Sharon Joss's Blog, page 13

Storytellers: Who Do You love?

Sharon Joss Writes

What author is earliest in your memory?

Depending on your generation, it could be anyone from Dickens to Milne, Seuss to Sendak. For me, it’s Kipling.

My father used to read aloud to us at the table every Sunday night after dinner from his tattered childhood copy (bound with duct tape) of Kipling’s Just So Stories. Those stories are meant to be read aloud, and my father did justice to every line, every time. As a boy, he’d colored in the original illustrations in colored pencil, and would hold them up so we could all see them while he read us Kipling’s first person notations about the drawings. So when my father read us kids these stories, they were as if he had written them. It was easy for me to imagine my father as an intrepid adventurer who had lived in all these exotic places and gathered these stories as a sort of a travel log. No matter how often I hear these stories (and he continued to read them to us even after we were all gown up), they always swept me away someplace magical, and a far more interesting than my regular life.

I knew these stories were fiction, and I knew my dad had not really written them, but it wasn’t until I was in junior high that I found a copy of Just So Stories on the shelf in my local library that I really got it. Somebody made these stories up and wrote them down. And the power of those stories was that they were told in such a vivid way that I felt as if I’d actually been to the veldt in Africa, the hardpan in the middle of Australia, and a whole bunch of other places. Out there. Beyond the borders my day-to-day life.  Those stories made a reader out of me. I could even say they fueled my lifelong love of storytelling.

What author lives in your earliest memories?

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Yay for Author Fest!

Sharon Joss Writes

It’s Orycon weekend here in Portland. I planned to go, and already had my ticket (bought months ahead of time), but I didn’t get a chance. I’m getting some good momentum going on my latest Work-In-Progress, and I didn’t want to mess with the streak by taking a day off.

But I did make enough progress to reward myself by going out to the annual book signing event that Powells Books sponsors every year during Orycon – Author Fest!  This is where a big group of Pacific Northwest authors get together for a monster book signing event.  I always end up walking out with a big bag of signed books, and it’s not even my birthday!

In addition to picking up a few new-to-me books signed by wonderful authors whose writing I already know and love (Kristine Kathryn Rusch, Diana Pharaoh Francis, J. A. Pitts, Dean Wesley Smith, and Ken Scholes), I also found some intriguing titles by authors I haven’t yet tried–like Devon Monk, Nina Kiriki Hoffman, and Leah Cutter.  

Everyone is so friendly, it’s great catching up on the latest releases and making new friends.  Thank you Powells Books for giving me Author Fest to look forward to every year!

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Fourth Friday Free Fiction – Loretta and the Lizard King

Sharon Joss Writes

 

 

Check back again next month!

 

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Return from the Land of Writers

Sharon Joss Writes

I’m back from another excellent/exhausting/exhilarating week in Lincoln City, or as I like to think of it, the Land of Writers. I took an eight-day-long class on the business of writing, which, as it turns out, is a lot more involved than you might think.

In addition to the aspects of craft and other elements of a writing career, we learned about managing and protecting our property (the different aspects of copyright), contracts, wills, estate management, corporate structures, even how to approach negotiations when Hollywood comes a’calling. Fascinating stuff; delivered at high velocity–picture trying to consume the output of a firehose, and you’ll get an approximation of the amount of data overload we received last week. All good to know, but whew! Writing ain’t for sissies.

We also networked with thirty-something other writers, spent time with publishers, designers, audio and insurance experts and learned marketing strategies from the pros. I came home with more than 60 action items for myself.

Sheesh!

I gotta get to work!

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Holy Fractured Fiction! It’s Mercury Retrograde!

Sharon Joss Writes

For most of this month (if you believe the universe exerts influences in our daily lives), the planet Mercury is in retrograde, a term that astrologists use to define a period where a planet appears to move backwards across the heavens; in this case, Mercury, the planet of communication.  It’s an optical illusion, but seems to coincide with all sorts of miscommunications, including, it seems, the act of writing.

