Shawnee Small's Blog, page 9

Good news. Bad news.

Dear Friend/Reader/Fan:

I’ve got some good news and bad news.

The good news is that I’ve got one chapter to go and the Protector draft is finished. It’s taken longer than expected (as it normally does), but 8 1/2 months later and we’re finally there. Phew. It’s been a crazy ride, 2012.

Now for the bad news. I’ve decided to pull Watcher down and hold off on launching Protector. I don’t know if this is a good idea or not, but after getting feedback from my editor on Watcher, I think it needs to be done. My current plan is to go back to Watcher and do some major re-writes – and I mean major – some characters may even disappear forever. I have mixed feelings about this, but I think my editor is right on some points, which aren’t worth going into here.

It’s an easy mistake to make as a new author. Everything seems so precious even after you hack the crap out of your original 128,000 word manuscript. The lesson here is that I should’ve had an editor in place a long time ago. I accept that mistake and am now going to remedy it.

It also means that I’m likely to query for an agent. I think it’s the right thing for me to do because I never queried Watcher. I never sent out even one groveling email to any agent to represent me and I think that was also a mistake. I like to do everything myself and so I was over-confident in my abilities. It’s hard to be everything every day and keep your sanity. I get that now. Sometimes it makes sense to have a little help. Indie authors everywhere are probably screaming at me right about now, but I need to be a scab even if it’s just for six months of trying. I may query and have no luck or I might get fed up, who knows? What I do know is that there’s no point to putting out Protector until I resolve my issues with Watcher – for this, I apologize to all of you.

And I’m also trying to do this: http://clarionwest.org/workshop

Pretty scary stuff, and I don’t know if I have a shot or not. Writing under pressure and on things that I’m not necessarily comfortable with is a wee bit scary. Plus, I’m pretty stubborn – I like to finish things before I start a new project, hence, the reason I haven’t started on my new book idea, which is gnawing out my brain right now. I’m stuck in the Watcher world for better or worse until I see the ending come true. I want Poesy and Adam, and hell, all of the Paddy crew to have the closure they deserve. We’ve come so far already . . .

So that’s my news.

I’m still around if you wanna talk and no doubt you’ll be hearing from me via here as things progress.

shawnee

 

 

Is it Friday yet?

Yes, it is. Thank God. Well mostly. At least . . . Ugh. Okay, not really.

It is Friday, the very first Friday of the new year, which means it should be an auspicious start, right?

Well, it’s funny that. I’m getting mixed reviews on how people are faring the New Year and we’re only four days in. On one hand, I’ve got FB friends who have proliferated their Facebook pages with pictures of weird looking cats and sage wisdoms for the start of 2013, things like “Whatever you dreamed yesterday, you can dream tomorrow,” and “Start off the new year on the right track with these 10 organizational tips.” You get the drift. Pages of overflowing optimisim and niceness. On the other hand, I’ve realized I’m also friends with a large group of cynical pragmatists.  They’ve got things like, “The glass is half full. Who are you kidding?” or “2013: Why did the Mayans have to be wrong?” Yep. I’m telling you, these people make my day every day.

So why is today downer Friday? What’s in the air that makes some people so, you know, down?

The one thing you can say about the first week of a new year is that it makes people think. Hell, you can’t swing a dead cat around here without someone asking you what your new year’s resolutions are (ed. – please don’t swing cats, dead or otherwise). The ending of a year and the beginning of a new one is a time of reflection, of introspection, and some of us just don’t like what we see. Some people think about all the stuff they didn’t accomplish in 2012 or all the crap that came their way that they’re still dealing with. Others freak out completely and start wondering “What does it all mean and what’s it got to do with me?” I don’t know if it’s something particular to our age – most of my friends are in their 30s and 40s – or if it’s just part of the human condition to feel that little bit uneasy when a new year starts.

I like to think of it as performance anxiety. It’s not just a man’s problem. I think we all suffer from it even if it’s just a little tiny itsy weeny bit.

My personal case in point. As I finish Protector and start working with my new editor, I have this distinct feeling of discomfort that I didn’t do enough for Watcher. I stood by my guns that I wasn’t going to do any promotion on Watcher at all until I completed Protector. Why you may ask? Well, I had two very good reasons in my mind:

1) I would lose momentum as people waited around for Protector

2) What if I couldn’t write a second book?

