail oriented, not only because of their ability to weave together complex plots threads into a coherent narrative, but also because perfection is an absolute must when you're trying to push your work out to the public. We constantly study protocol for writing query letters and interacting with industry people. We work tirelessly to make sure our work is in tip-top shape and ready to impress, and that means scouring and revising our work ad nauseum until we can't even stand ourselves anymore. When you know that the fate of your success can sometimes rest on the placement of an apostrophe, you're detail oriented.
Playing Well With Others: Employers want to know you can do your job and do it well, but they also don't want you to be a jerkface to your fellow co-workers, or to the customers. They want someone who appreciates people and all their particular needs and quirks. Hell, we create full-blooded characters inside our heads all the time, constructing their personalities based on everything we know about real people. Not only that, but when you're an independent writer, you have to know how to put on your game face and act like a professional, even when someone (be it a reader or an editor) is ripping your guts out onto the floor and telling you the labor of love you've spent the last six months of your life putting together is crap. Granted, some writers are not so good at this. They either compose long-winded diatribes to people who write negative reviews about them, or they're often so afraid of failure that they don't really even try to attain much success in the field. But a writer who is on their game, knows how the industry works, and is driven to succeed in the business had better be a team-player, even if they're a hermity introvert.
Customer Service Oriented: ANY entertainer had better be good at knowing what buyers want and how to please them. If you can't deliver the goods and make people happy, then you're in the wrong business, both as a writer and as a prospective employee at your local Steak & Shake. Customer service is all about seeing a person's need and fulfilling it. Writers, especially the good ones, have this one down pat. 
Salesmanship: This goes hand in hand with customer service, but with a twist. You can't be successful at your writing if you don't know how to sell it to people. Regardless of what kind of sales strategies you've come up with to peddle your writing, you have likely put a lot of thought and hours into planning clever marketing campaigns, writing good blurbs, going on blog tours, querying agents and publishers, making trailers, designing covers, and performing all of the other business duties of writing. This is not something you would want to hide from employers. Even if you're a only moderately successful author, you have a lot to be proud of, especially if you're not a marketing major. You're trying to build an empire from the ground up. Give yourself some credit.
Empathetic and Intuitive Thinking: Particularly in service-oriented jobs, you have to have a real nose for how people are feeling and act accordingly. Being empathetic is all about understanding emotions and problems and finding an appropriate solution. Writers are very tuned into people's emotions, probably because they themselves are very emotional people. Creating a fictional story or situation requires a lot of insight into how people think, how societies work, and finding clever ways to resolve conflicts. On the flipside, it might also mean that a particularly irate client or customer gets to you a little more easily, but that's okay. If you can deal with that potential pitfall with the same professionalism that you do when you get a rejection letter or read a one-star review of one of your stories on Amazon, then you'll be golden. Employers just want to know that you have the ability to identify and address needs as they arise. 
Positive Thinking: Writers can be a jaded bunch. Fielding rejections on a regular basis, not to mention constant criticism on our work tends to do that at times. But if we weren't all optimists deep down, we wouldn't really be doing it anymore, would we? A positive thinker isn't someone who never faces conflict. It's all in how we deal with it. If we gave up and said it wasn't worth it, then maybe we wouldn't be thinking positively anymore, but if you take your punches and keep going, then yes, you're a positive thinker, and that makes you look like a good candidate for the job.
Problem Solving: I think this pretty much covers a lot of the same bases as being intuitive. Having good intuition automatically makes you a good problem solver, because of the way you apply your cognitive abilities, whether as an author or behind the counter. As writers, we not only drum up a lot of worst-case scenarios, but we're also thinking of clever or ingenious ways to resolve them. Employers love people who think outside the box, and that's essentially what an author does. The pretty prose and storytelling mechanics are only a part of that. When you break it down to its core, conflict resolution is what writing is all about. And that's before you even get into the external conflicts like fixing what an editor tells you to fix and meeting deadlines, all of which are good selling points too.


I'm sure there are a lot more ways writers can use their innate skills to find a job. What are some other ways that have been successful for you? I'd love to hear them. 

