I recently read a lament on a writing site by a young person who bemoaned her inability to write anything good, despite her great ideas. She said she was always stopping, erasing and rewriting, and that it killed her motivation. Nothing good ever got written--indeed, nothing got written at all--because what she was crafting was always worse than the other books she'd read.
If you have either of these issues--a bossy inner editor or comparison issues--then listen very closely, for I've got two things to say to you.
1. Engage in NaNoWriMo. Sign up, get in there, and write the heck out of your inner editor. Make him beg and plead for revision, and leave him supremely ignored. Make him pound his fists on the ground, and crank up your writing music. Make him leave you, slamming the door on his way out, crying helplessly that you never listen to him anymore.
He'll be back. And when he is, you can put him to work--after your rough draft is complete. With an enormous project like that to occupy him, all will be forgiven, and he'll be the one bringing you apology presents.
The original purpose of NaNoWriMo was and is to overcome the existential horror the average person feels when confronted with the task of creating an entire book all by themselves, as if they were someone important, like [enter fave author's name here]. In a nutshell, NaNo is "shut up and write". That's how the rest of those famous authors got where they are: they wrote. A lot. And you can't write hundreds of thousands of words every year if you're constantly listening to the depressing whine of an inner editor who won't let you complete a sentence without a revision or two.
Give NaNo a try. Yes, your resulting rough draft will be crap. And that leads me to my second point.
2. Rough drafts are always crap. Yours, mine, Stephen King's. I get the feeling that this is a "secret" which only some of us have learned, while others are caught up on the performance issue. Editing and polishing are basic, integral skills in our industry. Knowing what to change, and by how much, is a skill learned over time. As is the realization that what you're crafting simply isn't ready for public consumption until it's run its own gauntlet. Until you grasp the concept of the process, you really can't engage in it.
Rough drafts are the mushy dough you make after whipping all your basic ingredients together: salt, flour, oil = plot, characters, settings. Herbs and spices are your tension and crisis moments. But the recipe is by no means done. You have to knead it (rewriting and editing). It's also important to let it rest and rise sometimes, giving you a fresh perspective when you return to knead it again. At the end it must bake in the heat of an oven (here's your outside perspective, whether beta readers, an editor, a critique group. Probably not your mom. Definitely not your cat.) Only then, all pretty and smelling great, is it a finished product.
No one would take a bite of their doughy mess on the counter top and whine that it doesn't have the warm yeasty flavor of Emma-next-door's loaves. No one would sit in a pool of molten steel and complain that the car just doesn't have the acceleration to match Bob's. At least not for long.
So stoppit. These are not good writing habits. If you're going to produce a decent writing product, you need to focus--on writing it, and on improving it. The more time you spend worrying and comparing, the longer it'll take. And your audience can't read your works if you haven't finished them yet. Chop chop! We're waiting!
10.10.2010
At Least I'm Not Bored
NaNoWriMo is coming. NaNoWriMo is coming! Gallop through the night and warn the community! Get them on their keyboards and pounding out fifty thousand words apiece!
Or trying to, at least.
If you've never heard of NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month), maybe this is your year to try it out. Turn off your inner editor and pound out 50K words on any topic of your own choice, between November 1-30. The site has a word count validator (that doesn't save your content, so no worries!), and if you reach 50K words before November ends, and you get bragging rights for the year, Win badges for your blog or other sites, and a generous offer from CreateSpace, good for several months, for a free copy of the book you wrote! How fun is that?
I just started NaNo last year. Being paranoid about losing momentum and failing to finish, I drove myself like a mad thing and finished my 50K words in 7 days. I'm planning to have a slightly slower pace this year, after having tendonitis flare up in my right arm last time. I never did completely finish that mss, though that was due to receiving a publishing offer for The Wicked Heroine the week of Thanksgiving. Talk about completely distracting. :P
This year, I'm trying to complete book one in a trilogy (just like last year), but I'm also in the middle of editing Oathen, sequel to The Wicked Heroine. I've got beta readers and an actual editing schedule, which is helping me keep on track with it. However, I know something's gotta give. And I know it'll be the editing. Nothing sings a siren song as seductively as a new writing project! Luckily, I also know my own tendencies, and I'm giving myself through about February to get Oathen published.