Both are very real fears in my head. I guess I should say were now. Protector is just about finished, thank God, praise be to Allah, Mazel Tov, etc. . . But that aside, I’m lamenting the fact that I didn’t do something about Watcher reviews before now, that I didn’t plug into the PR machine. Now that I’m ramping up to Protector launch, I’m having to start on this now while I really should be enjoying my “honeymoon period” with my editor. I would be lying if I didn’t say it kinda sucks. Now I see why publicists get the big bucks cause frankly being a one man shop is like a time sucking vortex of the Dr. Who variety. No one has time to do everything (ed. – I can turn anything into a Dr. Who reference, trust me).

So back to the New Year, right?

I can see why people are stressed out. A new year means a new expectation plus all the old crap you were dealing with any way. Not that I want to end this blog post on a negative vibe – last thing I need is bad juju here. No, what I wanted to say is that it’s okay to be a stress monkey, it’s almost expected. If you’re not a little stressed out about another year going by then I’m not sure you’re doing it right.

And on that note:

Happy New Year and remember to breathe. It’s going to be a hell of a ride.

Real Life and Writing

I’m a day early on a blog post. I know, like anyone has any time to read anything so close to the holidays, but this thought has been stuck in my brain all week and I had to write about it somewhere.

So here it is:

It’s funny how real life can crop up in your writing. What I mean by that is that no writer is an island onto himself. Everything we experience, everything that moves us – both good and bad – has an effect on what we send out into the world in our books. I know that we all write the little blurb in the front of our novels that say “blah, blah, blah, purely fictional, blah, blah, not based on real people,” and that’s mostly true, but not 100%.

I had my own art-imitates-life-then-life-imitates-art moment this week.

I’ve been having a hell of a time getting the last couple of chapters of Protector finished this week. Nevermind that I have an editor deadline for January 7th. Oh no, I’m gonna be having some late nights between now and then. That aside, I experienced the same thing with Watcher so it’s not a new feeling. There’s something paralyzing and terrifying about tying up the loose ends into a pretty package (ed.- gratuitous holiday reference). I mean you’ve got almost 400 pages in and now all eyes are on you as resolve all the angst, the tensions, and of course, the murders. Plus for me, there’s always that chapter or two that happens right before the big reveal that has gaps – I mean seriously big holes where you think, “Where’s the plot to fill that?”

And so that sends me into a spiral of panic. For the most part.

But you know what? It’s also a magical moment. Some of the biggest “Uh uh, you didn’t!” moments came at the end of Watcher, which ties back into my original thought about real life.

At the end of Watcher, I was seriously addicted to Dr. Who, specifically the The Doctor and Rose timeline. That whole “Bad Wolf Bay” thing nearly killed me. I literally had tears in my eyes with that good bye scene. There have been few times that I have emoted in such a strong way to fiction. Even now, I think I was a wee bit silly with Dr. Who, but if I go back and re-watch it, I still get that feeling. It takes a lot for me to buy in, but when I do, I buy in big.

So as I enter the last phases of Protector, I find myself once again addicted to yet another televisual experience – this time in the guise of Sons of Anarchy.

Oh yes. Man, I am seriously hooked on this crazy show.

Bear with me for a minute here as I digress . . . I have a deep love for everything Russell T Davies. Not that Russell has anything to actually do with the SOA, but when I found out that little ol’ Geordie Charlie Hunnam was playing a biker boy in a US drama for FX, my intrigued was piqued. Any Brit or gay man for that matter will remember Charlie playing Nathan, a coming of age gay adolescent in Davies’ Queer as Folk. (Hell, I can’t get the images of his gay sex scene out of my head ever.) So how does a quintessential gay icon become a burly extremely heterosexual biker gangster?

Easier than you imagine for a Brit star who’s been trying to break out in the US. Wow.

Where’s Nathan?

Anyhow, the point is that I’m finding it having an influence on the ending of Protector. Just like Dr. Who did on the end of Watcher. All of a sudden plot holes are starting to fill, things are clicking into place, and I have a new love for men with facial hair, tattoos, and big Harleys. Thank you SOA for the inspiration.

I won’t say more because otherwise it’ll give away what’s brewing for Betrayer, Book 3, but you get my drift. Sometimes art imitates life or vice versa, but sometimes art imitates art, too, whether we’re conscious of it or not.

 

 

7 Months

Tomorrow, it will be exactly seven months since I started writing Protector, Book 2 of the Shining Ones series.

Wow.

