Susan Dexter's Blog, page 13

Writers Without Borders

   What can a “brick & mortar” bookstore offer that the mighty Amazon cannot? When your shoppers can browse the world with the flick of a mouse—from their phones, no less—you’d think a store would cherish the thing that they have, and their competitor doesn’t. You’d think. You’d be wrong.

   The Writers’ Support Group which has met monthly at the Boardman Ohio Barnes & Noble store for the past seven or more years has been told that the store will no longer reserve us a table in their common area. Oh, if there’s by chance a table there, we’re welcome to drag some chairs over—so long as we accommodate anyone else who wanders in. (Sidebar: we actually are that welcoming. Ask Louise. She came into the store hoping to find a book discussion group, spotted us, and was invited in on the spot. Because Readers need Writers and Writers need Readers!)

   We’re also welcome to sit in the Café. Tiny tables, no power outlets within reach, and of course no way to reserve a spot.

   Never mind that we shop there, buy books and coffee and all the non-book items the store is filled with. We’re good guests. Never mind that our group contains at least four writers who have books available on Barnes & Noble’s Nook platform. We’ve told them. We’ve offered to be part of their Nook promotions. They aren’t interested. Our indie-published books cannot be stocked. They host signings with sports figures and politicians, but writers get the shortest shrift ever.

   What can a physical book store offer that an internet store cannot? A writers’ group. Shoot yourself in the foot much, B & N? Someday you’ll wish you had the buzz we brought to your store. Too bad—the Writers’ Support Group with no name has moved to Caribou Coffee. See the photo of our smiling faces. The coffee’s better too!

Confluence

   I don’t even remember where my first Confluence was. I know who hooked me up with con programming: the Keith brothers, Bill and Andrew. I met them at a mass signing in Greensburg, and it was sometime around the time Pittsburgh Magazine interviewed me. My first Confluence may have been 1996.

   Anyway, I’ve gone with the con to Mars (Cranberry), Moon (township) Downtown (expensive parking), Mars (Cranberry again), Moon (off Enterprise Drive in the RIDIC Park) and Moon (University Boulevard)

   I regret to say, this year’s Confluence, the 25th, has been cancelled. (Hotel was sold out from under them, to become dormitory space for Robert Morris University.) Will Confluence be back next year? Almost certainly. But I’m sad for this year: Bill Keith was set for Guest of Honor, I finally have both a website and a blog, and I was going to launch The Wandering Duke there with a draft cider klatch. (No, I did not inflict a curse upon the con when they left me out of the con program book last year!)
   I am very close to bringing The Wandering Duke out on CreateSpace. Here's the map!

Coming Attractions

   Can’t wait to share this! After a couple of years available as an e-book, The Wandering Duke will be coming to Amazon CreateSpace. I am preparing the interior file now, the map is taking shape in my head—and most importantly, the cover is done!

   I can’t thank Teddi Black enough for steering me in a fresh direction. Since my intention is to bring out the other Warhorse of Esdragon books, we knew we needed a series look, something distinct from the Wizard’s Destiny trilogy—though those books also contain Valadan, Tristan’s story is their true focus. Scene specific art wasn’t working, and so I designed a graphic I call the Warhorse Wheel. It’s based on a banner design I made years ago, versatile enough to use many ways. Here’s its first appearance.

Show, Don't Tell

(To the left, Darlene Torday, Cathy Seckman and me, book signing at the Java Jo House, East Liverpool, Ohio.)

Show, don't Tell: it’s very basic advice—and you can always return to it, center on it, contemplate it when you’re in fiction writing difficulties. Here’s why it’s essential advice:

While constraints of time or plot or complexity may require you—or tempt you—to just flat-out tell your readers something, it’s distancing. They are not required or even invited to participate. Fiction is a dance between writer and reader. When you show, you let the reader dance with you—figure out what a glance means, why a word is spoken. It’s not work, it’s involvement, investment. It’s nuance. Every reader puts his or her own spin on the story. And that’s classic. When you see a movie, you see the same movie everyone else in the theater sees. If everyone in the theater was reading the same book, not a one of those experiences would be identical! Similar, perhaps. Identical, no. Every reader brings their own life, experiences, education and emotions to the story.