My NaNo project is a fantasy novel called "Elements of Allegiance". This here's my mockup cover, to keep me inspired while I write. :D
Its trilogy is Seals of the Duelists, and so I'm calling EA the First Seal. You know, because everyone's gotta be all cool with what they call their series books. Tapestries, Codexes, Songs, what-have-you. So I have Seals. I think it'll look very slimming. :P
Or trying to, at least.
If you've never heard of NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month), maybe this is your year to try it out. Turn off your inner editor and pound out 50K words on any topic of your own choice, between November 1-30. The site has a word count validator (that doesn't save your content, so no worries!), and if you reach 50K words before November ends, and you get bragging rights for the year, Win badges for your blog or other sites, and a generous offer from CreateSpace, good for several months, for a free copy of the book you wrote! How fun is that?
I just started NaNo last year. Being paranoid about losing momentum and failing to finish, I drove myself like a mad thing and finished my 50K words in 7 days. I'm planning to have a slightly slower pace this year, after having tendonitis flare up in my right arm last time. I never did completely finish that mss, though that was due to receiving a publishing offer for The Wicked Heroine the week of Thanksgiving. Talk about completely distracting. :P
This year, I'm trying to complete book one in a trilogy (just like last year), but I'm also in the middle of editing Oathen, sequel to The Wicked Heroine. I've got beta readers and an actual editing schedule, which is helping me keep on track with it. However, I know something's gotta give. And I know it'll be the editing. Nothing sings a siren song as seductively as a new writing project! Luckily, I also know my own tendencies, and I'm giving myself through about February to get Oathen published.
My NaNo project is a fantasy novel called "Elements of Allegiance". This here's my mockup cover, to keep me inspired while I write. :D
Its trilogy is Seals of the Duelists, and so I'm calling EA the First Seal. You know, because everyone's gotta be all cool with what they call their series books. Tapestries, Codexes, Songs, what-have-you. So I have Seals. I think it'll look very slimming. :P
9.09.2010
Interview with the Author: Fourteen Questions From My Character, Meena
Meena sprawls on the overstuffed green chair in my living room and eyes me with irises that very nearly match her choice of seats.
“You ready?” she asks, in a voice that indicates she won’t wait if I’m not. This interview about my fantasy novel series, The Legend of the Shanallar, will proceed at her pace, not mine.
I smirk. She hasn’t changed a bit. “Bring it on.”
“First up, then: why did you pick the name Meena, for all the stars’ sake? Out of all the other, more interesting names I’ve had, I get stuck with 'Meena' everywhere but the flashbacks!”
“Are you sure you want this as one of your fourteen questions?”
“No backtalk; answer the question,” she growls, crossing her arms.
Ah, yes. I recall her difficulty with myopic authority figures from when she challenged the Temple Masters early in The Wicked Heroine. At least she acknowledges that I am an authority.
“I chose the name ‘Meena’ because it’s one of a set of names similar to mine that I like: Jasmine (my pen name, chosen after I wrote you, and for another reason, so set aside the Mary Sue-themed pitchfork), Yasmina, Azmeena, and Meena. Yours is just the shortest one, and the most prosaic, and I gave those to you on purpose to help you blend in. If I’d given you a fancier name, people would have remembered that about you when you passed through. So, as I wildly invent backstory here on the spot, it was actually you who gave yourself the name ‘Meena’.”
A slight tilt of her head is the only indication I have that she’s considering my words. Her long brown braid shifts on her shoulder and she sighs, perhaps in defeat, perhaps in frustration at my hopeless insanity.
“Two,” she continues. “For all your love of the fantasy genre, and the adventure sub-genre, you sure don’t give us many fantasy creatures in our novel. What’s up with that?”
I tsk. “Fantasy creatures are a dime a dozen, unless I go out of my way to invent new ones. I’ve done that before, and it’s fun, but they don’t figure largely in this plot. I’ve written about elves and dwarves and dragons, and everyone has expectations about them; they’ll be this way or that way. I like new concepts and creatures as much as I like the tried and true, and for an adventure story, I didn’t want to populate the world with trite little bad guys and helpful little good guys that show up for five pages and then disappear. This isn’t a Who’s Who of Fantasy Creatures.”