While I’m not a big believer in this sort of hocus locus, I have to admit that all my efforts at getting, well, anything done this week seem to have been thwarted at every turn.  It seems that every day, there have been unanticipated (and upsetting) distractions requiring my immediate attention. And while I pride myself on my writing schedule and producing a consistent daily output, this week I ended up with half as much as much written as I’d planned.  And next week I will be in a class, so my writing time and focus will be greatly constrained.

It might be easier to just give up and blame the lack of my productivity on Mercury Retrograde, but I refuse to quit.  I’ll keep plugging away,  A few paragraphs in the morning, a few more at noon, maybe a page or two after the workshop.  Not my usual writing method, but every little bit of progress moves the page count up and the novel closer to being finished.

I refuse to succumb.

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Writing: It’s a Good Gig

Sharon Joss Writes

There’s been a lot of general grumpiness going around on some of the writers forums and blogs I read lately. Maybe it’s the time of the year or the change of the seasons from summer to fall. Everyone seems to be weighing in on the evils of traditional publishing, indie publishing, who should or shouldn’t write about what topics and when, the old guard, the new guard, pricing, plagiarism, you name it.

I’m not pointing a finger; I’ve done my own share of whining as well. And while I’ve said that writing is the best job I’ve ever had, like any occupation, it isn’t always fun and games. It’s a gig like any other. Good days, bad days, the whole bit.  I’ve reached the point now where I try to focus on the positive:

First and foremost, I write. It’s the very best part of the job.
 I can go to work in my pajamas, if I want. Not that I do; I’m just sayin’
There’s no rush-hour traffic
The product doesn’t go out the door until I’m ready to send it
I never get bored; or if I do, I start a new story
It’s the only job I ever had where the ‘continuing education’ is something to really look forward to. Whether it’s CONs, Classes, or Workshops, learning the ropes from the pros with a bunch of other writers is part of the job (and a whole plot of fun)
The rush you get when you figure out some tricksy part of the plot or read something you wrote that was obviously kissed by the muse is better than…well, an Employee of the Month Award
LOVE the homework!  I get to read good stuff by my favorite authors
You never have to ask for vacation days or keep track of sick days
You can take personal calls at work without the woman/man in the cubical behind you, listening in
You still read Dilbert, but it’s not your favorite comic anymore
 You’ll never have to worry about being laid off again

Sure, the number of things a writer doesn’t control in this business probably outnumbers the things they do, but that’s life.  Sometimes it’s good to remember (for me, at least) that writing really is a good gig.

Write on, baby.

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Wow Factor: Dreams & Goals for the Long Haul

Sharon Joss Writes

A writer I much admire, Dean Wesley Smith, wrote an inspirational blog recently about dreams and goals (you can read it here), and it got me thinking. He just finished a year of writing (and publishing as part of his Smith’s Monthly magazine) a novel a month for 12 months, something that few of us would ever dream of doing. It was a goal he set for himself, and he completed it. Not only that, he has decided to continue his novel-a-month production schedule for another four years. He’ll have 60 novels then; more than many writers could imagine writing in a lifetime.

And I have no doubt he will do it. He’s been writing for decades and isn’t the kind of guy to make those kinds of public statements unless he plans to deliver (and he’s already 20% there!).

But it got me thinking about my own dreams and goals, and maybe I’m not thinking big enough, or looking/planning far enough into the future. Like many ‘baby writers’, I’m still working on trying to ‘make it’ as a full time writer. Hoping to cover my expenses (and health insurance), while still celebrating every sale and positive review.

Writing is flat the best job I’ve ever had. In five years, I haven’t earned enough to pay my monthly cable bill (yet), but I love working for myself, I love the writing, I love the publishing, and I cannot imagine myself ever doing anything else. So for me, I need to get a longer view, because unless I give up (which I cannot imagine ever doing), I will eventually start making a living with my writing. I know this.