If I tell you a character is “unpleasant” or “impatient”, or “a real SOB”, you’ll shade my meaning, but basically I’ve made a judgment and you have to take my word for it. If I show you the same character kicking a puppy that wandered into his path, you’ll make your own judgment—anywhere from klutz to incipient serial killer—and you’re engaged in that character’s story.

I did not invent this magic formula. But here’s a tip to where you can glean more such knowledge: The Writer’s Handbook. It’s published annually, and a lot of libraries include it in their Reference Department.. It’s part market guide—and a huge part of it is articles by writers and editors, speaking to some facet of their craft, sharing tips. Mine it. It’s easier than diamonds, and will be of greater and more lasting value!

Beverages

Why’s there no coffee in Calandra? It’s not like they couldn’t import it. But Tristan is a really big tea drinker—classic or herbal tisanes. And he has a huge sweet tooth. But the only sweetener he has access to is honey. And honey is great in tea, but not so much in coffee. Maybe once he really gets some trade going, opens up Dunehollow as a royal port, he can import more cane sugar and try it in coffee besides shortbread.

What’s cailon flower tea? In the beginning, it was entirely made up—I read an article where Ursula LeGuin explained how she knew some of her Earthsea characters drank rushleaf tea, and I added that detail to my world-building tool box. Cailon is a white flower, and the tea is calming—at least that’s why Elisena offers it to Tristan when she does—and I suspect it is very similar to jasmine tea. Steep a couple of dried apricots in the pot, sweeten lightly. It’s much to Tristan’s taste, though he will brew his tea strong and bitter to get through a long research session.

Draft Cider. National beverage of Esdragon. They grow a lot of apples there, so it makes sense. I first tasted it when I went to England in ’85. Was not able to find it here for a long time, but now there are cideries all over—you can even get perry without any trouble. Want to vie for the honor of being the official cider of the Duchy of Esdragon? It can be settled by a tasting! (Though Woodchuck Raspberry is a very strong contender. It’s Tristan’s favorite.)

Writing Contests: Part Two

Well, who could resist the Amazon Breakthrough Novel Contest, anyway? $50,000—or at least $15,000 and a trip to Seattle, which is a lovely city, with fine coffee. So, I entered The Wandering Duke. The Second Round 400 were announced on February 13. My book wasn’t one of them. Which is fine by me. I’m ready to bring The Wandering Duke out through CreateSpace as soon as I paint the cover painting. It’s suddenly begun selling on Amazon, and just got its first review! If the point of the contest is to promote CreateSpace, it’s not aimed at authors already comfortable using the platform. My emotional devastation lasted maybe five seconds. But I did click on one of the discussions, and saw a really disturbing post from a writer ready to give up because her book wasn’t chosen. She was ready to give up, give in, felt worthless because she would never find a publisher, or an agent, or be a writer.

Within an hour, there were probably 25 posts telling her not to give up. I added mine, with the detail that being published is no guarantee once sales drop off, and an agent may love your work but still be unable to sell it. I told her to take her own good hand and publish herself—Kindle and CreateSpace need cost you nothing, except for proofs and copies. But what she really needs is a writer’s support group.

Ours came together when I stopped teaching writers workshops and the students wanted to stay together for mutual support. It was years before I hooked up with them again, but the experience has been invaluable. We meet once a month in a book store. We share—experiences, tips, heartaches, technical expertise. The group pointed me toward e-publishing, indie-publishing, setting up a website and doing a blog. Members have written books together, done promotions, book fairs, signings. A traditional photographer became a digital cover designer, and is now working internationally. We’ve gone from support to cross-fertilization!

We have no dues, no officers, no name to put on t-shirts, and no rules except to support one another. Guys, I would not be where I am without you, and I wish every writer out there in this lonely world had such a group to belong to!