“Well that’s good. That sea monster was enough of a hassle.” Meena cracks a real grin at me. “Let’s see, question three: did you intend for the Vinten nation to be perceived as atheist? Because you know fantasy-loving atheists are gonna jump all over that one.”
I laughed. “I didn’t intend the Vintens to be atheistic, no. But I do see your point. A fantasy nation that worships no gods at all? Yeah. That’s not a large leap. But everyone who ever wrote a fantasy story seems to populate it with weak copies of the Greek or Roman or Egyptian or Scandinavian pantheon. Borrrring. I don’t particularly like learning a whole new pantheon of gods every time I want to read a single book. I’m sure there are stories out there I’ve read that have no mention of religion, or which feature only one god, or something. But for the purposes of this novel, I needed a heroine--not you, I mean Sanych--who was raised in a culture that emphasized knowledge and wisdom. I took away the distraction of gods just for a change of pace. As I said, I like the different.”
“Well, Sanych sure is different.” Meena grins fondly. “And on that topic, why did you think it would make a good story to write about an adventure that takes place largely at sea? Didn’t you think it would be interesting to explore by land? There could have been a dozen nations that you’d get to create exciting cultures for, but instead you sailed right past them.”
“Again, it’s the novelty of it. There’s a sea adventure in the middle of an enormous quest that spans three continents. It’s the scope of the thing. You all crossed two oceans and a sea to reach your destination. It was Far, Far Away. That was the point. But I did put in adventures on land in the middle of the sea: Salience? The Aldib island in Oathen? I see you recall them well. I knew too much sea would be boring, but some sea brings in that fresh breeze of excitement!”
“’Fresh breeze of excitement’? You are a writer, aren’t you?” Meena wrinkles her nose at me. “Do you have any idea how bad it smells aboard a ship after five weeks of storms, when your cabin-mate pukes after nearly every meal?”
“Is that the next question?”
“No, no, never mind. I really wish you’d given Sanych some other flaw than seasickness, though. Or a different cabin-mate.” She makes a moue of distaste. “Let’s see, where was I? Question five: How did you pick the physical appearances of Geret and Salvor?” Her eyes gleam at me knowingly.
“There was this one nerdy guy on Stargate: Atlantis. Just a minor character. He had black hair pulled back into a braid. It was so sleek and shiny! But he was kind of an arrogant jerk. I snagged his hair for Salvor, and I gave him hazel eyes because I just love to say ‘hazel gaze’. No, just kidding. I wanted his eyes to be a bit on the exotic side, yet not too much so. I made him a bit shorter than Geret: my brother’s height.
“For Geret, I went with the tried and true brown over brown, because that’s standard in Vint: dark colors. And for a relative of the Magister, it’s important that he maintain some sort of genetic continuity. To make up for his possibly boring appearance, I made him pretty tall. In fact, he’s the height of my husband, while Sanych is my height.”
“Rawr,” she growls at me, waggling her eyebrows.
“Stop that; I didn’t intend that as an indicator of future romance and you know it.”
“Mmhmm, sure.” She smirks again. “Then why did you make Sanych your height?”
“She’s only fifteen during the story. I wanted to emphasize that she wasn’t all grown up. Making her so much shorter than the others, even you, helped emphasize her childlike innocence, and contrasted well with her incredible mental capacity. I gave her the pale hair and big blue eyes not only to make her slightly more doll-like, but also as a contrast to Geret and Salvor. It was a very subtle hint as to her origins, or more accurately, where she wasn't from. Of course, in the denouement, she’s not any taller, but that’s beside the point. It’s the mental image I was trying to create in the minds of my readers.”
“All right, you might have a point,” Meena concedes. “Here’s another for you then: do you think it detracts from the storyline to have a grumpy heroine like myself in the story?”
