Cat Hellisen's Blog, page 34

Branding, tea, and other sundries.

Ever since I've been stumbling around the internet trying work out what exactly writers are supposed to do other than write, I've been hearing about Building Your Brand, and marketing and yadda whatever.

 

And yeah, I see WHY people do it but there are two things stopping me from aggressive marketing/branding.

 

1) I am hella lazy. Like, even just thinking about this stuff makes me tired.

2) It all sounds so tawdry.

 

So, I've elected to do that other thing – write (and edit, and occasionally talk crap on my blog about shit I like.) And every time people started talking about working on my brand or how am I going to promote my book and so on, I developed a convenient hearing and comprehension problem.

 

Then I read this – On the Internet There Is No Such Thing as a Brand. There Is Only You and I went YAY!  Because it's true. And it dovetailed neatly with my laziness in the face of keeping up some kind of persona on the internet. So that's nice.

 

Now, on to tea. There's a tea caravan in Cape Town, a wandering loose-leaf den of take away tea and eastern bohemian flair. Pretty damn awesome. It has a modern Hobverse charm that makes me want to snuggle down and stay there.

Also, yanno: tea.

 

It's called Lady Bonin's Tea Parlour, and it is the kind of thing I find fantastic, and oddly enough, makes me want to write more. So if you're in Cape Town, go check it out.

And now: more art from Jolene Boshoff based on When the Sea is Rising Red.

I'm so excited by this I can't even.

                                      

Branding, tea, and other sundries.

Ever since I've been stumbling around the internet trying work out what exactly writers are supposed to do other than write, I've been hearing about Building Your Brand, and marketing and yadda whatever.

 

And yeah, I see WHY people do it but there are two things stopping me from aggressive marketing/branding.

 

1) I am hella lazy. Like, even just thinking about this stuff makes me tired.

2) It all sounds so tawdry.

 

So, I've elected to do that other thing – write (and edit, and occasionally talk crap on my blog about shit I like.) And every time people started talking about working on my brand or how am I going to promote my book and so on, I developed a convenient hearing and comprehension problem.

 

Then I read this – On the Internet There Is No Such Thing as a Brand. There Is Only You and I went YAY!  Because it's true. And it dovetailed neatly with my laziness in the face of keeping up some kind of persona on the internet. So that's nice.

 

Now, on to tea. There's a tea caravan in Cape Town, a wandering loose-leaf den of take away tea and eastern bohemian flair. Pretty damn awesome. It has a modern Hobverse charm that makes me want to snuggle down and stay there.

Also, yanno: tea.

 

It's called Lady Bonin's Tea Parlour, and it is the kind of thing I find fantastic, and oddly enough, makes me want to write more. So if you're in Cape Town, go check it out.

And now: more art from Jolene Boshoff based on When the Sea is Rising Red.

I'm so excited by this I can't even.

                                      

peanut butter & jam on toast, or: How to make me like writing.

So if you know me, you may know of my utter loathing for peanut butter. Hand me a sandwich with peanut butter on, or worse, with added jam, I will make a face like this

Okay, got that? Now picture me starting an eating thing that requires me to NOT eat peanut butter or jam sandwiches. This is like the world's easiest deprivation. I win!

 

Only I don't.

 

Because now all I can bloody-well think about are peanut butter and jam sandwiches. How wholewheat bread is so nutty and delicious, and that particular rich creamy texture of peanut butter + the awesome crunchy bits. How gorgeously purple rich youngberry jam is. How much I want this damn sandwich that you normally couldn't pay me to eat.

 

Life. Gah. Instead I had a spoon of pb & jam, so there, but still.

(I could totally write slash about the above picture, but I am trying to not be too creepy because I mean really. Also, I don't need to. In F1 the slash writes itself)

 

So anyway, it's a simple bit of psychology that parents understand only too well, and now I am going to apply it to myself. See, I have this book. I kinda like it, but not enough. Or rather, I used to like it but now I'm scared of writing it because it isn't perfect, and it's dumb, and everyone will laugh at me because it's shite. (It's also first draft and unfinished, so shite by default, but I have never let things like logic bother me).

Obviously with this attitude, I have a desire of -1 to work on it.