Writing Contests

Every year, the Youngstown Ohio Vindicator offers Valentine Love Story Writing Contest. I’ve entered a couple of times. This year’s theme is “Sliding Into Love”, and I thought the beginning was fairly uninspiring—but then this wacky notion struck and stuck. No I didn’t win. But here it is:
           Jennifer Simon is watching a snowfall in Youngstown Ohio from her apartment window. She remembers sledding as a child, decides to recapture the memory, suits up and heads for the sled hill—without a sled. She’s loaned one, sits down and …

The harsh wind during her trip down also made her eyes water, and she was suddenly trying to blink away the moisture. Within seconds, she started to shriek as she found herself on a guaranteed collision course with another sledder.
    They intersected like two high-speed cars, and sleds went tumbling through the air.
    Getting up a few seconds later, Jennifer’s first reaction was anger. She’d come here to enjoy a perfect, worry-free moment.
    “Hey!” she yelled acidly, poking a mitten-covered finger into the stranger’s chest after they both rose from their crash. (And I have to say, do I not write better than this?)
    But then she saw…

        A short, solid man in a hooded silver snowsuit, with silver mittens that weren’t mittens. He was silver from head to toe, no zippers, no buttons, no fasteners of any kind visible. Sleek as a seal—or a spaceship.
      “I know you!” Jennifer cried. And in a rush, the years danced away like snowflakes in the wind. 
   It is you! he said, with that voice inside her head that twinkled like starlight shining on snow. The voice she had not heard since she was six years old.
   She had been six when she met the strange kid in the silver snowsuit. The kid who loved sledding as much as she did. The quiet kid who could ride a sled as fast as a rocket-ship, fearless. They had spent hours on the sled hill, until it was dark, until her mother intercepted her at the bottom of the hill and dragged her home half-frozen, for cocoa and supper with the family. She’d wanted to invite her new friend home too, because he didn’t seem to have a parent there. He’d been all alone. But when she looked back, he had vanished from the sled hill, and so had his silver saucer, the coolest sled she had ever seen. No trace of him. Jennifer never saw him again.
    Until now.
   “I’ve looked for you!” But not all winters were full of snow. Some were mild, and there was no sledding. And the kids on the hill changed. Too old for sledding, other pleasures calling, like ice hockey or cheering. And then college, and jobs. She had gone home to eat supper, and go to bed early, get good grades, get a job, find an apartment. And none of it—none of it—was as exciting as flying down the sled hill on a shining silver saucer, she realized.
   I looked for you too. Stars inside her head, sparkling like diamond dust. And a smile on his silver face, glittering in his dark almond-shaped eyes. Jennifer sensed that he had not forgotten her as quickly as she had forgotten him. And maybe for him, growing up was different. We do not always come here, he explained. He didn’t explain whether “here” was Youngstown, Ohio or planet earth. With her, that did not matter.
   He stretched out his hand, as silver as his voice, and cupped her face with it, his thumb under her chin. I looked for you every snow. Jennifer felt a tingle, like a zap of static electricity, only in every last cell of her body. His eyes were as dark as outer space. They captured her. She could not look away. Jennifer stepped closer, into his arms, into a kiss like nothing she had ever felt before.
   Come with me.
   The sparks in her head were more like fireworks, Chrysanthemums and Roman Candles and Zambelli Starbursts, pale blue and lavender and frosty white.
   “Yes,” Jennifer said. She knew what he meant. They climbed aboard his silver saucer-sled and shot back up the hill together. Snow and frost scattered around them like stars. The wind burned their faces, but it felt exciting, like drinking champagne. He spun the saucer about in a wave of ice crystals, and back down the hill they went, shrieking with delight, dodging trees and other sleds. They kept at it until there were no other sleds on the sled hill, and they were alone, the last two creatures in the universe.
   Come with me, he invited again. And Jennifer knew exactly what he meant, what he offered.
   “Yes,” Jennifer said again.
   And a little later a silver saucer rose into the night sky, trailing silver vapor that condensed into thousands of pale pink hearts, which vanished one by one by one, as the flying saucer passed the stars of Orion and kept on going into happily ever after.

So there you are: True Love and a clever ending in less than 750 words. And Teddi Black was kind enough to do the cover!

Naming Names

            Tristan is not, as some have suggested, named after the character in All Creatures Great and Small. (Tristan Farnon was named by a Wagnerian opera enthusiast.) I read the books long before BBC TV cast the actor who would later be tapped for Doctor Who. My Tristan is named for Tristan of Lyonesse, one of the last of Arthur’s knights that I became aware of. Edward Arlington Robinson wrote a book length poem about Tristan of Lyonesse, which I found incredibly romantic. Tristan of Lyonesse is really sort of attached to Arthur’s Round Table because his legends seem to be contemporaneous, but he’s rarely a part of the frequently chronicled adventures, he’s not mentioned in Camelot, and so the name was fresh to me. The illustration here is the British bookcover, hardback and paperback, and until I did my own cover paintings, the best depiction of Tristan I have seen. I have no idea who the artist is--Fontana gave no credit. (So if you know who painted it, please comment and tell me!)

