Jennifer Freitag's Blog, page 14

Your Favourite Things {From Plenilune}

“I walked in the autumn wind the other day...and it seemed the earth...was beaten out of copper like your fur."When I have the time, I enjoy making graphic posters for Plenilune with people's thoughts and quotes about the book.  Now that many of you have read the novel, I have a proposition for you.  It is extremely cheap and a lot of fun.

tell me your favourite quote or quotes from plenilune in a comment below, and i will make a poster for them!

I will post them here on The Penslayer, and around on my other social media sites.  Grab your paperbacks and your Kindles and start flipping!

what is your favourite quote?

The Literature of the Year: a Tradition

pinterestI'm not saying 2014 was a bad year, but I'm not about to populate it with Russell Crowe and Marion Cotillard either.  It has been a hard year.  Even the good things have been grueling.  I'm not an effusive person - passionate, but not effusive - but when I see people gushing about how wonderful their 2014 has been, I can't help but wonder, are they being honest?  When they talk glowingly about God's blessings and their happy times, I think of the post I wrote two years ago, "One Thousand Disappointments;" when they talk about how much God has grown them, I think about the conversation I had with my father when he was in the hospital, and I expressed my belief that the impact and subsequent growth of many of the trials we go through cannot be measured until months if not years down the road.  I'm not bitter or jaded in the least, but for whatever reason, I'm not quick to talk about God's blessings to me.  One of those reasons may be that I know how easy it can be to become bitter when you see someone else experiencing what we call blessings when we aren't experiencing them ourselves.  I'm also quick to distrust "growth," knowing how quickly we can forget what we may have learned in the past.  Nor am I romantically optimistic about the new year, as if being new assured it of being easy.  I suppose my view (predictably) is like that of Christian's cold logic (it can hardly be termed courage) in the face of Apollyon's wrath:

"...he considered...that he had no armour for his back, and therefore thought that to turn the back to [Apollyon] might give him greater advantage with ease to pierce him with his darts; for, thought he, had I no more in mine eye than the saving of my life, it would be the best way to stand."

This year has had a lot more living than reading - for this poor little weakling, it feels more like surviving.  Like Elizabeth Bennet, "I am not a great reader," and for twelve months of raw, new, terrifying existence, I have very little reading accomplished to show for my time.  (Of course, I've published a book and had a baby; one supposes those things weigh in at the scales rather heavily.)




a good book is the life-blood of a master-spirit, 
imbalm'd and treasured up on purpose to a life beyond life
The Last of the Mohicans - James Fenimore Cooper 1/4/14Regency Buck - Georgette Heyer 1/9/14Lectures on the Last Things - William Hendriksen 1/13/14Essence & Alchemy - Mandy Aftel 2/13/14These Old Shades - Georgette Heyer 2/21/14Fly Away Home - Rachel Heffington 3/9/14Nine Coaches Waiting - Mary Steward 3/22/14Unnatural Death - Dorothy Sayers 4/21/14The Nine Tailors - Dorothy Sayers 5/7/14The Windy Side of Care - Rachel Heffington 6/16/14Practical Religion - J.C. Ryle 8/19/14Boys of Blur - N.D. Wilson 9/1/14To Kill a Mockingbird - Harper Lee 9/26/14The West End Horror - Nicholas Meyer 10/2/14Rose Cottage - Mary Stewart 10/27/14The Charm of the English Village - P.H. Ditchfield 10/27/14Sin & Salvation - Lesslie Newbigin 11/25/14Purgatorio - Dante Alighieri 11/29/14
Have you read any of these books in the past?  Do you think you will read any of them in the future?  I am on the last long chapter of The Tulip, and working my way through Jane Eyre.  I would like to wrap up my reading of the Divine Comedy with Paradiso some time this coming year; perhaps even read a little more Shakespeare (you might be appalled by how little Shakespeare I have read) and some Andrew Lang or Brothers Grimm.  For those who suppose I am clique-y and read only the sorts of literature that I write (I do not forgot these preposterous accusations shot at my own character), every book I have read in 2014, and every book I want to read in 2015, is casually and coincidentally completely other than my own style.  It suits me that way.