 

CAT YOU MAY NEVER WORK ON THIS BOOK AGAIN EVER SO THERE, AND IF YOU DO EVERYONE WILL HATE YOU AND SO ON ETCETERA.

 

hokay.

                                      

peanut butter & jam on toast, or: How to make me like writing.

So if you know me, you may know of my utter loathing for peanut butter. Hand me a sandwich with peanut butter on, or worse, with added jam, I will make a face like this

Okay, got that? Now picture me starting an eating thing that requires me to NOT eat peanut butter or jam sandwiches. This is like the world's easiest deprivation. I win!

 

Only I don't.

 

Because now all I can bloody-well think about are peanut butter and jam sandwiches. How wholewheat bread is so nutty and delicious, and that particular rich creamy texture of peanut butter + the awesome crunchy bits. How gorgeously purple rich youngberry jam is. How much I want this damn sandwich that you normally couldn't pay me to eat.

 

Life. Gah. Instead I had a spoon of pb & jam, so there, but still.

(I could totally write slash about the above picture, but I am trying to not be too creepy because I mean really. Also, I don't need to. In F1 the slash writes itself)

 

So anyway, it's a simple bit of psychology that parents understand only too well, and now I am going to apply it to myself. See, I have this book. I kinda like it, but not enough. Or rather, I used to like it but now I'm scared of writing it because it isn't perfect, and it's dumb, and everyone will laugh at me because it's shite. (It's also first draft and unfinished, so shite by default, but I have never let things like logic bother me).

Obviously with this attitude, I have a desire of -1 to work on it.

 

CAT YOU MAY NEVER WORK ON THIS BOOK AGAIN EVER SO THERE, AND IF YOU DO EVERYONE WILL HATE YOU AND SO ON ETCETERA.

 

hokay.

                                      

Sorry dear, but I have to kill you now.

I am deep deep deep in the soul-sucking morass of inanity and stupidity and just plain sludgy boringness that is the middle of a book.

Gah. It's at this point the call to give up and shove this steaming pile of horse's bum-nuggets is strongest.

"It's shit," I say. "It is the most soapy operary soap opera that was ever vomited forth. Worse, it's a boring soap opera. And why the fuck does everyone in the damn book have Tourette's?" I then vow to to kill off the very next character who has the temerity to shrug, stare, or sigh. And I don't care if it's the fucking main character, I will stab them with this calligraphy pen. (because hammering them with the delete button is less viciously appealing.)

It's the middle-of-the-book blues. You know, the long bit between the excitement of starting a new story and the thrill of the climax. Eh, the bit where most of the work happens.

So, a reminder to myself. Yes, the book is shit. It's shit for two reasons (well, many, but two big ones).

One: It's still growing. Like a teenager whose ears and feet and jawbone have outgrown the rest of him and is waiting for the other cells to get the message, a middle-of-the-book book is an ugly, awkward, zitty mess. And it's insecure, poor thing. That's why it's sulking. And dressed all in black and playing shitty emo music at top volume.

Two: It's a first draft. There may be nothing more hideous on earth than a first draft. Deal with it.

You have a thousand more drafts to beat this thing into shape. Relax, take a deep breath, and keep putting down words. One. After. The. Other.

                                      

Sorry dear, but I have to kill you now.

I am deep deep deep in the soul-sucking morass of inanity and stupidity and just plain sludgy boringness that is the middle of a book.

Gah. It's at this point the call to give up and shove this steaming pile of horse's bum-nuggets is strongest.

"It's shit," I say. "It is the most soapy operary soap opera that was ever vomited forth. Worse, it's a boring soap opera. And why the fuck does everyone in the damn book have Tourette's?" I then vow to to kill off the very next character who has the temerity to shrug, stare, or sigh. And I don't care if it's the fucking main character, I will stab them with this calligraphy pen. (because hammering them with the delete button is less viciously appealing.)

It's the middle-of-the-book blues. You know, the long bit between the excitement of starting a new story and the thrill of the climax. Eh, the bit where most of the work happens.

So, a reminder to myself. Yes, the book is shit. It's shit for two reasons (well, many, but two big ones).

One: It's still growing. Like a teenager whose ears and feet and jawbone have outgrown the rest of him and is waiting for the other cells to get the message, a middle-of-the-book book is an ugly, awkward, zitty mess. And it's insecure, poor thing. That's why it's sulking. And dressed all in black and playing shitty emo music at top volume.