This is my first full year of writing to a publishing schedule. I won’t quite meet the production schedule I planned for myself (18 new titles (versus a plan of 24) published at the end of the year, including 2.5 novels) , and my goal for next year was to ‘do better’.

But that’s short sighted. Instead, inspired by Dean’s example, I took a look at where I wanted to be. While I don’t aspire to (nor am I capable of) his prodigious production, I made a new set of writing goals for myself that (when I look at delivering to them over the next four years) I am reasonably confident will not only pay me a living salary, but get me a lot further down the road of a career writer.

So here is the list of my production goals through 2019, based on what I actually produced this year:

- writing 2.5 novels per year will result in 14-15 completed novels by the end of 2019

- writing 6 short stories per year will result in 36 short stories and 7 short story collections by the end of 2019

- writing 1 novella per year will result in 5 novellas by the end of 2019

Or in other words, by the end of 2019 I will have some 50-55 titles published. And like Dean, I know I can do this, I’m already 20% there!

Wow. I’d be a real writer then, for sure.

So when it comes to dreams and goals as a writer, take the long view. I bet you’ll wow yourself, too.

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Fourth Friday Free Fiction – THE COLLECTIVE

Sharon Joss Writes

 

THE COLLECTIVE

Sharon Joss

The grating noise woke me in an instant. Something was moving around downstairs in the kitchen. Sure, old houses creaked, and this may have been my first night in this one, but I knew I wasn’t alone. My heart pounded as I listened for the sound again.

I considered my options. I was naked, for one. Had to pee, but didn’t want to get up if I didn’t have to. All was quiet now. Maybe it had only been a dream. Go back to sleep.

Dang. There it was again. I recognized that sound. I’d spent all day moving in yesterday. Cardboard boxes make a distinctive sound when they are being shoved across a stone floor. The kitchen was right below my bedroom, and there were still plenty of boxes down there, waiting to be unpacked.

Stop it. There couldn’t be anybody in the house. I’d double-checked all the locks before I’d come upstairs. I held my hand in front of my face, but couldn’t see a thing. Damn, it was dark in here, and the light switch was across the room. What I really needed was a night light. Yeah, another item for the list.

Holy crap. Something was at the bottom of the stairs, sniffing. Not a ghost. I sat up in bed, blankets clutched to my chest, and listened to the unmistakable sounds of air passing through large nasal passages and cavernous lungs.

My skin winced with the rhythm of my frantic heartbeats; my mind raced to find a reasonable explanation for what sounded like a massive, bulky thing at the foot of the stairs. What the hell could it be? It sounded like a bull. Or maybe a bear. Did they have bears around here? Specifically bears with paws that could open locked doors?

Yeah, right. Don’t be stupid.

There was nothing there. I had the heebie-jeebies, that’s all. I forced myself to take a deep breath, and reached for the warm furry body of dear old Gypsy sleeping beside me. If someone had broken in, Gyp would have set up a ruckus that even the neighbors would have heard. Not having neighbors close by was supposed to be the great thing about living out in the country, right? On the other hand, the Wilsons were a quarter mile down the road.

The squeaky board on the fourth step groaned beneath the agony of solid weight.

Shit! I wish I’d remembered to bring the baseball bat upstairs instead of leaving it by the front door. I tried to remember if I had anything to use as a weapon. Clothes in the closet. A blow dryer and toothbrush in the bathroom. I strained to hear the next sound, but it didn’t come. Even with my eyes wide open, I could hardly see a thing. Black holes marked the doorway and the stairs on the left; the bathroom and walk-in closet on the right. I’d meant to take down those awful curtains right away, but hadn’t gotten to it yet.

The next sound for sure, I’d definitely do something. No more fooling around. Either out the window in the bath or lock myself in the closet. The bedroom windows were all painted shut. One of my top priorities on the ‘to do’ list. The fifth step murmured softly with a stealthy tread.

I nudged Gypsy. She didn’t wake up. Old age is a bitch and twelve year-old shepherds sleep deeply. I had to shake her hard to wake her. She sighed, and I knew she was awake. The sixth step whimpered.