PLENILUNE Autographs!

CHRISTMAS!

Would you like an autographed copy of Plenilune for yourself or a loved one (or someone you hate but who still enjoys books) for Christmas?  Email me at

sprigofbroom293@gmail.com

The Hours Seem Longer Now

pinterestThis will be a combined update and snippets post, and neither component will be very long, I think.  The snippets section will be short due to the nature of my update.  On Wednesday 3rd, December, I delivered my daughter out of the alternate universe of the womb and into this world.  I am now, officially, the relatively sleepless and thoroughly ecstatic maman of

filigree marguerite freitag

Though I say it myself, she is beautiful and sweet, and with the incomparable help of an epidural, I look back on the affair with a weird sense of enjoyment.  I was expecting to have to tolerate the ordeal - I was not expecting it to be so painless, to have such a good time with my care-takers through the twenty-five hour labour, or to be able to look back on that time and think, "I could go through those hours again and not mind it."  And that is due to the wonder of modern medicine.  Now I have a beautiful baby girl of the sweetest calibre, and while I don't really feel any different being Maman, having and holding and loving my own child fills me with more than the mere names of emotions can possibly encompass.

Subsequently, my fake NaNoWriMo - really, any forward motion on writing - has effectively ceased for the time being, and there is not a large corpus of writing to cull snippets from.  I have, however, been reading Jane Eyre and feeling chills over the uncanny (and I mean uncanny) reproductions of details from Jane Eyre in Plenilune.  I have never in my life until this past month picked up Charlotte Brontë's novel, and yet not only details, but tone and approach and attitude between myself and the nineteenth century writer are so similar as to be unnerving.

snippets

There was one lone doll on the bed, propped up against the pillows. Raymond twisted and picked it up, setting it on his lap to study it. It was leaner than the others, its cheek-bones more pronounced and its visage slightly older, more mature. The skin was cast in a thin, exquisite porcelain, its golden locks were spun of the glossy cremello horsehair; its only fault was that the blue-glass eyes seemed to stare, soulless and blank.talldogs
The sense of shattered bone ricocheted up into his palm, into his arm, across his chest. Nike gripped him by the shoulders and shook him before he could slam the man’s head into the stone again, murmuring in flakes of husky gold—He’s dead! He’s dead! You’ve killed a man! Let go!talldogs
Odd, how numb and feather-like grief could be. talldogs
How he fought against that voice, he was never afterward sure; but he felt the scars of it on his soul well after he had blown out the light, and for a long while, lying in the breathing dark, he felt his soul bleeding on the bedsheets.talldogs
The door at the head of the stairs stood open; with an ungainly twist, Tamn got Raymond through and Raymond was blinking against a flood of light in the entrance of a long, wide loft floored in golden pine and beamed with smoke-blackened oak. The place was a single room, and spacious, sparely furnished, but clean: the scent of woodsmoke and rainy air played in Raymond’s nose.talldogs
He raised his head and felt the flint come into his face. “Where shall I begin?”“Report,” said the old soldier.talldogs
“I did not feel like being saddled with the first eligible male my father hauled out of the stud-book for me. Odd,” she broke off, frowning, “how they like to threaten you with that, because they know how much it will scare you…"talldogs
Shifting his hand out from underneath the crook of his other arm, he reached up and tugged the throat of his borrowed cloak close together around his neck. Somewhere out of the dampish, woollen scent of the fabric, his belaboured nostrils caught a flicker of perfume.talldogs
"He smiles, and you want to rip out your own heart and give it to him." cruxgang

World-Building: the Fundamentals of a Civilization

phobsI'm not a teen, but I still follow Go Teen Writers because they frequently have articles hosted that I find personally helpful.  One recent post was so enlightening that I am going to credit it and then unabashedly steal it.