            Elisena—I googled it by accident once, and found out elisena’s a plant species. (The spiderworts) I thought it was a variant of Elizabeth, which it may indeed be. I used to work in retail advertising, and looked at Women’s Wear Daily tear sheets for inspiration. Someone names Elizinha got photographed at some gala, and I lifted the name.

            Esdragon was supposed to be Estragon, the French name for tarragon. I spelled it wrong, and decided I liked it.  Calandra is Greek, it means “lark”. I used to read name dictionaries regularly, keeping lists of those I thought would work for my invented world. Allaire is certainly from a “What Shall We Name the Baby” book.

            Polassar is named for Nebuchadnezzar’s father, Narbopolassar. And any resemblance between the big guy and Yukon Cornelius (Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer)  is something I didn’t notice till years later—but I did begin writing The Ring of Allaire just after Christmas, in January 1978. Reynaud was probably inspired by a Thomas Canty pencil drawing titled “Reynardine”.

            Valadan is a name I thought I coined. Turns out it really is a surname. I was after something that I would like as much as Ursula LeGuin’s dragon-names in A Wizard of Earthsea, something that would echo “valiant” in the reader’s ear. So far as I know, I’m the first to use the name for a horse—and Valadan has been mentioned in an article in Horse Illustrated about how to choose a good name for your horse. A thoroughbred named Valadan also raced at Philadelphia Park—though he was a brown gelding and not a black stallion, he was foaled after Prince of Ill Luck appeared, and I feel strongly that there’s no coincidence involved. Someone once asked permission to name an Arabian filly Kessallia—I don’t know that it ever happened. That one could have been a handful!

Inspirations

 

            Well, of course those are everywhere for a writer. When I read the first descriptions of Blais’ cottage, I am reminded of a little room in my mother’s house, a walk-in closet once known as the “toy room” which I briefly claimed and furnished before I moved to my first apartment. It was just large enough for a long bookcase and a storage bench, which I bought, assembled and stained to match. Pretty much everything Tristan mentions was in there, if it actually existed and wasn’t something I was longing for, like a horse of my own. And many books, though I never actually built a bookcase out of books and boards.

            As to what a wizard might be like, I had my reading to look back to: Peter S. Beagle’s The Last Unicorn, Mary Stewart’s The Crystal Cave et al, Lloyd Alexander’s Prydain novels. Not T.H. White’s The Once and Future King—because though those books are wonderful, that’s textbook for wizard as doddering old man. And I saw an illustration in a Newsweek book review section that sent me out to buy  Margaret Mary Kimmel’s Magic in the Mist (Athenium 1976), with Trina Schart Hyman’s wonderful illustrations. It’s the story of a Welsh boy called Thomas, who is studying to be a wizard—with very little success. Thomas has messy dark hair—and round glasses. (Harry Potter’s look is nothing like original, which is why I don’t mind a bit that he seems to look so much like my Tristan. I just play off the notion that my wizard—who’s been around way longer than Harry—is just like Harry Potter: except Tristan was home-schooled!) Anyway, Thomas’ cottage, as drawn, has a great look—everything looks handmade, and the room leaks. And on sober reflection, I think the only reason Blas’ cottage has a second storey—where Tristan supposedly sleeps—was to keep the books downstairs dry is the roof leaked. I can’t imagine Tristan having more up there that the pile of blankets the hen made a nest in (Moonlight) and some herbs drying from the rafters. If it was cold he’d sleep in front of the hearth and if it was summer he’d sleep in the orchard, supposedly doing his astronomy lessons. After all, Blais never expected to have a baby dumped in his orchard, and never made any provisions for anyone to share his cottage.

It's Gonna Be a Long ,Cold Winter

My first post. And seriously, right after I brought The Mountains of Channadran up live on CreateSpace last October, there was the forecast--an exceptionally cold and snowy winter for Pennsylvania.
Sorry about that!