Updates: Pricing and Distribution Changes, The Endlands, The Death of Dead Wives Tales, and a New Work in Progress!

It's amazing how fast time can get away from you. March has been a busy month, and there is even more fun on the horizon. Writing has been my chosen career for years, but it's only been in the last couple months that it's started to feel like a truly fruitful one. And with that comes some necessary updates and changes, so I figured I would get everyone up to speed. Here's what's happening, in no particular order.



1. The cover for The Endlands Volume 2, which will contain two of my stories (Under the Scotch Broom, and the brand new Shiva Apparatus) has been unveiled! It looks fantastic. No word on a release date just yet, but it's definitely getting close. The folks at Hobbes End put out quality work, and it will be worth the wait. I'm also quite honored to be listed among some great talent.



2. There are currently some changes underway in regards to the way my books are priced and being distributed. First off, I've become very disillusioned with the communication between Smashwords, Apple, and Sony. It has made it nearly impossible to keep control of my pricing. There are titles in my collection that I like to rotate in and out of the free pile, but when Sony and Apple refuse to honor the price changes I make at Smashwords, that means Amazon won't either. Several emails to the folks at Smashwords have not resolved this problem. As a result, I have opted out of distributing all of my titles to Apple and Sony, as well as Kobo and Diesel. I will only be distributing to Barnes & Noble through Smashwords from now on. Remember, you can still get my work in any format at Smashwords, and if you have an iPad, you can use the Kindle or Nook apps to purchase my work. So I don't really think anyone's going to be missing out too much here. I was getting a lot of free downloads through Sony, but it's a hit I'm willing to take in order to be able to have more control over my prices.





Say bye bye...

Of course, it will likely take several weeks for these stores to remove my books from their pages. This whole thing has been incredibly frustrating, to say the least. So here is the current breakdown on where things stand:




A Debacle of Donuts is currently FREE at Smashwords, Barnes & Noble, and Amazon. It won't be that way very long, so get it while you can.
Dead Wives Tales: A Collection of Dissolved Unions is going away. While it has been selling well, I've decided after a long deliberation that the collection is throwing a bit of a monkey wrench into the way I want to package and distribute my short stories from here on out. The eventual plan is to have one large volume of short stories available for purchase, as well as all stories available for individual download. I have a few more shorts I'm working to complete before I assemble the full volume so that there will be some new material available in there. But rest-assured, I plan to release Epilogue and Abner's Wisdom as separate downloads, and I will integrate the alternate ending for Aria into the current edition. You will still be able to get DWT through Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Sony, and Apple until it disappears in a few weeks. Consider it a collector's item. ;) 
To that end, Epilogue has already been released as a separate download. You can find it on Smashwords and Amazon. Note: it's currently FREE on Smashwords, as I hope to do a free promotional period on Amazon for this title as well. Expect to see Abner's Wisdom in the next week or so. 
My novel, The Stargazers, will also be having a free promotional period soon. You can already get it free on Smashwords. Hopefully Amazon will be following suit, once the title is distributed to Barnes & Noble. 
Scarlet Letters: The Tale of the Vampire Mailman is still free through Amazon, Sony, and Apple, but that will be changing very soon. My intent was to be charging regular price for that novel awhile ago, but again, I've been having major problems getting all of my retailers to cooperate on price. Once Sony and Apple drop the title from their stores, though, it will be back to $2.99.
After a long run in the free category, Dust, Vermin, and Under the Scotch Broom will be going back up to $.99. Barnes & Noble and Smashwords are already reflecting these price points, and Vermin has been changed across the board. But again with the Sony and Apple being douches. Get Dust and Under the Scotch Broom free while you still can through those retailers or Amazon. 
Aria and Singularity will remain permanently free. And of course, I will be rotating other free tales in and out of the roster every few months or so. 