Shallee McArthur (science fiction author of The Unhappening of Genesis Lee ), was featured on the topic of world-building and creating the culture of your story.  She referenced her opportunity to travel to Ghana, a culture which everyone told her would be inconceivably different from our own western United States.  Like anyone charged with the optimism of youth, she thought she appreciated this information and went buoyantly onward, unaware of the shock that was awaiting her once she touched African soil.

'Eventually I realized my biggest problem with culture shock was that I couldn't forgive Ghana and its culture for not being MY culture. I didn't understand the values behind the behavior, so I couldn't accept it. Once I was able to learn from the people around me, and to look at things and say, "this is the way it is because of this reason," I was able to love it.'

Her experience with a very foreign country has helped her get to the root of world-building.  It isn't different dress or language or even customs which make a culture so new to us, it's values.  Good, bad, mixed up or misplaced, values are the core of a culture.  This is something which I understood intuitively, but until she put it down in words and diagrams, I had not really looked the matter in the face.  As humans, we are (as much as we may try not to be) eminently logical creatures.  Purpose and reason define our functions.  We do not eat our food, put on our wardrobe, or order our days, without reference to some set of values which, to us, make sense.

The same applies to world-building in fiction.  Without values, anything we invent for our worlds has no foundation, no purpose or reason, and feels detached.  It runs the risk of lacking a certain depth which every writer covets for his writing.  But these values are at the core of a civilization.  How do you weave them into your novel when they lie beneath the surface of the visible attributes of your world?

A lot of people have mentioned to me that the main character of Plenilune does not ask some glaringly obvious questions when confronted with the brave new world of the novel.  Well, first of all, the main character doesn't have the sort of personality to immediately ask those pat questions we've come to expect of characters encountering new cultures.  Secondly, I don't feel like patronizing the reader and giving the fatal "info-dump."  These unspoken questions continue throughout Plenilune, and are subtly answered along the way as the main character begins to learn and appreciate the value-system of the culture she is experiencing.  As the reader and the main character begin to understand the value system of these strangers, and learn what they consider important, their moral sine qua non, their treasured beliefs, the structure of their civilization and their actions make sense.

what are the values of your world?

A Writing Virtue Learned Through His Absymal Sublimity, Undersecretary Screwtape

pinterest

"Is description hard for you?"

I think at the time I was asked that, I said "no," because in general it isn't as if I sit hunched over my desk, rubbing my temples while I stare at the screen, wracking my brains for the right description.  In general, description comes naturally to me.  But the truth of the matter is, I've never analyzed what aspects of writing are hard for me and which are easy - plot arcs, character development, world-building, narration, description, dialogue, etc.  Usually, I am far too busy being concerned with becoming better at everything, and doing justice to the novel under my knife. 

it's all hard, after a fashion

I just finished reading a great little post from Go Teen Writers by Shannon Dittemore on sticking with your novel when the fire of your first love has died.  Most of us are plagued with numerous spin-offs and completely-other story ideas, which threaten to lure us away from our project when our project becomes work instead of fun.  I'm sure a lot of us are guilty of veering off and doing just that, leaving our original project languishing in the sad, uninteresting middle, cobbled together by vague promises that you will return.  But you know that as soon as you hit the rough patch of your new project, you'll be whisked off onto another story, leaving yet another story to die.  Have you done it before?  It doesn't feel very good to think about it, does it?

how do you stick with it?

Honestly, Nike is right: you have to just do it .  But that's not very helpful to simply say.  If you have a long history of starting-and-ditching stories, how do you break the habit? 

Perversely, I've really never had trouble finishing a story.  I am generally lazy and impatient, but when it comes to my writing, I can think of only two stories (still promising) which I had to set aside because something else needed my attention more.  This does not mean I don't get wild ideas for more stories while I'm in the middle of a project: my entire Plenilunar series is a testament to that!  But as far back as I can remember, all of my stories, all massive beasts, were started, worked through, and finished.  I've never developed the bad habit of running off after a new story in the middle of a current project.  So who am I to offer advice?