Has it only been seven months? Yep, afraid so. What feels like an agonizing lifetime has in fact only been about the same length of time it’s taken me to get four hair cuts. Or to put 5,000 miles on my car. Or the same time it’s taken me to gain about 5 pounds.

I’d like to say that that sort of stuff puts it in perspective, but really it doesn’t. As I get older, time seems to speed up exponentially to my age. My husband tries to give me some sort of scientific explanation for this, but more often than not, I don’t understand it. Happily, it doesn’t change the facts.

Seven months.

Holy Moley. But in a good way.

Even though I had originally planned to finish Protector at the end of August, I can see now that that goal was highly unrealistic. After all, it had taken me over a year maybe even two to write the first book. I’m not 100% sure because I didn’t keep a developer/writer journal during that time. I’m just doing an estimate here. Still, even if I said eighteen months as a compromise, that means I’ve cut 50% out of my timeline.

Whoa. That’s pretty crazy. Imagine if I was a manufacturing plant making widgets. Would I get a bonus for the increase in production?

Anyhow, it’s a nice way to end a very bad week . . . seventeen chapters down and only a few more to go.

What I’m Thankful For . . . yes I’m late

In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not very good at the whole blog thing. Yeah, not really good at email either or the phone or any other way that a normal human being keeps up with another human being. I’d like to call it genetic, but I know it’s not true. There are women in my family who can talk on the phone for hours – so that theory is utter bollocks.

And that’s not what this blog post is really about.

No, what this is about is friends. Not an acquaintance, a colleague, someone from your book group, your rabbi, or anyone else who fits your life like an accessory. I mean the real deal. The one. The person who knows you better than you do. Yeah, that friend. The type of friend that you get once or twice in a lifetime. The one that stands by you no matter what sort of cosmic crap follows you around. That friend who puts up with all your neurosis, your fat thighs, your multiple one night stands, and everything else in between. It doesn’t have to be someone who’s known you your whole life, but it helps.

This is what mine looks like. She’ll probably kill me for posting this picture, but she’ll forgive me because she’s that friend (see how that works?).

We may not get to choose the genetic pool in which we spawn from, but we do get to choose who we want in our lives. There’s been a couple of times in the last twelve hours when I thought long and hard about what I had done to deserve the latest melodrama that has erupted in my personal life, like somehow I was being punished. But karma has a way of throwing you a lifeline. So when I was at my lowest point, my one called out of the blue from over 3,000 miles away right at the point that I needed her the most. I’m not making it up. It was like she knew without knowing. It was an almost religious experience and something that never ceases to amaze me about our relationship. Time and time again, she’s always there without me having to do a thing.

And just so you know, she’s highly embarrassed about my PDA and is probably inwardly cringing, but again, she’ll forgive me for that, too.

No matter how low you feel, no matter how much crazy family crap happens (because let’s face it, all families are just one step from Jerry Springer), no matter what things make you lose your belief in humanity, you will always have that friend.

And for that I’m truly thankful.

 

 

 

Why I’m not writing

I don’t know what it is about this October.There’s something in the air. It’s not just the cooler weather, the crackle of falling leaves, the smell of fresh apple cider . . . there’s something else going on and I can’t quite put my finger on it.

But the outcome is the same. I’m having a hard time concentrating on writing.

Yep. Same ol’ problem just different source.

It’s like I can ‘t sit still. I kid you not. I’ve got a million and one projects on and they all seem much more important somehow. Like cleaning out our linen closet or building a desk or making a wedding cake. I didn’t make any of those things up. They’ve all happened in the last two weeks.

So what is it about the Autumn that makes me crazy?

I don’t know. There’s something exhilarating about losing the Virginian humidity in lieu of crisp mornings that require a hoodie or a jumper. It sort of makes me go all gooey inside, but also gives me a shot of adrenaline, which means I’m never very long at my desk. I’m not even sure I’m writing about it, but I guess I’m wondering if it’s just me or something that everyone catches once September one comes and goes.

I’d like to say that since I’ve acknowledged it, I can now tackle it and move on . . . but did I mention that I’m hosting a Curry Club next week or that we’re throwing a neighborhood wide Guy Fawkes night in two weeks? Yep. Even after I deliver the cake to this wedding today, there’s still no rest for the wicked.

You know what though? I’m not too fussed. The Autumn is my favorite time of the year and I plan to enjoy it even if it means I get a wee bit behind *again*. Life is meant to be for the living after all.

Old times and your idols

How to begin the story . . .