3. I've been going through a bit of a creative fit, as of late. Call it being stifled or repressed, but my freak flag has been hanging limp from the pole. While I'm nearly done with The Shiva Paradox, I've been feeling the need to start something new. Something completely different and way out of the box, that really speaks to my gritty psychological horror roots. The new project is called City of Sand, and it's high on the weird and surreal factor. It is a strand of nightmare scenarios organically flowing into one another with a light narrative arc. Each chapter will use a common fear/phobia as a theme. On Facebook, I described it as what would happen if Charlie Kaufman and Lewis Carol took some really powerful mushrooms and had a love baby. The freak flag is waving again, and I'm quite happy with it so far. 




4. Things are also going strong on the co-authored novel I'm working on called The Oilman's Daughter. Ian Healy and I hope to have that one wrapped up by this summer so we can start shopping it around. I'm very excited about this one. It's all plotted out now. It just needs to be written! 




Well, that's about it for now. Irons are in the fire, things are taking shape, and more things will be added later. As always, thank you for making my career as fruitful as it has been, and if you've taken the time to leave a review at any of the online stores or at GoodReads, I really appreciate it! 

The Horror Author Who Hasn't Written a Horror Book

It's true. I haven't written a horror novel. I haven't even attempted one yet. A look at my site's portfolio shows a short list of novel projects either completed or in development. There is urban fantasy, dieselpunk, science fiction, and contemporary fantasy. Most of them are pretty dark, but they can't rightfully be called horror.



And yet, if you glance down at the list of short stories, you'll find several horror titles. It appears I've "mastered" the genre to some extent in the short form, and that is where the scary storyteller in me has lived for a number of years.



But why no horror novels? I love reading them. I've been influenced by a great many as well. Through my teenage years, my bookshelves were filled with the likes of King, Straub, Barker, Saul, Matheson, McCammon. And even a few Koontz. I've since gone on to brand myself as a writer following in similar footsteps. But I've since discovered something over the years.



Writing horror is difficult for me, particularly in an emotional sense. When I write my horror short stories, I breath a sigh of relief when they are done. It's like sticking a toe into a pool of piranha just long enough to avoid being shredded. Horror requires you to go to very dark places, and because the hallmark of the genre is that the ending is often left unresolved (or just plain dreadful in some cases), there is no sense of hope awaiting you or the characters you've been riding along with for the past few months.



It's why I can easily explore a small horror space, but why I have yet to venture into the vast and cavernous depths of frightening long form. Or why, in my longer work, you'll only find certain scenes or themes that befit the genre.



I'm not sure if I'll write a horror novel anytime soon, and to tell you the truth, I haven't had a fully fleshed idea come to me yet. But when one does, I look forward to seeing how well I do. Will it be a slasher or a demonic tale? Creature feature or psychological nightmare? Hard to say. For now, the terror only seems to be coming to me in small doses, and as always, I sprinkle them judiciously and hope I give you at least a chill or two.

Free Chapter from The Stargazers

Enjoy this excerpt from The Stargazers. If you would like to read the whole thing, it's now available on Amazon and Smashwords for $2.99. 






Oleander dragged
Holly out the front door and along the path to her living quarters above the
barn. The useless little mutt of a sister came willingly enough, and she kept
her mouth shut, which was smart of her. Rose-scented green gelatin was drying
on Oleander's face and filling her nose with enough of the floral perfume to
make her stomach churn, which only made her angrier. How dare that whore Dahlia
use magic against her! Not in all their years, no matter how heated their
arguments got, had they ever come to such blows.

Not that Oleander
hadn't been tempted. Oh yes, there had been many cups of morning tea that had
just escaped a drop of Oleander's finest belladonna tonic. It was as if some
tattered vestige of her better half was capable enough to make a feeble plea to
have mercy.

But there was
none of that now, no pathetic mewling to show grace and fortitude, to spare
them. She could have killed them all as they gaped at the green goo dripping
off her face. Even Holly had been holding back laughter. Dahlia had seemed
almost surprised by what happened, but no matter. If the bitch couldn't control
herself, she should be put down like any rabid animal.

