Jeannie Lin's Blog, page 16
August 7, 2011
Rumors of my untimely demise…
July 11, 2011
Butterfly Swords en Espanol
June 19, 2011
Countdown to RWA 2011
June 13, 2011
The Dragon and the Pearl: Cover Kibitz
June 3, 2011
What's your Time Machine Moment?
May 27, 2011
Confession: Why I don't hate promotion
I was attending a Warrior Writer workshop presented by Bob Mayer last weekend and at one point he asked, "Who here actually likes to promote?" I raised my hand and since I was sitting near the front, I didn't realize that all the chuckling was aimed at me. The odd ball.
I don't hate promoting. I actually kind of like it. I like this whole author thing, really. (Stopping myself before I start sounding too Pollyanna.)
I know I'm supposed to hate promoting and networking and love the introverted writing part. Well, I do love the introverted writing part. I'm sometimes afraid that since I don't babble enough about the angst of writing that people might think I don't write, but who wants to hear about my day at the office? Well, maybe other writerly types might find it interesting, just like me and the techies like to go on sometimes about integration issues and data elements and message formats that only we understand–a day job aside there. Were you bored? I thought so. And writing about the introverted writing part makes me more angsty and introverted, and I can only take so much of that even from myself.
Maybe I like promoting because I'm too clueless to realize I'm supposed to hate it? Or too self-absorbed to really realize that it's a scary and confusing thing?
Why don't I hate promotion? Okay, why do I actually LIKE promoting?
1. It's about business
I come from a corporate background and even though I wasn't directly in marketing or sales, every time I talk (or type) to a customer, I'm representing my organization. I've been in positions where the bottom line was my responsibility and multiple people keeping their jobs was my responsibility and it depended on customers wanting to buy our product. Did I resent having to promote in this situation? Not unless I also resented my job and the customer's needs and all the people depending on me. Promotion's just a part of business to me. It wasn't a "necessary evil". It was just necessary.
2. It's about presenting a good face
I used to teach high school and though there are some days now when I don't want to be "at work" even though at work is in front of my computer and telephone. Well, there were some days teaching when I REALLY didn't want to go to school and stand before 150 kids in a culture where it was cool to complain about teachers. (Need a thick skin quick? Try teaching.) There were days when my lesson wasn't that solid and I wasn't feeling so hot about it, but if I dared to step in front of my classroom with that attitude, I was a goner. I mean "books thrown at my head, students getting into fights" goner. That never happened to me. Because every day I stood in front of that class, and hell or high water, presented the best face I could.
"This lesson is AWESOME" — I conveyed with every word and action. "I'm here to be the best darn teacher you're gonna have today." Trust me, I stood in front of that classroom every day and sold each lesson harder than I've ever sold anything in my life.
The moment I didn't present that face — mayhem. And I could tell. Then the angry looks and talking back and detentions would start and no one would be learning anything or having any fun.
So maybe I don't like promotion, but you'd never know it. Ha! As they used to say where I taught: I got game for days.
3. It's about Steve Jobs
I used to think writers just wrote. I remember having this conversation with my BFF after learning how much promotion writers were expected to do. Imagine you made the best chocolate chip cookies around. (We must have been eating cookies. This was literally the example I gave her.) It's foolish to think just because I open a shop and start baking cookies that people will come and buy them just because they're the best around. No one knows they're the best. No one knows how to get to my shop. But I want people to know. And not just to hear the buzz that my cookies are the best, but I want them to actually try them. And like them. And share them with other people.
What do cookies have to do with Steve Jobs? Steve Jobs is my role model when I think about promotion. (Confession: Most of my initial impression of Steve Jobs comes from the movie Pirates of Silicon Valley which I showed in my technology class to teach the history of computing. Cause I could. Noah Wylie as Steve Jobs *smooches*)
When my hubby got me an iPod shuffle for my birthday, I looked at the little device in its clear plastic case and I turned to my husband and said in awe, this is really well done. I didn't feel like I was just getting a music device–I was getting so much more. I was getting an experience. It was so wonderfully packaged and so sleek and sexy — I felt like I was better and smarter and sexier just being a part of this phenomenon.
Every time Steve Jobs speaks about his products: the iPod, the iPad, the iPhone. He's not just selling. He's not out there saying "buy my stuff, give me money". He's a true believer. He believes in the beauty and efficiency of the design and how it's going to change the world. He believes that people will WANT his cookies.
That man is my kind of crazy.
It's common for people to downplay their talents so they won't sound egotistical. That's why authors hate promotion. We know our writing is flawed. We know that some people will hate the story and it's scary to still put your neck out there knowing that.