you don't plunge into the river to save a drowning man

I do know what it's like to lose that first flame and to feel like you've lost your way in the story.  Believe me, I feel like I've been wandering blindly through Talldogs in a passionless malaise.  How much more fun would it be to, say, tackle the character snarls of Maresgate or plunge head-long into the cataclysm of Cruxgang, and leave Talldogs until I "got more ideas" for its plot?  Well, it might be fun, but somehow I doubt it, because I'm not fooled into believing that the cycle can be broken by continuing to follow it.  Talldogs hasn't always been fun to write, so I had to do the only thing I could do, and Shannon Dittemore is absolutely right: you have to persevere .  There isn't a magic spell you can cast on yourself or your novel, there isn't a writing camp or a playlist to get you inspired.  You have to keep moving forward, believing that you will come through and that you'll have done the right thing, if not the easy thing.  Do you remember that quote by Screwtape?

"Do not be deceived, Wormwood.  Our cause is never more in danger than when a human, no longer desiring, but still intending, to do our Enemy's will, looks round upon a universe from which every trace of Him seems to have vanished, and asks why he has been forsaken, and still obeys."

In a way this applies to Talldogs, and your novel, as well.  Even though long months felt like I was dragging the corpse of a once flourishing plot through a sorry Word document, I believed that in the end I would rekindle that blaze of life.  I couldn't see it, I couldn't feel it, I often did not know where I was going.  But I kept going.  And you know what?

the fire rekindled

I'm so glad I did not give up, and I think you will be too.

Keeping On Keeping-On

charm & gumptiontea is brewingeverything's going to be fine
I really don't let on how difficult it is being pregnant, for multiple reasons.  One is that my pregnancy has been textbook simple compared to the pregnancies of other people I know, so why seem like I'm complaining?  That's really bad form.  Another reason - while I want people to care, I really can't stand sympathy.  It makes me uncomfortable and embarrassed, and in the end I would rather tell people I'm doing fine.  When I'm with other people, I usually am, because I pull myself together and I make myself look great and feel great, so I don't lie when people ask me how I am and I say fine.  Reason number three, I'm tired of the casual disparagement thrown at child-bearing.  People assume it's going to be horrible, they make fun of it, they have no respect, and I'm sick of that.  So I get out of my pajamas, I put on my make-up, I slam my feet into the highest pair of heels I can manage, and I go out there and prove to them that, yes, pregnancy is rough on the body and often terrifying and confusing, but you can do it gracefully.

no pun intended, but you have to push

I do acknowledge my physical and mental limitations.  I'm carrying almost twenty extra pounds on my petite frame, and the frame is getting looser and looser as it prepares to shed that weight.  Movement, which was once taken for granted, is now carefully premeditated and provided for.  I know I only have so much energy in my body, and that energy level is usually less than what I have guesstimated.  When they talk to you about "pregnancy brain," do not scoff at them.  Chemically, it is a real deal that I have to own up to: I can no longer remember, or think, as clearly as I could.  It will pass, but at present it's a real struggle.

But I have things to do.  I want to keep reading, I want to keep writing, I want my house to not be a wreck.  When it comes to my writing, I'm actually grateful that it is November.  I haven't done NaNoWriMo in years, not officially - I'm not sure I've ever played by the NaNo rules, ever.  And NaNo is one of those cult-classics among writers that you can't say anything negative about, so my views on quality and my general independence from prompts stay on my side of my computer screen.  But this year the notion of NaNo has helped keep me going.  The daily wordcount (to reach 50,000 words by the end of the month) is 1,667, and so I have put it upon myself in the loosest terms to aim for that number each day.  Even if I write only a portion of that - even if I don't bring myself to write at all during a day - I start afresh the next day.  No worries, no pressure, just a goal.

In this manner I have pushed Talldogs well into the endgame of its plot, and I am currently writing this blog post from the auspices of a marvelously productive writing day (5,443!), which has made me happy.  I don't expect it to be repeated tomorrow, but that's okay.  I know my limits, and I've pushed the ones I can  Those who have been pregnant know that emotional stability during this time is important.  To me, staying creative and keeping my plot moving is also important.  I've managed to maintain these two in 1,667 words.

so, so close to the end!