However, it
wasn't mercy that had staid her hand this time. There was a much larger plan at
work, one that would yield a much more satisfactory long-term result. Provided
she could avoid snapping all of their pathetic necks before tomorrow.

The important
thing was to make sure the insolent young bitch made it through the Door
tomorrow night. Once that happened, all of Oleander's options would spread open
before her, like legs of a virgin whose pink pearl was ripe for the plucking.

Oleander stormed
into the barn, startling a few moos out of the dairy cows that had been
casually chewing grass. She dragged Holly up the stairs to the loft.

"You're hurting
my arm, Oly."

Oleander rolled
her eyes and yanked harder. Her heart warmed at the sound of the wretch's
moaning. "Shut your trap. You don't know what real hurt is, but I'll be happy
to show you if you keep dawdling." They reached the top of the stairs, and
Oleander flung her burden toward the battered armchair in the corner. "Sit. And
don't you even think of moving. As you can see, I've some cleaning up to do."

She stalked over
to the wash basin in the corner of the room and began splashing water on her
face. The gelatin came off easily enough, but the cloying rose perfume
remained. She gritted her teeth against it and set about making some coffee.
They would both need it tonight, but Holly especially. There was work to be
done. When Oleander brought her a mug of the strong brew, Holly took it and
wrinkled her nose. "What's this for?"

"To help you
sober up."

"What for?"

"Because I need
to dig into your brain. You have some information I want, and I intend to get
it."

Fear flickered in
Holly's dark eyes. It warmed Oleander more than any hearth possibly could.
"W-what kind of information, Oly?"

"That's of no
concern to you. You don't know you know it. Now drink your coffee."

Holly took a
timid sip of her drink and grimaced. "How do you know I don't know?"

Oleander sighed
and stilled her fists at her sides so that they wouldn't fly out and begin
punching the stupid waif. "Just shut up and drink!"

The younger
sister shrank back against her chair and said no more as she gulped down the
hot drink, and this was a good thing. Oleander got up and began preparing her
instruments. It wouldn't take much. Just a simple procedure really, and she'd
practiced it on several pigs, all of whom were still enjoying their daily slop
down below. Well, all but one. Oleander had dug a little too deeply on that
one, but at least they'd had good pork to eat for two weeks afterward.

Oleander looked
over her shoulder at Holly, who had just set the mug down on the table beside
her. It sounded empty. "All finished?"

Holly nodded. Her
eyes looked a little less cloudy. This was good. Holly's brain would never be
right again, but it might do well enough for Oleander's purposes now. She picked
up her tray of instruments and bottles and placed them on the table next to
Holly's empty cup. Holly looked at them and then up at Oleander with a mask of
panic on her face. "What are those things for?"

Oleander picked
up the long, silver needle with the pointed end. It was quite thin and hollow
through the center, and had taken her some time to procure from Dennigan
Hambry, the local blacksmith. He wasn't used to doing such delicate craft work,
but he owed it to Oleander to get it right. She had cured him of a quite
embarrassing venereal disease from fraternizing in the village brothels behind
his wife's back, and he wasn't interested in the possibility of it coming back.


"I told you I
needed something from your memory, dear sister. This is how I plan to get it."

"But… but I don't
understand." Holly had begun to quiver inside her too-baggy dress, but she made
no move to escape. She knew better.

Oleander
straddled her sister's legs and leaned forward, pointing the tip of the needle
toward Holly's eye. "Now it isn't going to hurt… much. I've laced your coffee
with a tincture of mandrake. And you won't feel any pain once the needle passes
through into your brain. I just need a tiny sample. Now hold still."

Holly shrank back
against the chair to avoid Oleander's grip, but it was useless "I don't want
it. Don't do this, Oly! I can remember whatever you need me to remember!"

Oleander brayed
harsh laughter in her sister's face. "You've rendered your brain useless with
so much weed, you can't even remember to wipe your own arse half the time. I'll
be lucky if I extract something more useful than oatmeal. Now be quiet and let
me do this. If you move or fuss, it will only be worse for you."