Gypsy sprang to her feet on top of me, rigid with alarm, as she growled and snarled in a fury. I’d never heard such a sound from her. She crouched tautly above me, effectively trapping me beneath the blankets.

I attempted to shove the 80-pound dog off me, but she snapped at me in a frenzy. I cringed, her stink of fear echoing my own. Adrenaline pounded through my eardrums. I squirmed to the floor on the far side of the bed. The landing was five steps below the short hall into the bedroom. Too late, I remembered I’d left my cell phone downstairs. The land line hadn’t been turned on yet.

A snort as loud as a buffalo’s exploded on the landing, and Gypsy hurled herself off the bed and down the stairs. The thing coughed a hoarse “heh-heh” as Gypsy’s toenails clattered across the wood floors. A detonation reverberated with the concussion of flesh against flesh, followed by a shrill yelp, and the unmistakable crunch of bones and shredding of meat pulp.

I froze; incapacitated by the sounds of what that thing was doing to Gyp. Tearing, chewing, smacking and a small sigh of satisfaction followed each swallow. Oh my god.

The bathroom window opened thirty feet above a stone patio. I pictured myself lying on the pavement, naked, with a broken neck. The window was not an option. Move! I forced myself to stand and edged my way along the wall toward the closet door. Licking and snuffling noises came from the landing. Gyp was gone.

I felt for the glass doorknob to the closet and the door creaked loudly when I pushed it open. Sudden silence dragged as the thing paused to listen to me in the dark.

We exploded into action at the same time. I leapt into the closet, as the thing thundered up the stairs. I slammed the closet door closed and blindly fumbled for a locking mechanism, but there was nothing.

I could hear the thing pause in doorway to my bedroom, scenting the air from somewhere near the ceiling. This can’t be happening! Shoulders rubbed against the doorway as the monster lumbered into the room. The odor of blood assailed me as the creature sniffed the puddle of urine on the floor. The sound of slurping made my flesh curl.

I shook as I gripped the doorknob from the inside and braced myself while the bulky creature snuffled at the crack beneath the door. Claws scraped at the wood floors on the other side. I backed away, relieved to discover the beast didn’t seem to have opposable thumbs or know about doorknobs. I was safe; at least for the moment. I folded myself behind the hanging clothes at the very back of the closet and prayed it would just go away.

The first crash fractured the door. I screamed and screamed again, shrinking back into a cushion of clothes hanging at the back of the closet. There was nowhere else to go. The second hit shattered the door into splinters. I felt a terrible clamping pressure surround me, and then nothing.

* * *

Ravenous, I awaken in a darkened room. I can’t remember the last time I ate.

Reassuringly, Gyp is by my side. Where are we? There are others here, and we are all hungry. Collectively, we open our eyes. We see well in the dark, and use our powerful claws to dig to the surface of the soil. In spite of our bulk, we are able to navigate the basement stairs without a problem. We push past the swinging door into a moonlit kitchen and scent the air; catching the tantalizing whiff of something delicious coming from upstairs. We make our way through the clutter of moving boxes and scattered toys to the bottom of the stairs. Our ears prick forward at the small sound of three steady pulses and two racing heartbeats coming from above. We inhale deeply, savoring the aroma. The smell of fear has always been irresistible.

END

Copyright © 2013 by Sharon Joss, Aja Publishing

Cover design copyright © 2013 by S. Roest / Aja Publishing  Staircase Cover Art Copyright  © 2013 by Tormod Rossivik / Dreamstime

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental. This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission. 

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Tending the Garden

Sharon Joss Writes

I’m still a neophyte when it comes to indie-publishing, so I pay attention when the experts talk about it. As you can tell from the sidebar on this blog, I’m a follower of several of the better-known masters in the field.

A few months ago, Joe Konrath put out a nice blog post  about how our job as an indie-writer-publisher isn’t done once the title is published. There’s a lot more to do. You’ve got to tend your garden. In addition to the basics (a website, web presence and a newsletter), he suggests experimenting with pricing, making sure you’re up on multiple platforms, and advertising (Bookbub and the like), and on occasion, new cover art.