A Map For PLENILUNE

pinterestFor those of you who grew up in the nineties, I may or may not make a Carmen Sandiego joke.
This beautiful albeit scantily-clad map of Plenilune was roughly sketched out by yours truly many moons ago under the influence of a splitting headache brought on by an unconscious iron deficiency and the willing consent of a double dosage of Tylenol PM.   That it was brought out in such clarity is a testament to the problem-solving skills of the digital designer, who had to interpret my nearly-illiterate scrawl across two sheets of college-ruled paper.  And that is the brutal truth of the creative process of almost any artist the whole world over.

Enjoy!

The Next-Best News on Talldogs

pinterestthe first order of news

plenilune is available in paperback through amazon!

The Penslayer has been jam-packed with news about this debut fantasy of mine; and The Penslayer hasn't been as frequented with news as my Facebook and my Twitter feeds have been!  I am thrilled to be able to offer you this novel at last, to finally be able to share secrets that I have been hording like a dragon for years.  At last you may know!  ...Just don't spoil it for those who are a little slower getting their hands on the book.

Otherwise, my head has been insanely busy.  Trying to brainstorm through pregnancy hormones is like spinning tires in the mud.  To the relief of all, my sister-in-law just delivered her third child, adding one more amongst numerous end-of-the-year birthdays to our family (my mother's is November 5th - I know, easy to remember, right? and it coincides with the release of Rachel Heffington's new mystery Anon, Sir, Anon !).

I've been lazing around among Mary Stewart and Georgette Heyer novels, because anything much more serious is beyond me at this point.  The majority of my cranial activity has gone, not to "nesting" or thinking about my first labour (I try to avoid overthinking that), but to plotting the ending sequences of Talldogs.  I am a step away from the endgame and I am that typical combination of excited and trucking.  If all goes as planned, it will have taken me a little over a year to have written the first draft.  We are currently at 109,448 words, and I am toying with the notion of leisurely Howling myself into pushing for 1,667 words each day through November until I finish the draft.  But don't tell me I said that, because I'll scare myself out of it.

snippets, anyone?
“…Small pressure needed, in the soft of the back, to put a knife through…”“I know.”talldogs
Idly, Avery bent down and shifted up the coverlet, casting the glamour of a hunter’s colours through the golden gloom. “I will see that he finishes his supper.”talldogs
...in his mind’s eye he saw the inexplicable terror on his brother’s face, framed in the black-brown shadows of their room, staring at him as if for the last time.talldogs
Suddenly age and a war and a throw from a horse were visible in the man’s face. Wearily, he joined his hand with Raymond’s, and Raymond felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle as he was caught up and saw the small, personal, secret things in Bell-the-cat’s face which were not lawful for another man to utter.  talldogs
There was a squeal amongst the dogs’ noise, the crash of a door somewhere, and in a moment the rainy world was hammered apart by the ragged tattoo of a horse’s hooves. In a moment Geoffrey’s mucky brown came flying round the corner of the house, plunging sidelong into the stableyard gateway with its head flung round against the bit as Geoffrey swept his hand for a lost rein—then he was digging in his heels and the horse was shooting forward, head sawing, legs eating up the ground in a breakneck gallop. talldogs
The gloom collapsed around us. We worked our way to the heart of the tangle, going it on hands and knees, the scent of hot earth in our nostrils, while the yew clawed at our faces and dragged our clothes at our shoulders. When it was almost black, with only spare bars of tiger-light leaking through the hedge, Pan Aeneas fell upon her side, flanks heaving, her hands clamped over her mouth. Under the roar of fire and the scream of men and horses, I heard the soft rustle-rustle of leaves beneath her shaking body, and realized that she was sobbing. The whites of her eyes flashed terror in the darkness. Wordlessly, I rolled in the torn yew-brake and passed my arms around her head, pulling her close while the world burned over our heads and she cried.ampersand
She fell backward, the throat of a scream slashed open and bleeding in her mouth.adamantine
"Familiarity makes things small. You will grow into it, you'll see."lamblight
"When they threw you out of heaven, I think you hit your head in the landing."gingerune
"I desire his head upon a platter. Perhaps then," she concluded dryly, "it will have ceased speaking." cruxgang