The year is 1994. It’s a cold cloudy day and you’re standing with your friends in a queue that can only be described as “epic”. Your friend, Bob, has been holding a place for you on Shaftesbury Avenue for some time because he’s at uni and students can do things like that. You stand in line with your friends, you smoke a cigarette or two and curse your decision for wearing your long purple velvet skirt. At the time it seemed sexy – now it just seems silly. Still, it helps keep the wind out and it’s nice to be the only one in line not completely in black.

You stand and stand and stand a bit more and then you notice that the line is starting to shift. You think to yourself, “Hurrah! It’s about bloody time, otherwise, I’m going to require more than fags to keep me warm.” You are vaguely tempted to bugger off down the street to the nearest pub, but you’ve waited and it’d be a shame not to meet the man. I mean, he is the man, right? He wrote a whole comic that sort of changed your history – the least you can do is give him an extra ten minutes.

It’s finally time and you’re ushered into Forbidden Planet along with every other goth, nerd, art fan boy, and socially awkward creature waiting to see Neil and Dave (Did I mention Dave McKean? Yeah, it’s like a trifecta minus one.) You don’t stop to look, you don’t shop for the new Hellblazer and you certainly don’t dawdle over Nightmare Before Christmas figurines. No, you focus on what you’re going to say. You focus on what you can say to the man in order to get him to sign your jacket. You know you’ve already been told that he’s under a “time pressure”, but damn it, you’re determined and hell, you’re a girl, right? What the hell is the point of being a goth girl if you can’t use it to your advantage?

Still, you’re shocked when he says “yes”. And you’re even more shocked when he asks you to jump up on the counter in front of a store full of people. It’s at this point that you swear an oath under your breath about the god damn purple skirt, but luckily your boyfriend is there to help hoist you up.

You try not to faint from embarrassment as everyone ogles you with a resentful eye. You are hogging up the man’s time don’t-you-know, but you try to look anywhere but at the crowd. Seconds tick by then minutes and you can’t figure out what’s taking him so long. You look to your friend and she gasps. You want to ask what’s wrong, but you don’t. Did he forget how to spell his name? Did he spell it wrong and cross it out?

Now to put it in perspective, this is a vintage leather jacket from Camden market that’s already got three painted panels that you’ve worked so hard on. You can’t throw this jacket away and start again. No, you’ll have to live with whatever the mistake is and be done with it. After all, you are living in a hovel of a flat with no money. The jacket cost you at least 30 quid even in Camden.

You jump off the counter and the man reminds you to hold still until the ink dries. He gives you a secret smile and before you know it, your moment is over. You find yourself ushered out of the building onto the sidewalk trying desperately not to ripple the leather of your jacket, which means you appear to walk like a zombie.

Five minutes later, after a bunch of oohing and aahing from your friends, you get to see what Neil has left for you . . . a perfect rendition of Dream aka the Sandman.

That was me back in 1994. Young, impressionable, straight out of university with no job or at least with no job that required a degree in English Literature.

That was then and this is now.

Not alot has changed in that time. Yes, the hair is a little longer, maybe a little bit of weight has been gained, and there’s the odd streak of grey here and there. The black is still there for both of us, of course. Unlike Neil, I’ve had several career changes since then. I’m now an author myself, which somehow seems poetic when I look back at the younger me. And Neil is still Neil, which pleases me to no end.

So where to go from here?

Well, I gave Neil a copy of Watcher, which was kinda like giving a candy bar to a god. Sweet, but potentially tasteless to someone who’s had only the best altar offerings. It’s hard to compete with that, but I had to do it. Even if he never reads it (I feel slightly nauseous if he does read it) Neil’s part of why I’m an author. If it hadn’t been for The Sandman and that fated drawing so many years ago, Watcher might’ve never existed. The whole Shining Ones series would be obsolete.

So thank you, Neil, for being an inspiration and an utterly lovely human being. And congratulations on your award. You’re still my idol after all these years . . .

 

(Authors itty bitty tiny note: Watcher was inspired in part by

Lucifer Morningstar in The Sandman, more specifically Lucifer's

continued story in "Seasons of Mists". More information can be

found on Wiki.)

 

 

What happens when outlines go bad

This morning has been pretty rough. Well, actually, it’s still rough, but I needed to take a break from the hysteria to get a better perspective. You know that bit I said about euphoria and hysteria in equal doses – I meant that. And today fits that perfectly.

So what’s gives?