Published last year, Brothers of the Fang is an urban fantasy with a male protagonist that in spite of a nice review from Locus, has not done as well as I would have expected. After experimenting with the price (to no avail) and and unsuccessful request to Bookbub, I decided to redo the cover. The original cover was only the third I’d ever designed, and I thought the bold yellow and black color scheme and cover art would be eye-catching.  I still do, but have come to accept that the cover is not catching the eyes of my intended readers.  It doesn’t have that urban fantasy ‘look’.

So here’s the new cover, with the old one next to it for comparison.

A more traditional look.  What do you think?

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Thrill Ride: Nine Questions for Jump-Starting a Novel

Sharon Joss Writes

Here another useful tool I use when I’m dancing around, trying to find my plot. I find that once I’m able to answer the following 9 questions, the story has pretty well coalesced and I’m ready to start outlining and/or writing. I’ve gathered and combined these ideas from a bunch of more experienced authors ((Blake Snyder, Dean Wesley Smith, Kristine Kathryn Rusch, Larry Block, and David Farland, to name a few), and while this process works for me, your milage may vary.

 

At the start of the book, what distinguishes your protagonist from other people? (“it’s about a guy…”). Think about why are you writing about this person. It’s not a physical description or an explanation of who they are. The underlying imperative here is: why is my protagonist the perfect person for the task ahead? Choose someone with primal stakes.  Like SURVIVAL, HUNGER, SEX, PROTECTION OF LOVED ONES, FEAR OF DEATH, etc. Readers must believe the protagonist deserves to win.

The protagonist must fit your target audience and genre (which you’ve already chosen). And remember, the protagonist/antagonist does not have to be a paragon or exemplar of any given virtue, but they MUST be good at whatever it is that they do. Otherwise, the audience will not identify with them or root for them.
When the novel opens, what interesting or important thing is he/she on the brink of doing? Enter as late as possible / media res.
 What external situation will influence, shape, or effect your protagonist throughout the course of the book? I find it very helpful to think about what the external stressor  is going to be and how it will be applied to the protagonist. It could be the antagonist, or the environment, or it may be the internal world that the protagonist must face during the course of the book (e.g. love affair).
What is the protagonist’s goal for the period of time the book will cover? Survival is a given; but what else? Who is the protagonist’s mirror? Who is the protagonist trying to please/win/appease, and why?
What are the obstacles that will stand in the way of the protagonist achieving their goal? Things get worse. And worse, and much, much worse.  For a novel I look for about 9 plot threads, all of which should pretty much fall apart around him.
What qualities within the protagonist will help or hinder them in overcoming their obstacles? If you don’t think the protagonist doesn’t have the right tools to overcome the obstacles, then you’ve got the wrong protagonist or the wrong external situation. This is a good place to go back and reconsider what you’ve written down earlier. A novel is an organic thing; it can be a work in progress until it’s actually finished.  This is usually where I think about how the protagonist will face the antagonist in the final showdown and how he will prevail (or not).
How will the protagonist change? And the other key characters may grow and change, too, to some extent. And consider that the environment may also change as a result of the protagonist’s (or antagonist’s) actions.
Why do you want to tell this story? Sometimes, knowing your impetus to tell this tale will embolden you to actually tell it. The odds are pretty good that you’re telling a story that has been told before. Why is YOUR version worth anybody’s time?
What price will your protagonist pay or what sacrifice will they endure to achieve the ending? (i.e what is the cost of success?) Also, what is the protagonist’s reaction to this cost?

By the time I’ve answered these questions, I’ve got a pretty good idea who my protagonist and antagonist are (as well as several of the key characters) and have written a dozen or so pages of backstory, motivations, and goals for my main character(s).  I’ve got plot threads, a character arc, and a riveting opening scene.

Not to mention a great story to tell.  Let the fun begin…

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