The One Thing I Did Not Expect to Learn from Self-Publishing

pinterestAnyone who has self-published knows how blind and stressful the venture can be, especially if you are not naturally gifted in the arts of technicalities and marketing.  When I decided six or so months ago that I was going to self-publish Plenilune, I went into it knowing I was handicapped in some very important areas - pretty much all of them.  I had no idea what all it would require, I had no idea how much money it would cost, I had no idea if anyone would even care about the product I had to offer.  But I had a product that I believed in, and a waning appreciation for the traditional publishing route, so I went for it, literally in blind and foolish faith.

As many of you know, this year has been anything but calm.  I almost lost my father.  The economy necessitated our landlord to put his rental property on the market, which meant my husband and I had to begin looking for a house of our own.  My husband graduated from his five-year program at college and began working full-time with a landscape design firm.  We decided to have a baby.  I decided to publish a novel.  More huge unknowns have piled up in this year than I feel I have faced in my entire life.  I'll be facing more, no doubt bigger, unknowns as I progress through life, but just right now in 2014 I have had to shut my eyes and grow because there was no other option available.  Needless to say, it has been stressful and frightening and a lot to handle.

You figure, when you go through "life experiences," that you're going to learn a lot.  And you do.  I've moved, I've experienced that.  I have seven and a half months' worth of pregnancy experience under my belt - or I would, if I could physically wear a belt.  I've stumbled my way through the mechanics of self-publishing a very massive debut fantasy.  I've learned a lot.  But I've learned one thing that was wholly unexpected.

people have been there

Going into self-publishing, I had no idea what I was doing, I just knew that people did it and so could I.  The next thing I knew, I was being directed by friends who had self-published to people who knew how to help, to people with skills, to people who were willing to lend me a hand.  Out of nowhere I had a cover artist, I had a line-editor, I had people who could format manuscripts for several different venues.  I had people who were fine with my complete inability to grasp the basics of the technical aspects of self-publishing, let alone its niceties.  I had people who were happy to help.

I've tried the traditional publishing route.  I even pursued it with Plenilune for awhile.  But that's a big market out there, and while it is populated by human beings with personalities and feelings, it is kind of a monster, and I discovered that any up-and-coming author is competition, not always companion.  It is not a readily friendly world.  It is huge, and if you can make it, that is awesome: you can shoot to the top and shine.  But it doesn't care.  It's a dog-eat-dog economy in many ways, and you have to fight to survive, wounding people around you as you go.

I've learned that the independent publishing community is not like that.  I'm not a very personable person myself, although I like to be friendly, so I was expecting this to be an uphill battle the whole way.  I was expecting to have to win people with iron and conquest.  They came willingly.  To my shock, I discovered that they cared, that they were willing to go miles I had never asked them to walk.  Out of nowhere I was told that Plenilune had been nominated for a number of categories in the Annual Blogger Awards of 2014!  People have sat down at the computer and seemingly written volumes in praise of Plenilune with no other incentive than that they liked it: no "review this favourably and win a free copy!" carrot-and-stick-like prompting.  They cared.  They helped.  They gave.

I've learned that the "indi" publishing movement is a community.  No one is competition.  We're all here to give and take and help as we can.  How easy is it to host a cover reveal, to mention that a book is debuting, to share a status update on Facebook or retweet on Twitter?  So easy!  How much does it mean to the author?  A world of difference.  The old cottage-industry and its camaraderie is making a curious come-back in the wake of the internet, and the independent publishing community is one aspect of that.  It is populated by real people with products that they make and sell, and they are dependent on the give-and-take of charity and aid of others in the community, without which there would be very little material gain from the products themselves.  They call it "independent" publishing, but it is just the opposite.  If anything, the author is more dependent upon the community than he is in traditional publishing, and I have learned that the community is aware of that. 

so thank you.  thank you for making this possible.