Two: It's a first draft. There may be nothing more hideous on earth than a first draft. Deal with it.

You have a thousand more drafts to beat this thing into shape. Relax, take a deep breath, and keep putting down words. One. After. The. Other.

                                      

500 words before breakfast

Trying for 5 000 words a day so that I feel justified by my failure. Nah. Actually, I've had the first 20 000 words of this book sitting on my hard-drive for over a year now so if I don't do something with this story I'll get all pissy with myself.

 

It's meandering like a meandering thing right now, although the introduction of a feral cannibal character with Stockholm Syndrome has made life slightly more interesting. And by slightly, I mean it. Eh. there's no way to fix nothing, but you can always look at a piece of shit lovingly and say "that's my piece of crap and I'm damn proud of it."

 

Or something. No really, I love even my crappy writing. I mean, not in the OH MY GOD THIS DESERVES TO BE PUBLISHED way, but more in the sense that it's symbolic of me not giving in to the urge to lie in bed all day with a duvet over my head, quietly chanting "if you shower, then you can have a ten minute break, and then if you pack away 5 pieces of clothing you can have a cup of coffee."

 

Occasionally The Slave manages to get me to crawl blinking into the sun, and this weekend we went missioning in the mountains around Kalk Bay.

Herewith a picture of The Slave looking like a gothic elf, and The Luminous Hound.

 

And now that I've assured you all that I might exist, I'm off to play ukulele.

 

I leave you with this thought.

 

                                      

Open Source Writing Software – Zim Desktop Wiki

OMG AM I EVER IN LOVE WITH THIS ONE.

 

We are going to elope and live on an island together making little word babies.

 

Zim Desktop Wiki is basically a notebook tool that works by linking things together like a wiki. How fucking nifty is that?

 

It is super easy to use. I'm running it on Ubuntu but I see there's a Wndows installer on the downloads page (someone who uses Windows, if you try Zim, please let me know how it works). It's  fantastic for me, trying to keep order to my vast worldbuilding notes, so I would especially recommend this to anyone writing with a large cast, second world fantasy, or indeed any kind of writing where you constantly need to refresh and interlink your notes.

 

Here's a grab of my current Hobverse project notes:

 

 

I mean, seriously, how gorgeous is that? Nnnghhh *fondles*

 

This one is definitely getting a thumbs up.

 

 

                                      

arcproject order

Okay arc project people. YAY I'M SO ASCITED!!!

 

I have a rough list of names and dates. I'm putting everyone down for a week time slot BUT don't panic. That's just so I have a rough guide. I know sometimes post is slow and so on. Just try not to hang on to the book for longer than a fortnight and we should be good.

 

Also, don't lose it or I will send my partner's cat after you.

 

She is satan in feline form and can disembowel a camel in less than 15 seconds. SHE WILL TEAR YOUR FACE OFF.

 

With that spectacular threat out of the way, here's the rough guide with the estimated date of arrival in brackets; remember that the date is mostly a big fat lie. I will send each person the postal address of the next person in the chain. I also ask than when you send it off to the next recipient, you just drop me an email to let me know so I have an idea where it is/where it's going. Thank you!!

 

Nerine – Cape Town (currently has it)

Jennifer – Johannesburg – 15 August

Vanessa -Johannesburg – 22 August

Debbie – Germiston – 29 August

back to me

Laura – UK – 12 Sept

Annette – USA – 19 Sept

Katherine – USA – 26 Sept

Artemis – USA – 3 Oct

April – USA – 17 Oct

Grace – USA – 24 Oct.

So…even with inevitable delays that will work just fine. I ask that each person who participates writes a review. Please With cherries etc. Don't post your review until after everyone has finished the arcproject, although you're welcome to give a rating on goodreads if you like. And yes, you can give an honest rating. I will not really send the cat after you. (I might ponder it for all of two minutes though.)

 

 

                                      

Arc Project

I am full up now on arc project participants.

 

If you haven't yet emailed me your postal address, please would you. As soon as all the addies are in I can work out a posting schedule.

 

Thanks so much to those who asked to participate, you guys are stellar.