“Ah, nice one,” I murmur. “It might, in spots, but I really tried to keep your bitterness to one or two words at a time. Small doses, you know. I did make up for it by giving you excellent fighting skills and a good memory for names and faces from your past. Overall, though, you’re the heart of this novel. It revolves around your past, and your present, and all the secrets you slowly reveal to your companions. This quest everyone’s on, it’s not really Geret’s. It’s yours. And you know there at the end, you gave a perfectly good explanation for your constant grumpiness. No one wants to go through what you did. You’re not only the ultimate heroine, you’re the ultimate scapegoat. The victim and the conqueror all in one. Your attitude is essential to the plot, and the novel wouldn’t be the same without that; not at all.”
Meena preens a bit. “I’m pretty used to being important; it’s true. All right, question eight: What in the deeps happened with Rhona? You totally lost it with her, didn’t you?”
I lower my head in embarrassment. “I so lost it with her in the rough draft. She took control of me and off we went! But it was good for the plot, I think. You know how tangled the interpersonal relationships got there at the end.”
“Not to mention limbs, sheets, fistfuls of hair--”
“Stop that. I don’t write erotica, and it’s not fair for you to start.”
Meena chortles; I clear my throat.
“Back to Rhona: initially she was just a brief character. When I decided she needed a larger role to play, I was excited about the continuity that would provide. And then, after the Aldib island chapter, I tossed off those last lines about the champagne case in her cabin, and then I felt I had to go on with that storyline. It mushroomed so fast it caught me by surprise.”
“Maybe a little unresolved issue, there?” Meena eyes me, her expression clever.
I glare at her. “No. A writer’s unresolved issues get edited out for being stupid and conflicting with the plot. Rhona’s plotline with Geret was my subconscious trying to tell me I needed more tension as the story drew toward the final act. And I think it worked out well in the end, after a whole lot of editing. That champagne case stays on deck, now. Although Rhona kinda got the short end of the stick.”
Meena taps her chin with a finger. “Question nine, then: you say you think Rhona’s end is less satisfying than the others', yet you gave it to her with the events that preceded the final conflict. Isn’t it you that’s less satisfied with the outcome?”
“Oh, that’s a sneaky question!” I say. “I think you’re right, though. I'm all about the happy ending when I read books. But when I realized I wanted to take her through to the end, I knew immediately that she couldn’t have everything she wanted; something had to give. And from that moment on, she became a bittersweet character to me. She’s so passionate; she fights, she loves, she’s loyal to her clan and crew--and yet she’s fatally flawed, as I wrote her. Her own imbalance does her in. No matter what perfect ending I wrote for her, she’d screw it up because of that flaw.”
“That’s harsh.”
“But it makes for good reading," I say, nodding wisely.
Meena nods. “You got me there. Let me switch topics for the tenth question. What’s with the detail in the fighting? Can’t you just say my arrow hit the guy, or that Geret and Salvor dueled excitingly for ten minutes?”
I laugh. “Not at all! Fights are fun! You know I took jujitsu for seven years. Our sensei required us to write up a notebook with exacting details on every art we learned: every throw, pin, punch, block and arm bar. Though I’m not an expert with a bow or a sword, I had to ‘dumb down’ my description level to make it less technical and more interesting. The fight sections are definitely geared to those who enjoy visualizing their fights when they read them. I know I’m one of those people. When you shoot your arrows, you have to feel what you’re doing. When the young bucks duel, where are their feet? What can they do next from where they’re at now? The fights have to flow naturally, while still sounding dramatic and interesting.”
“So you’re a realist when it comes to detail, even here in an adventurous fantasy novel?” Meena chuckles. “You’re nearly as full of contradictions as I am!”
“Well, it helped me build you convincingly,” I say, laughing.
“Convincingly, in what way? What do you try to make ‘realistic’, and what do you just pull out of your arse?”
“Is that the next question?”
“Yes.”
“Ah. Then the answer is, it varies. The things I usually like to get right are technology, geological features, ships, poisons--you know, things that can be proven to be as they are here in our world. Google is SO my friend when it comes to researching something I know nothing about. What I like to make up is the big picture. The maps, the countries, the cultures. Sometimes it seems so sad that so much is the same in fantasy worlds. A yellow sun, beef for dinner, shingles on roofs...yet I do that too; if it’s too fantastic, no one will identify with it. There’s a boundary there, between exotic and the wrong side of an inside-out galaxy slushee.”
