Traci Robison's Blog, page 2

December flurry

Ah, December--the busiest time of my year coincides with onset of hibernation urges. All I want is a nap and a cookie (double chocolate, please), but there is, indeed, no rest for the wicked. Here's a quick rundown on what's new.

Last week KZUM broadcast the debut episode of "The Platte River Sampler," featuring creative works penned and performed by Nebraskans. Listen live online Thursdays from 6-7 pm central. If you miss an episode and want to catch up, here's the podcast listing.

Round 23 of SPARK collaborations is going up. Contributors have through Friday to post their work, so be sure to check back for new additions.

As for myself, I have been eating too much, exercising too little, and chipping away at two works in progress. (Full disclosure: I've also been watching a few episodes of American Horror Story: Coven on Netflix. Gotta have some guilty pleasures, don't I?)

All in all, I've been feeling a little like this cat:

"Kittens and cats: a book of tales" (1911)
How many people and bandages do you suppose were involved in getting that cat in a fur coat? My guess is half a dozen of each.

SPARK inspires

dulce et decorum est
from SPARK collaboration with Caroline Davies
What is SPARK?

A participatory, inclusive creativity event….
that’s SPARK, and we want you to join us!

Open to writers, musicians, and visual artists of all kinds, SPARK takes place four times each year.

During each 10-day project round, participants create a new piece of work using someone else’s art, writing, or music as inspiration. All resulting work is then displayed online, alongside the piece that inspired it.

I've joined two rounds of SPARK--once, as a writer and the second time, as an artist. Next week I'm jumping in for a third round (again as an artist). Each time I've taken part, I experience the same excitement--hoping I can rise to the inspiration piece's challenge and knowing I have no other choice.

The day-to-day work of writing is, more often than not, a solitary act. Collaborating in SPARK, I become part of a creative conversation, inspired by another's ideas.

The effect of inspiration lasts long after the project is complete. And, each time I have come away with new knowledge. Last November's pairing with poet Caroline Davies introduced me to the poetry of Wilfred Owen and to Caroline's own vivid poems. I'm forever chipping away at my irrational fear of poetry (let's call it poemaphobia). Finding poets whose work I connect with helps me grow as a reader and a writer. I have SPARK to thank for that.

If you're a writer or artist, come join me in the next round. Registration is open until November 22. There's still time!

And, whether you choose to participate or not, pop on over and take a look at the creative collaborations from previous SPARK rounds.

Enjoy!

Into the fray

It's snowing in Nebraska, but I'm off visiting Etruscan places--in my imagination, anyway. A perk of fiction writing: daydreaming is part of the job.

Right now I'm writing Tales of Malstria, Book 4. It's set in tumultuous 3rd and 4th century BCE, when many Etruscan cities were facing off against Rome's expanding power. Here's a sneak peak excerpt from the work in progress:

My troops followed the river south and east along the base of the hills. Bog reeds, willows, and birch clogged the marshland on the riverbank, but farther out the valley opened in broken oak groves and pastureland. An hour's march in bough-strained moonlight brought us within sight of our enemy's camp. We formed up. The light infantry--men with swords and throwing spears--took the far right flank near the river and amongst the dense-growing trees. My own guard, Aplu's chosen, lined up four rows deep, and on our left the remaining hoplites filled the valley to the hill's base, forming a wall of spear-wielding men. Silent, we waited only moments before our archers rained fire on their tents. The enemy scrambled, men half-dressed grabbing swords and arms and shields; trumpets blaring and signaling formations. A ragged band, they might have been twice our number but had less than half our skill. Men charged uphill in imperfect lines as their cavalry mounted."Forward!" I shouted, and our trumpeter blew the call.We ran into Vetluna's half-formed lines, and as my spear hit the shield opposite me, I lost sight of the larger battle. Tents burned, making one dark silhouette of the phalanx facing us. Somewhere beyond them, horses screamed and men bellowed like beasts.
I'm using NaNoWriMo as encouragement to keep the rough draft rolling. So excited to see this story unfolding. (I always encounter surprises as I write. Comes from using a broad outline, I suppose.) Now back to work for me!

Tapestry tales

The Unicorn is Killed and Brought to the Castle (from the Unicorn Tapestries, Met Museum)

Tapestries tell stories. Beyond the primary image, small details add layers of meaning. Violets might symbolize saints. Wild strawberries indicate desire. A rabbit, fertility.
While writing The Taking, I was studying medieval iconography. I became so caught up in the symbols I was learning about that I created an entire series of tapestries for Amarys' walls--each one filled with plants, animals, and figures that revealed hidden aspects of the novel. In the course of edits, most of the tapestries were cut out, but symbols inspired by medieval art appear throughout the text.
To explore these inspiring images, take a look at The Lady and the Unicorn and The Unicorn Tapestries at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. The Met's site is one of my favorites. It includes clickable detail views, providing information on the symbolic meaning and practical function of each item.  

A steal on The Taking

It's been a busy couple of weeks. I've been preparing an upcoming guest post for Tony Riches' blog The Writing Desk, and the proofs have just arrived for paperback editions of The Taking and Tangled. I'll update you in the coming weeks on both projects. In the meantime, take a look at Tony's blog, where you can discover a great collection of new books and authors.

My big news today is the launch of a Kindle countdown deal for The Taking. The promotion lasts October 23-27, with an opening price of only $0.99. That's over 80% off the regular price (and for less than a the price of a cup of coffee you can experience a book created by more than a decade's worth of research, writing, and refining). Give it a try! It's a good gothic read--perfect for Halloween.

The Taking Amazon UK Kindle countdown runs October 30-November 6.

Tales of Malstria

 In the past two weeks I've published the first two novels in  my Tales of Malstria Series. Exciting, yes! Frightening, too. Trying to compose this blog, I feel my heart drumming through my ribcage.

