K. Tempest Bradford's Blog, page 9

Mette Harrison On Revising The Right Way

The revisions that I do before I get to copy-editing are massive. MASSIVE. Like, every single word of the manuscript changes. Sometimes all the scenes are in the right order (Ha–this is never true, but we’ll pretend it is for a little while). It’s just that I have the voice wrong. Or the point of view. Or I change the rules of magic. Or I have to tweak a character’s motivations. Or the setting is now historical–or isn’t historical anymore. Or I’m now writing a series instead of a standalone. Or a thousand different changes that probably sound like they’re small in terms of scope, but in fact change every single word of the book. Because my descriptions are going to change based on how my character changes. And how I introduce the magic or offer setting details changes if the point of view is different.

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The Rules Won’t Save You, So Stop Looking For Them

A couple years back when I wrote about cultural appropriation for NPR one of the more intriguing reactions I got was multiple people saying what boiled down to "But you didn't tell me exactly what cultural appropriation is and the exact steps I need to avoid it in every possible scenario!" and then demanding I do so on Twitter or other public spaces where they could get at me. I tried to say both in the article and in subsequent discussions that the issue was far too nuanced for the exactness people were looking for, which… wasn't the answer they wanted. I thought about this again while reading Jeanette Ng's excellent piece on Medium offering advice for writers who want to create diverse fiction but worry about culturally appropriating.

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Breakable Rules: You Must Write Every Day!

Write Every Day is an oft-given and basic piece of writing advice. If you want to be a Real Writer™ you must write every day, no matter your circumstances, no matter your lack of inspiration. Put that butt in that chair and sit there and write. Every day.

The problem with Write Every Day as a dictate from on high is that it creates a huge amount of pressure. And, as author Daniel José Older explains, that doesn’t work for everyone.

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Not Everyone Can Skip That Missing Stair

These incidents have taught me how possible it is to miss things happening in close proximity to you. Sometimes not because the issue is happening in private but because the people affected aren't constantly talking about it (to avoid fueling the harasser's fire), or it happens in private spaces you don't have access to, or happens in a pocket of the Internet you don't happen to hang out in, or you have your own shit going on, or whatever.

It upsets me that this stuff happens over and over. The only silver lining I can see is that people seem more willing to finally talk about what's going on in private when they're being hurt or abused or gaslit, and the response from the community at large trends toward the supportive more often than not.

However, there are some lessons from this that I want to hammer home as hard as I can.

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Meet Alethea Kontis | #FriendlyFriday

I don't plan to repost the old Friendly Fridays here, though I'm making an exception today. Why? Because today is the birthday of the illustrious Alethea Kontis, who is not only my dear friend but also the person who came up with this great concept. Wish her a happy birthday by dropping a buck or two into her birthday fundraiser :)

If you've been following me for a while, you may recognize Alethea's name from my frequent visits to Florida. She and I have ranted about fairy tales together, challenged people together, and had magical times at the Space Center as well as the beach. Most of the time when I tell people I know her they ask: "So, the princess thing--is she like that ALL the time?" As with most beautifully complex people, the answer is a complicated mix of yes and no.

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The Monster Cafe | #IHeartThisThursday

I'm a sucker for some cute fuzzyness and big eyes just like anyone with a soul. However, there's something extra special about these ones. The creator, Justine, has an artist's eye for what colors will work well together and creating creatures that have a definite personality.

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January Microfiction: Dragon Bound

Tamar let the Dragon complain until his complaints ran out. He'd pay for it later when the Dragon got bigger. Didn't take too long for that to happen, but maybe by then he would be a Dragon himself and nothing could hurt him.

"You think you'll get to be one of us? Not likely."

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December Short Story: The Vagabond Cafe [Sneak A Peek Patrons Only]

The space where the Vagabond Café exists right now used to be the basement apartment at 7 Cornelia Street. Anyone who walks into the café has a hard time figuring out how it could ever have been big enough for a person to live comfortably. Or, at least, confused as to why anyone would agree to pay $7,000 a month for the privilege.

"It's the West Village," Brooklynites explain as if they know (since there's no other way for a Brooklynite to say anything). "What do you expect? Rents are ridiculous and everything is too small."

It is true that in the West Village rents are ridiculous on tiny apartments, but even at that $7,000 is more than anyone would pay for a studio with half a kitchen and a dubiously safe "bathroom". Anyone but a musician. And the landlord knew it.

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Section 3 | Chapter 1 (Part 1) – #PyramidsAndPunk [Supporters Only]

The copper scarab sailed over the Nile, flying so fast over the green waters of the delta that boats in its wake dipped and bowed as if pushed by an invisible hand or a strong wind. Atet hummed the machine higher in the air, and Ibi felt the reaction of the soldiers in the cabin. Before, they were awed but fearful, now they were terrified. None of them had ever been up this high, had to look so far to find the horizon--not that most of them were looking. Only Ziwat was enjoying herself, leaning as far out the back of the cabin as she could and still feel safe, calling out every feature on the ground she recognized from above. If Ibi had been in control of her body, she would have laughed.

They followed the path of the water until the delta waters coalesced into the river proper, then turned West toward the Library. As they drew closer there was a change in the vibrations resonating up from the ground to them. Atet opened herself up more so Ibi could begin to understand--the three pyramids of the Library were responding to the song, just as the scarab itself was.

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Monthly Microfiction – December 2018 [Patrons Only]

In the hour before dawn a chariot climbed through the desert hills toward the Western mountains, the full moon above illuminating the way. The sky was not yet even the barest pink and every star embedded in the body of Nut winked down at the driver and passenger as they broke the night's silence. They drove past the sealed tombs in the rock, the monuments to past kings, until the beating of the horses' hooves echoed off the stone of the new monument ahead. Hatshepsut tapped her driver's shoulder to indicate where they should stop, then squeezed it to keep balance once they did.

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