Holly whimpered
for a moment and then stilled herself. Oleander placed her hand on the woman's
forehead, which was still smooth and free of blemishes, for she had been too
feeble to mother a child of her own. Just as Oleander was about to pierce the
delicate flesh in the corner of her sister's eye, Holly screamed out. "No!"

Holly thrust her
hands into Oleander's gut, and Oleander fell backward, landing squarely on her
rump with an audible "Oof!" Holly
scrambled out of the chair and shambled toward the stairs, but even while
stunned and nearly blind with fury—the nerve
of the bitch!—Oleander was faster. She reached out and snagged the barest
corner of Holly's dress as she passed, but it was all that was necessary to
trip her up. Holly pitched forward and landed with a thud on the splintery
plank floor. Oleander leapt onto her sister's back before the hag could attempt
another escape.

Holly writhed and
screamed, but years of salvia smoke had rendered her voice too hoarse to carry
very far. It squeaked like a rusty hinge. Oleander grabbed a handful of Holly's
coarse hair, pulled her head back, and slammed it into the floor. Her struggles
ceased almost instantly.

Oleander checked
the pulse on Holly's neck just to be sure she didn't do more than knock the
daft cunt out. "Isn't this just a merry fuck?" she muttered under her breath as
she turned Holly onto her back. The woman was already snoring. It wasn't ideal
to do this while the person was unconscious, but then Oleander realized there
wasn't much difference between when Holly was awake or asleep. This potion
probably wouldn't work worth a damn, but it would have to do. Holly was the
only sister who knew many of Nanny Lily's secrets, including how to open the
wooded path to the Tree of Doors.

Lily had thought
it was good insurance to share her most protected thoughts with the family
moron and then access them via hypnosis later. Oleander had never been much for
hypnotizing people. She lacked the patience, and frankly it didn't involve
enough manual work for her tastes. But this… this was definitely more her
style.

Oleander sat on
her sister's chest and opened one of her closed eyes with a thumb and
forefinger. "Just a quick swipe and out." Not that she needed to steel herself.
Her hands were as steady as ever, and even if she'd slipped a bit too much with
the needle and rendered her sister into a permanent state of catatonia, the
world wouldn't really be losing all that much, now would it?

The tip of the
needle slid into the corner of Holly's eye, meeting little resistance. Holly
moaned but remained asleep. Once the steel was about four inches deep and
angled slightly upward, Oleander gave it a short flick back and forth before
removing it. The whole procedure, from start to finish, had taken less than ten
seconds. The dumb cow could have been well on her way back to her weed-filled
shack in the Western Hills if she'd just cooperated. "Didn't hurt a bit, did it
Horsey?" It was an old nickname that Oleander had given her sister when they
were kids, because of Holly's naturally sad and elongated face.

Oleander got up
and carried the needle gingerly over to her small brewing station, where a
pre-mixed potion in a glass bottle awaited its final key ingredient. She dipped
the needle into the murky green fluid and stirred vigorously, releasing the
bits of brain matter from the hollow steel tube. A brief blue light flared as
the ingredients came together, and that's how Oleander knew the serum was just
right.

She glanced back
at her unconscious sister lying in a heap on the other side of the room and
raised a sardonic toast. "What's yours is mine, dear sister." The potion wasn't
as vile as many of the others she had drank, but she braced herself against the
countertop anyway as the liquid burned a fiery path down her throat, courtesy
of the capsaicin extract mixed into it.

Stepping
unceremoniously over Holly's sleeping form, Oleander retired to the chair she'd
originally cornered her sister in and closed her eyes. Hopefully, come morning,
everything Nanny Lily held dear would be hers. 

YA or Nay? The Foreword for My Upcoming Novel THE STARGAZERS

I had the best of intentions when I sat down to write The Stargazers. I wanted to write a harrowing coming-of-age story about a young girl struggling to separate herself from some rather gruesome apron strings, and I think I accomplished that. But something went awry along the way, at least when it came to my intentions matching the outcome.






That YA fiction is so hot right now...