Well, I think in hindsight I had it pretty easy with Watcher. Call it beginner’s luck or perhaps it’s first novel mojo, but whatever you call it, it’s been severely lacking with this second book.

I’d say that today I have officially woken up and smelled the coffee. Today I realized that I was actually struggling. The pacing’s off, I’m about hundred pages short of the first book, and the ending feels a bit rushed. My other half tells me just to finish the darn thing and go back and edit, but I’m afraid I’m not built that way. No, instead I’ve spent the morning poring over the storyline and trying to figure out where I’ve gone wrong. And you know what? It became clear very quickly.

I’ve got a bad outline.

Yep. The outline I set up for myself at the beginning of writing Protector has some major flaws that I’m just noticing with only a third of the book left to write. The red flags should’ve started waving earlier when I found myself combining chapters in the first 30% of the book. Combining chapters is never a good thing – it means that you didn’t have enough flesh for those chapters to be robust, stand-alone scenes. In itself it’s not horrible if it happens once, but when you find that you’re combining multiple chapters all over the place, suddenly, you have a great big gaping hole.

And that’s what I’ve got. I have a stagnant space right before the final story arch. It’s big and ugly and staring balefully at me even as I write up this blog.

So how do you fix it? Good question. Right now, I’m re-doing the plot lines for the last remaining chapters as they stand. I’m hoping that by plotting them out on large sheets of paper I can see where the worse offending gaps are. It’s sort of working. I can see the black hole that has swallowed up my next chapters, but the unfortunate part is I don’t know what’s going to fill that hole so I can get to the end.

That’s the dilemma that I’m tackling now. What sort of action and information would be useful to the reader to enhance the story and not bog it down? Filler for filler’s sake is good for no one.

So wish me luck. I need it.

Clever or what?

I don’t know if this is cringe worthy or pure brilliance?

 

What I did on my summer vacation

It is somehow apt that I’ve come up for air right when the kids are going back to school. Probably even ironic given the fact that I have no children unless you count 2 very furry and smelly dogs. Yeah, not quite, right?

So where have I been and why have I been so quiet? And while I’m at it, what’s going on with Protector, Book 2?

Those are the questions that I have been dealing with as of late. Yes, I have been missing for some time and yes, it’s been eerily quiet so what gives? Well, while I’m sitting here listening to Amanda Palmer belting out about love and Southern Comfort and wondering if it’s wrong to fall in love with Bill Nye for being totally awesome, I have made a list of things that I’ve learned over my summer vacation -

Shawnee’s List of Summer Vacation trivia:

Dirty vodka martinis are the stuff of legends
Ghost stories are all fun and games until they happen to you
It’s good to have a five year plan
There’s always time to see a gig . . .The more the better
115 degrees is only something you should experience in an oven
Family may come and go, but friends are forever
You can never have enough Dr Who paraphernalia
The gym is for people who like to inflict pain

On a more serous note, I have been closeted away at home in the la fuma chair (and a desk!) working diligently on Protector, Book 2 of The Shining Ones series. I’m slightly off my schedule, well, okay, pretty far off schedule and I wish I had a good excuse, but frankly, I don’t. It’s funny, really. While I felt pretty gutsy writing the first book, Protector is turning out to be a soul-searching-trying-not-to-scream book of epic proportions. I have loved and hated this book a hundred times more than I ever did with Watcher. It’s been crazy. I have watched (no pun intended) as Poesy and Adam’s relationship has deepened, have seen more people die in pretty horrific ways and have found myself meeting new characters that I didn’t even think would make it into Protector. I have found a new love and have rekindled old ones while also being extremely neurotic about characters growing up and getting a clue . . . And this is while being only half way through. If I didn’t need therapy before writing this book then I will definitely need it after.

So what can I tell you about Protector without spoiling it? Hmmm. Protector will lose some of its predecessor’s YA qualities. It had to happen sooner or later. I don’t really feel comfortable being in my 40s without there being some more adult content in there for us older types. Blame it on my re-reading of Ann Rice’s Cinderella erotica, but it’s time that the Paddy’s crew embraced their age. I’m also excited for you to meet some of the new inhabitants of Tybee, but don’t get too attached . . . I’m just saying. And I’m thrilled for you to see how things progress between Poesy and Adam and Birdie. I’m love them all, but there can only be one.

So, nice to see you again. Hope you had a good holiday, too.

xo

shawnee

PS – For more about my summer holidays, you can find me on facebook here or here