“Well that’s a pleasant image,” Meena says.
“You think so?” I ask eagerly.
“No. That was sarcasm. Next question. What is, this, number twelve? Yes. All right, what is your favorite point in the story, and your least favorite?”
“Ooh. Let me think.” I pause, letting my mind flash over the entire plot. “I think my least favorite is the voyage between Yaren Fel and Ha’Hril. I basically entertained myself by making crap up while enough time passed to get to the next plot point. I didn’t feel I should leave it blank, but you know, I don’t think I’d miss much if I removed that entire chapter or two.
“As for my favorite...I honestly can’t pick. I love all the flashbacks. They are the second layer of chocolates in the box that contains your plot contributions. But there are a few scenes I really enjoy envisioning as well. No, I can’t list many of them; it gives away the plot. I’ll have to say the alley fight. That one point in the story begins a sea change in the way things go, and from that point on, there’s no turning back. I love points of no return.”
“Okay, here’s a geeky question: how do you think your sentence structure aids or hampers the telling of your story? Because I know you’re all into the compound-complex stuff.”
I laugh. “I admit it, I do love the long sentences. But I also know the power of the very short ones. I’d say I tend to over-connect my sentences, with commas, semicolons, and subordinate clauses galore. I know how to use all that stuff, so I do. It’s not always easy to read, though. That’s the problem. I get so into my description and flowing from one thought to the next, that the ease of reading is lost. And once I’ve lost my audience, what’s the point? I do try to edit the most monstrous sentences into smaller sections when I see them. I mean, if I get lost reading it, I know it’s too long. But really, anything over, what, three independent clauses, and I’ve probably gotten a little too strung out on my own awesomeness, there. Ahaha.”
“Ahaha,” Meena echoes, rolling her eyes. “I’m not saying I’m not awesome, as a product of your mind, but you’ve certainly got a good handle on subtle bragging, if I ever saw it.”
“You think so?” I ask, blinking my eyes innocently.
“I ought to swat you. If you were anyone but my creator, I would.”
I grin. “I know. Come on, what’s the last question?”
“What was the best part about this whole create-your-own-tales experience?”
“There you go again, with the hard ones,” I say. “Honestly, I have to say the anticipation. I’d think up these amazing scenes that I hadn’t gotten to yet, and with two in particular--Sanych at the farmhouse, and your attack by the waterfall--I was nowhere near to writing those scenes. I imagined them for weeks ahead of time, honing the details, literally vibrating in excitement; they felt so awesome in my head! The letdown came when I actually wrote them out; my fingers had ten little contradicting minds of their own, and those sections didn’t come out nearly as awesome as they appeared in my mind’s eye. Of course, that’s the magic of editing: I can change reality with a flick of my fingers. Both those scenes have been edited many times now. And while possibly not quite awesome, they at least make more sense than a green-wattled frabjous lizard burping in Old Kroilen.”
“A what?” Meena raises an eyebrow at me.
“Exactly.”
Meena lets her face fall into her hands. “Stars and darkness. How did someone as fabulous as myself ever emerge from that bizarre mucousy cavern you call a cranium?”
Far from insulted, I lift my chin in pride. “That’s my girl.”
“You ready?” she asks, in a voice that indicates she won’t wait if I’m not. This interview about my fantasy novel series, The Legend of the Shanallar, will proceed at her pace, not mine.
I smirk. She hasn’t changed a bit. “Bring it on.”
“First up, then: why did you pick the name Meena, for all the stars’ sake? Out of all the other, more interesting names I’ve had, I get stuck with 'Meena' everywhere but the flashbacks!”
“Are you sure you want this as one of your fourteen questions?”
“No backtalk; answer the question,” she growls, crossing her arms.
Ah, yes. I recall her difficulty with myopic authority figures from when she challenged the Temple Masters early in The Wicked Heroine. At least she acknowledges that I am an authority.