First of all, I really wanted to write a book that was more on par with Stardust, Neil Gaiman's quirky and fun contemporary fantasy. And I ultimately failed at that, but more on that later. But (and this was probably my biggest mistake), I also thought that if I wrote it as a young adult book, it would appeal to a wider audience. That, and I was curious to see if I could pull off a YA book, since I hadn't attempted one before. Turns out I failed at that too. There were definitely certain elements that didn't fit the genre, and because of that, it ended up straddling an already very blurry line between Young Adult and Young-at-Heart Adult. 




In the story, Aster has to face a lot of injustices and tough issues that span between two worlds (the story traverses between her world of Ellemire and present day Earth). Such issues include teen pregnancy, bisexuality, sexual assault, human sacrifice, saving the world, and defeating a nasty foe who also happens to be her aunt. It's a lot to heap on anybody, let alone a kid, and there were many instances throughout writing this book that I found myself either unable to or at pains to make Aster suffer anymore than she already had. I suppose it was because I was thinking of my own daughter. Hats off to those writers who are more courageous (or perhaps sadistic?) than I.






But it wasn't those things that just barely disqualified the book for the YA genre. After all, there is a lot of edgy fare put forth for teens these days, and mine isn't even close to being the edgiest. But there were some technical concerns that gave me (and some agents who'd considered it) pause. Google the topic of what makes a story YA, and you will be hammered with dozens of theories put forth by dozens of authors and industry experts. However, there were a few common threads, the biggest one being that the story should be told exclusively from the point of view of the main character, in a voice that is distinctly teenage. Makes sense, I suppose.





Some 85% of YA literature is told from a first-person perspective. I purposefully avoided this, because I prefer to tell fantasy in the third person. But that's not a fatal flaw by any means. One need only look at the One Series to Rule Them All about a young boy wizard to know that YA doesn't explicitly need to be in the first person.




But then comes the dagger to the heart. One (save for maybe one or two scenes across the entire Harry Potter series) that even JK Rowling managed to avoid. And that's the one of exclusivity. She stayed with the protagonist's point-of-view all the way. Alas, I did not do that, instead choosing to alternate points of view between Aster and that of her evil aunt Oleander. And, well, Oleander is decidedly not of the teenage voice. Indeed, she's quite the foul witch.




I considered taking the Oleander bits out entirely. After all, with some minor editing, I could have told this story exclusively through Aster's eyes. But I didn't want to. I so very much enjoyed writing the villain of this story, and I think in doing so, it provided some depth and suspense that it might not otherwise have had. And it was in that moment I realized that this book was not cut out for this particular market. And maybe I'm not either. 




Once I decided that The Stargazers wasn't strictly YA, it also opened me up to going a tad further with some elements of the story than I might have. While I still never achieved the Stardust-esque story I'd originally wanted to, I was satisfied with what I'd had. It was the story that wanted to be told, and given my beliefs about the storytelling process and how I think authors are guided by the story rather than vice versa, I am content with that. It is different from my other work in that it's brimming with a lot of feminine themes. You won't find any middle-aged widowers here. I would still slap it with a PG-13 rating, though it's definitely putting a toe on the R line in some parts, particularly in the language category. Also, in final edits, I decided to make Aster eighteen rather than sixteen, just because that made it easier for me to explore the darker confines of the story.






Stephen King hates children, but I still love him


I know that probably sounds silly to you, and you can even rail at me for pulling my punches. Read a book like The Talisman by Stephen King and Peter Straub (or even The Shining or It) and you'll know that there is no limit to the horrors to which you can expose a young child. But I still didn't want someone too young for this story. Aster is in many ways a very personal character. In some ways, she is me. Her uncertainties and struggles for independence and self-determination mirror a lot of what I went through at her age and beyond, and I think others can relate to that as well. Maybe some will think I didn't push the envelope far enough, but I'm satisfied that Aster has plenty enough on her plate, and I don't think I'm spoiling it by saying that she doesn't exactly get through this tale unscathed.