So why do I like promoting? Because it's hubris to think my cookies are THAT good that people will magically know how to find them. And because when it comes to my stories, I'm a true believer. I have to be able to stand behind my product and even go one better: these stories keep me up at night, they inspire me, they make me think of things I've never thought before. And I want to share that.
One final argument into the ether: people often tell me they hate people who promote or over-promote. That's very much true. It's a danger. I might be hated for promoting. But I can't operate out of fear of putting off people I don't know. That's not business, that's a personal fear. That's a playground fear. Same goes for the fear that people won't enjoy your writing. As long as I don't offend anyone's family or kick their dog, I'm not hurting anyone. I can't design a lesson plan around the students that hate having to sit in chemistry class. And no matter how good of a teacher I was, there were going to be students that hated me.
I trust people. I respect consumers for being intelligent. I know that if they don't like chocolate chip cookies, they at least understand that other people do. And I have some really good ones to share. I've been working on the recipe since the first batch went out, tweaking it here and there, and the new ones are just coming out of the oven.
They're still warm. Come have some. Bring a friend. 
May 15, 2011
Fury Winner & Kindle Cake & Other News
In honor of my meeting with Cindy Pon, I'm giving away a copy of Fury of the Phoenix along with some of Cindy's autographed postcards with her character art. And the winner is:
Debra McDonald
Congrats Debra and thank you for following my newsletter! If you're not already subscribing and would like to get updates and special giveaways, make sure you sign up:
Sign up for Newsletter
***
In other news, I helped decorate a lovely cake this weekend for a belated Mother's Day gift. (Not for my mums — Mother and Mother-in-law got their gifts delivered in advance). It was my first time working with fondant and though we ran out of time so I couldn't individually letter the keys, I thought the Kindle cake turned out nicely, n'est-ce pas?
***
My lovely agent let me know that Harlequin wanted to offer two more Undones. So more stories to come! It's also my first sale of the year, so that's a nice milestone to celebrate. I wish I'd been able to have a slice of that Kindle cake.
***
Bid on the Brenda Novak auction items! Open until the end of the month.
Fan pack including annotated copy of Butterfly Swords
Critique of first 30 pages by me and Little Sis
For a good cause.
May 8, 2011
In search of dragons…
I attended the kick-off of the Diversity in YA tour this Saturday. Diversity in YA is the brain-child of two talented YA authors, Cindy Pon and Malinda Lo, and is a celebration of the portrayal of diverse cultures in young adult fiction. This Saturday's event was focused on Asian American authors (Malinda Lo, Cindy Pon, Gene Luen Yang, and J.A. Yang), though the entire tour features books from a wider range of ethnicities and cultures. I'll post a write-up of the topics discussed in the panel, but to start things off, one question from the audience made me reflect upon my early reading habits.
The question was regarding what each of the authors read growing up and almost every single author, with the exception of Gene, spoke about not reading any book with Asian characters. Cindy Pon mentioned that she was writing the books with the adventures she never got to read. Malindo Lo remarked that a teacher passed her Maxine Hong Kingston's Warrior Woman and she wasn't able to connect with the book at all! J.A. expressed that he similarly didn't read books with Asian characters growing up because he liked books with warriors and protagonists that were quite different from him. Only Gene, with his background of comic book reading and early childhood growing up in Asia (I forget where, sorry Gene), had a wide range of Asian stories available.
This made me realize that I have always been in search of dragons. I would literally, look for covers with Asian looking art or titles that sounded Asian. Perhaps this is why I ended up reading so much fantasy because the dragons I usually found were from those books.
I don't know if it was necessarily because I wanted protagonists that I could identify with. I felt I identified with all the Caucasian protagonists I was reading just fine. I shared their adventures and felt all their angst. Reading about Japan or China (never Vietnam unless it was about the War!) felt like reading about a foreign and exotic place for me too, so it was as more my desire for vicarious exploration and adventure than my need to read about characters with similar backgrounds as me.
When I read Amy Tan's Joy Luck Club, I was very deeply moved. I mean, yes, they were deeply emotional stories, but they struck a chord with me, not only because they expressed some very core elements of being Asian American that I hadn't seen in writing in this way before, but because I knew that other people were reading it too. Non-Asians were reading it. My high school friends were reading it.
Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon gets knocked by a lot of wuxia purists because they say it's a poor example of the genre. That it was watered-down for mainstream audiences. I don't agree at all. And when I saw the trailer for that movie, I became so incredibly excited and showed it to everyone. It was a wuxia film like the ones I grew up with, but it was being shown to mainstream audiences. It was the absolute joy that something I loved could finally be shared with other people who had never seen a Jin Yong film. And it could be shared in a way that I couldn't explain with words.
So I've always been in search of dragons, but not only for myself. Not to find Asian heroines that look like me, but to find something that could be shown to people who don't look like me. Who have no idea about the stories that I enjoyed.