I should be giving you a synopsis of each novel, detailing why you--or at the very least, your weird friend Sam--will love them. I should be drawing comparisons to other authors and books--a little Anne Rice, a little Wuthering Heights, and just a touch of Misery .

And now I'm sweating. I've been sweating for two weeks straight. You're so very lucky this is not face-to-face communication.

The truth is, The Taking and Tangled are good books. I wouldn't have published them if I didn't believe that, and I'm not a blind believer in myself. Confidence has never been a key quality of mine. But, I believe in them enough to put myself out here, where I don't feel safe at all. And that says more than any catchy blurb.

Not everyone will like my books. But someone will. Someone may even read and re-read them, finding new details or well-turned phrases, the way I re-read my favorite books.

Now I'm trembling. No lie. The table beneath my arms is shaking, sloshing the coffee in my cup. My teeth are chattering.

You see, this is the tough part for me. Shouting, "Look over here. Look at me! Look! Look! Buy a book!" is agony when you're so shy you sometimes have trouble meeting coworkers' eyes in passing.

But, the alternative--staying safely silent--means my books will remain invisible. To steal a phrase from my friend Josh, they will be like "a needle in a stack of needles" on Amazon's endless list of ebooks. They deserve better. They deserve the attention I don't want at all.

I don't expect fortune. I don't want fame. I want you to lose yourself awhile in another time and place; to cringe and laugh and love and hope for characters you like and hate in equal measure.

If you're a fan of subtle horror or fantasy with a gothic feel, check out The Taking . Like horror touched with edge-of-your-seat adventure and psychological tension? Then, Tangled is for you.  For a synopsis and excerpts and to preview Gates the Hours Keep , the next book in the Tales of Malstria Series, visit TraciRobison.com.

Picture this

What do you notice first when you look at this photo? Setting? Character? Action?

Look at the image for a few minutes and let your mind wander. Then, look away and start writing whatever comes out on the page.

What grows from your first thought? A poem? A story? Did the result surprise you?

Light and artistry

San Luigi dei Francesi in Rome, 2010

At Challenging Perfection, Lila recently wrote about the use of light in both visual and literary art. As a beta reader, Lila notices details of light in a scene and has often brought up inconsistencies I missed when writing. Having a group of readers with unique skills and points of view has helped me become a better writer. For that, I thank them all.

We've spent the last month at writersvibe highlighting visual arts. If you visit our blog, you'll see my fellow writers are multi-talented to say the least.

My art of choice is photography. I love the process of capturing a moment and framing it. Choosing a focus. Changing an angle. Looking to the light.

I took the photo on the right at San Luigi dei Francesi in Rome. I visited the church to see paintings by Caravaggio, who has been my favorite painter since freshmen art history. His dramatic chiaroscuro is how I see the world, darkness making beauty of light.

Snowday vacation

"Snowmageddon" folks were calling the storm expected to hit the plains last Wednesday through Thursday night. For a week, grocery stores were jammed with people stocking up on supplies. I bought a big bag of dog food and two bottles of wine. The check-out guy considered my purchases, and smiled, saying, "You'll be good for a week."

Turns out, snowmageddon fell as flat as the Mayan apocalypse, but expecting tough driving conditions, schools and businesses had shut down Thursday morning. I ended up with a free day. Oh, I could have been productive, but that's against the basic nature of a snowday.

I spent the day reading for fun.

I finished an entire book,  The Bedlam Detective by Stephen Gallagher. It was the most enjoyable read I've had in a long time. I'm not going to analyze it today--only recommend it. If you enjoy mysteries, rich in character and setting, you will like this one.

Are we there yet?

If "there" means a published novel, then, no, we're not there yet. It's a long drive, rife with twists and intersections, but I'm moving forward. A full year has passed without an entry here. I suppose the emptiness of this blog is a testament to the fullness of my days. 
I've moved to an old house in a neighborhood with big, glorious trees. In truth, I love the shady street more than the house itself. When I was a kid, our house had huge picture windows, all looking out to a big yard filled with trees and shrubs. That's home. That's a haven. Nothing like the stripped-out subdivision where I lived for the last 12 years. I'm middle-aged and too impatient to wait a quarter century for a good shade tree. And so, the old house.
Old houses--I'm one of those suckers who has always fallen for them. Sure, sure, the floors squeak and the windows rattle and the basement looks like a perfect setting for a slasher film. Ah, that's just character. Right?
Now, when brushing your teeth before bed, you hear a faint "drip, drip, drip" coming from somewhere on the first floor and wander down to check the kitchen sink--only to find the kitchen ceiling sagging in a giant bubble . . . well, that's a lot less charming. In the past few months I've learned about electrical wiring, patching drywall, doing a decent skim coat on a lumpy wall, and more about home fixes than I supposed I would. And, I've enjoyed it.
But, dividing my time between tool time and write time,  I've slowed my progress and stalled out more than once. I hit a wall. I felt I'd never write another word and never have the ability to "fix" the stories I was revising. I didn't know if I even wanted to try anymore. I checked out books about writers' block and editing and creativity and read them in a panic in those free moments when I should simply have been putting words on paper. Any words. Anything at all. But, in every part of my life, I'd crashed into crazy fix-it mode. Everything needed tending. Everything at once.
Now I'm sitting in an office stripped of wallpaper with white plaster patches on the still-sticky walls. I hardly notice the mess around me. That's how it is when I'm writing. So, the paint cans wait. The balance that looks so much like chaos has returned.
I'm working on what will be the last revision of my first novel. Some more research on the occult in medieval Europe. A little rearranging in the middle of the novel--returning, in part, to the rough draft's storyline. It's almost there.