But herein lies the beauty of independent publishing. Maybe traditional booksellers would have trouble deciding whether to shelve The Stargazers in the same section as The Hunger Games and Twilight, or to put it into the adult sci-fi/fantasy section, but here I am placing it into the hands of you dear readers in the hopes that you will judge it for what it is. Not exactly a YA story or an adult story, but just a story. A story about a young girl faced with difficult choices and a lot of roadblocks standing in her way. I hope you like it, and as always, you have my deepest gratitude for believing in me enough to be reading this right now. 




The Stargazers is a contemporary fantasy novel that will be available soon at all major ebook retailers later this month.

Fuck it, I'm Not Outlining

Lisbeth would happily tell you what you can do with your outlines

But that's just me... (Warning, this will get dirty).



Why this is even a debate, I don't know, but it sure seems like there are a lot of opinions floating around out there about whether or not to make an outline for your book. It's a dogma every bit as intrusive as an afternoon knock on your door from your friendly neighborhood Mormons JUST when you're about to step into the shower, have sex, or crack open a beer.



"Do an outline! DO IT OR YOUR BOOK* WILL SUCK!"



I have one word for that (which I'm breaking into two words plus a bonus made-up vulgar compound word for emphasis):



What. Thefuck. Ever.



You know, I consider it a real miracle that my desire to write survived my years in academia. It almost didn't. After I ran screaming from my freshman year Writing 101 class with my hair on fire (and my dreams of a being  a journalist and best-selling novelist equally in flames thanks to one of the most evil professors ever to set foot into a classroom), I didn't write more than grocery lists and emails for another seven years. Then I finally grew up and snapped the hell out of it, because I realized it was pretty stupid to let someone else's misguided beliefs about me or the process of writing interfere with my art.



Why do I bring this up? Simple. Writing outlines takes me RIGHT back to those years of my life where writing was a chore, when it was an overly-structured, artless, joyless, rigid exercise not to get an F. Now that I'm a grown-up capable of making my own decisions with a (mostly) sound mind, I don't write outlines. I will never write outlines. I would rather relive my freshman year Writing 101 class, alternating with being forced to watch episodes of Barney while rats nibble at my fingertips than to sully the joy of discovery that comes with writing fiction by pure instinct.



Writing outlines is like writing blueprints for intercourse. "First we will begin against this wall, where you will lift your leg at a 97 degree angle, at which point I will place my penis into you and proceed to thrust approximately 8.7 times before we move to the bed..." Does that sound like fun to you?



Wait...don't answer that.



But again, that's just me. That's how my brain works. My brain also knows that the energy I spend with heavy outlining is energy that could be spent writing the actual story that is sitting up there in my imagination like a big overdue demon baby waiting to be born so it can eat the world's face off. And you know those people who want to write, but continue to spin their wheels writing outlines or researching or otherwise "preparing" to write? I don't want to be one of those people, because I've BEEN one of those people, and I've decided the best way to write a book is to just shut up and fucking write the thing.



To me, writing a story is a lot like jumping into the seat of a really awesome car (something sexy like an Audi R8 or a Bugatti Veyron), setting a few bulletpoint coordinates in my internal GPS for where I'd generally like to steer the thing, and then punching the gas and seeing where the road takes me. Sometimes, if I feel like I'm getting a little lost, I'll pull over and take a brief look at a roadmap, but then I get back in the car and keep on driving.



(Or sometimes I douse the car with gasoline and set it on fire, but that's another blog for another day).



That's just my style, though. Maybe some of you reading this are feeling completely alienated, frightened and/or disgusted by my crudely ranty manner here, but that's okay. Keep writing your outlines if that's what works for you. But please don't ever tell me that I NEED an outline. I need an outline like I need to be waterboarded or like I need the latest Justin Bieber album.



Writing is anarchy with words. There are no rules in this game, no authorial government body legislating methods of execution. There is only ONE rule when it comes to writing. And that's just doing the actual writing. Do whatever you need to do to make it happen.



*I'm referring to fiction books here. Why? Because it's what I know. I'm sure you'll find equally impassioned rants on whether or not to outline your self-help books or unauthorized Snooki biographies.