I remember Taye Diggs once corrected a reporter who called one of his films a "Black film". He said it's not a Black film, it's a film with Black actors. And people didn't seem to understand what the big deal is. I believe Enrique Iglesias has made similar comments about his music not being Latino music, but music with Latino influence. They're not rejecting their own race or getting nitpicky — I get it now.
Media is about connecting to a wider audience. It's about reaching out to people who have never been somewhere, experienced something, thought of life in this particular way. When a work becomes marginalized as an Asian work for Asian people, it feels to the artist that they're being dragged two steps back from their real goal.
So, I'm rather tickled pink that after searching for "Dragon" books for so long, I have my own Dragon title coming out in September: The Dragon and the Pearl. Ha, ha — stereotypical Asian title. Whatever. I'm so proud that maybe someone in search of dragons will find my book and be pleased that it's not about Western fantasy dragons or Vlad Tepes or European warriors. I do hope that Asian women will read the story and identify and fall in love with the romance, but I'm also hoping many of those people searching don't look a thing like me, or come from a similar place that I do, at all. And I hope they'll identify just as much with the characters.
May 5, 2011
Joint critique from Jeannie and Sis
We interrupt the regular blog schedule to announce that you can bid on a first chapter critique from both Jeannie and her smart Little Sis. Auction closes at 6pm EST today.
Bria Quinlan – GH finalist – Auction
May 3, 2011
Inside the Critique Process: Revised Opening
Sorry this is late! Had an odd day…but here it is.
If you're just seeing this, you can see the original version of the opening and the feedback:
Original Opening – 1st post
Thursday I'll go into what I was trying to address with the revisions.
Tang Dynasty China, 824 A. D.
Chapter 1
(First scene remains the same)
***
"Jilted lover," the cook guessed.
Yan Ling's eyes grew wide. The stranger had stormed up the staircase only moments earlier with a sword strapped at his side and the glint of murder in his deep-set eyes. She'd leapt out of the path of his charge, just managing to hold onto her pot of tea without spilling a drop.
She stood at the edge of the main room, head cocked to listen for sounds of mayhem upstairs. Her heart raced as she gripped the handle of the teapot. Such violence and scandal were unthinkable in their quiet town.
"Should someone stop him?"
"What? You saw how he was dressed." Old Cook had his feet in the kitchen, but the rest of him strained as far into the dining area as possible. "Man like that can do whatever he wants."
"Get back to work," the proprietor barked.
Yan Ling jumped and the cook ducked his head back through the curtain that separated the main room from the kitchen.
"Worthless girl," her master muttered as she rushed the pot of tea to its intended table. She pressed her fingers against the ceramic to check the temperature of the pot before setting it down. Cooler than ideal, but still hot enough to not get any complaints.
It was late in the morning and the patrons had thinned, but that was never an excuse to move any slower. Lately it seemed nothing she did was fast or efficient enough. She'd never known any life but the tea house. The story was she'd been abandoned as an infant in the room upstairs, likely the very same one where a new scandal was now unfolding.
She paused to stack empty cups onto a tray. At that moment, the young woman and her companion hurried down the stairs, leaving not even a farewell behind as they swept out the door. Yan Ling expected the sword-carrying nobleman to come chasing after them, but only an uncomfortable silence followed their exit.
The patrons began to whisper among themselves. Her master should be happy. This incident would have the townsfolk lingering over more than a few extra teapots worth of gossip.
When he finally emerged, the gentleman appeared surprisingly calm. He descended the stairs with a steady, powerful stride and his expression was as still as the surface of the moon. Instead of leaving, he marched directly over to the proprietor and flashed an official-looking jade seal. At that point, even the proprietor's wife flocked over to welcome him. They ushered him to an empty table at the center of the room, nearly breaking their backs bowing with such enthusiasm. Her master shot Yan Ling a sharp look which she knew immediately. Bring tea and fast. She rushed to the kitchen.
"Is there a lot of blood?" the kitchen boy asked as she pushed through the curtain.
"Shush."
She poured hot water into a fresh pot of leaves and flew back out with her hand around the bamboo handle. Back out in the main room, the stranger didn't even spare her a glance as she poured the first cup for him.
His robe was of fine woven silk and richly dyed in a dark blue. He wore his thick hair long, the front of it pulled back into a knot in the style of aristocracy. She was stricken by strength of his features; the hard line of his cheekbones and the broad shape of his face which narrowed slightly at the chin.
With a cursory bow, she set down the pot and moved away. There were other tables to tend to and most patrons wanted to drink their tea in peace. Yet her attention kept on wandering back to the stranger. Hours later, he was still seated in the same spot. He wasn't even drinking his tea anymore. Instead, he had taken to staring into his cup.
Government official, they guessed in the back room, though he traveled without any escort and had a sullen expression that continued to sink lower as the day slipped by. Her guess was that he needed something stronger than tea.
By the end of the day, Yan Ling moved from table to empty table in a restless circle, wash rag in hand, as she wiped away at wooden surfaces rubbed bare from long use. The tea house crowd had dispersed to return to their homes. Only the nobleman remained, still hoarding his cold tea.
As long as he stayed there, she was supposed to attend to him. Her master had made that very clear while he sat comfortably in the corner, tallying up the cash. The wooden beads of his abacus clicked together, signaling that the day should be done.
Her feet ached and no matter how much she wriggled her toes in her slippers, the feeling wouldn't quite return to them. The clang from the kitchen meant that the cook and his boy were cleaning their pots. A mountain of cups and bowls and little plates would be waiting for her.
Cook tried to get her pry information from the man, but of course she wouldn't do such a thing. He'd suffered enough public scrutiny that day to deserve some privacy. She guessed him to be twenty-five years. He had a slight crease between his eyes that she imagined came more from deep contemplation than age, and she was beginning to feel for him. After his initial rage, he handled his grief with such dignity and bearing.
Gingerly, she approached the table. "Does the honored guest need anything?"
She reached for the clay tea pot only to have him wave her back with an irritated scowl. For a gentleman, he was uncommonly rude, but she supposed wearing silk and jade gave him that privilege. He propped his elbows onto the table, shoulders hunched to return to his vigil. From the emptiness of his stare, the young woman had to have been someone close to him. His wife? But no man would let his wife escape with a lover after catching them together.
Yan Ling turned to wipe down her already cleaned table once more when the stranger spoke.
"I need a woman," he mumbled. "Any woman would do."
Her stomach dropped. She swung around, her mouth open in shock. The stranger raised his head. For the first time, his eyes focused on her, looking her up and down.
"Perhaps even you."
Any sympathy she might have had for him withered away. If his tone had been leering, or his look more appraising, it might have been less offensive. But the coldly pensive way he'd said it along with the addition of 'perhaps' as if to plunge her worth even further-Yan Ling grabbed the teapot and flung the contents onto the scoundrel.
The stranger shot to his feet with a curse. With a choked cry, her master jumped up from his table and his wife soared like a windstorm from the kitchen, apologizing profusely. Even the cook and his boy were gawking through the curtained doorway.
"Get out!" The master's wife shrieked at Yan Ling before turning to fuss at their precious patron. The front of his expensive robe was stained dark with a splatter of tea.
"We are so sorry, my lord," she crooned. "So sorry."
Yan Ling clutched the tea pot between both her hands while she stared.
The nobleman swiped the tea leaves away in one angry motion while his eyes remained fixed onto her. He had lost that distant, brooding expression he'd worn all day. The look he gave her was possibly worse than the one she'd seen as he'd charged up the stairs. Heat rose up her neck as she stumbled back.
What had she done?
"That know-nothing, good for nothing girl," her master railed.
Her ears rang as she ducked into the kitchen through the beaded curtain. Steam enclosed her, but the clang of the pots couldn't block the nobleman's deep voice as he complained about such disrespect. She could hear her master and his wife agreeing wholeheartedly.
It wasn't as if she hadn't been taunted before, but over the last years the teasing had taken on a different tone as her bone-thin figure had curved its way into womanhood. She'd learned to deafen her ears and stare ahead, never meeting any of the not-so-subtle glances thrown her way. Yet to suffer such insult from someone who appeared so refined. It was unbearable.
Ignoring the curious stares from cook and the kitchen-boy, she slipped through the back door. Her palms were damp and she wiped them restlessly against the sides of her gray tunic. Fear set her heart skittering.
The tea house was where she'd lived all her life, but it was not home. The proprietor and his wife were not father and mother. This had always been clear to her and she'd had to earn her bed, this roof, and every meal with service and obedience.
One moment of hot-headedness. She'd lashed out at a well-dressed nobleman, of all people. She wasn't even a servant when it came to this man. She was the humble servant of humble servants. Who was she to be outraged? She wasn't allowed it.
She would certainly be scolded by both master and mistress, each separately and then together. Yan Ling could hear them already. She had become too much of a burden to feed, to clothe. She wasn't even pretty enough to bring in more customers. They might even be angry enough to take a bamboo switch to her.
A beating was all she'd have to suffer, if she was lucky.
***
Now, I don't mean to get a complex, but our joint critique is up for $2.00 at Brenda Novak's auction. That's less than a Starbucks.
Edited to add: Apparently someone bid since last I checked, so it's now up to $15.00. I'll make it worth your while, promise. 