“I chose the name ‘Meena’ because it’s one of a set of names similar to mine that I like: Jasmine (my pen name, chosen after I wrote you, and for another reason, so set aside the Mary Sue-themed pitchfork), Yasmina, Azmeena, and Meena. Yours is just the shortest one, and the most prosaic, and I gave those to you on purpose to help you blend in. If I’d given you a fancier name, people would have remembered that about you when you passed through. So, as I wildly invent backstory here on the spot, it was actually you who gave yourself the name ‘Meena’.”
A slight tilt of her head is the only indication I have that she’s considering my words. Her long brown braid shifts on her shoulder and she sighs, perhaps in defeat, perhaps in frustration at my hopeless insanity.
“Two,” she continues. “For all your love of the fantasy genre, and the adventure sub-genre, you sure don’t give us many fantasy creatures in our novel. What’s up with that?”
I tsk. “Fantasy creatures are a dime a dozen, unless I go out of my way to invent new ones. I’ve done that before, and it’s fun, but they don’t figure largely in this plot. I’ve written about elves and dwarves and dragons, and everyone has expectations about them; they’ll be this way or that way. I like new concepts and creatures as much as I like the tried and true, and for an adventure story, I didn’t want to populate the world with trite little bad guys and helpful little good guys that show up for five pages and then disappear. This isn’t a Who’s Who of Fantasy Creatures.”
“Well that’s good. That sea monster was enough of a hassle.” Meena cracks a real grin at me. “Let’s see, question three: did you intend for the Vinten nation to be perceived as atheist? Because you know fantasy-loving atheists are gonna jump all over that one.”
I laughed. “I didn’t intend the Vintens to be atheistic, no. But I do see your point. A fantasy nation that worships no gods at all? Yeah. That’s not a large leap. But everyone who ever wrote a fantasy story seems to populate it with weak copies of the Greek or Roman or Egyptian or Scandinavian pantheon. Borrrring. I don’t particularly like learning a whole new pantheon of gods every time I want to read a single book. I’m sure there are stories out there I’ve read that have no mention of religion, or which feature only one god, or something. But for the purposes of this novel, I needed a heroine--not you, I mean Sanych--who was raised in a culture that emphasized knowledge and wisdom. I took away the distraction of gods just for a change of pace. As I said, I like the different.”
“Well, Sanych sure is different.” Meena grins fondly. “And on that topic, why did you think it would make a good story to write about an adventure that takes place largely at sea? Didn’t you think it would be interesting to explore by land? There could have been a dozen nations that you’d get to create exciting cultures for, but instead you sailed right past them.”
“Again, it’s the novelty of it. There’s a sea adventure in the middle of an enormous quest that spans three continents. It’s the scope of the thing. You all crossed two oceans and a sea to reach your destination. It was Far, Far Away. That was the point. But I did put in adventures on land in the middle of the sea: Salience? The Aldib island in Oathen? I see you recall them well. I knew too much sea would be boring, but some sea brings in that fresh breeze of excitement!”
“’Fresh breeze of excitement’? You are a writer, aren’t you?” Meena wrinkles her nose at me. “Do you have any idea how bad it smells aboard a ship after five weeks of storms, when your cabin-mate pukes after nearly every meal?”
“Is that the next question?”
“No, no, never mind. I really wish you’d given Sanych some other flaw than seasickness, though. Or a different cabin-mate.” She makes a moue of distaste. “Let’s see, where was I? Question five: How did you pick the physical appearances of Geret and Salvor?” Her eyes gleam at me knowingly.
“There was this one nerdy guy on Stargate: Atlantis. Just a minor character. He had black hair pulled back into a braid. It was so sleek and shiny! But he was kind of an arrogant jerk. I snagged his hair for Salvor, and I gave him hazel eyes because I just love to say ‘hazel gaze’. No, just kidding. I wanted his eyes to be a bit on the exotic side, yet not too much so. I made him a bit shorter than Geret: my brother’s height.
“For Geret, I went with the tried and true brown over brown, because that’s standard in Vint: dark colors. And for a relative of the Magister, it’s important that he maintain some sort of genetic continuity. To make up for his possibly boring appearance, I made him pretty tall. In fact, he’s the height of my husband, while Sanych is my height.”
“Rawr,” she growls at me, waggling her eyebrows.
“Stop that; I didn’t intend that as an indicator of future romance and you know it.”
“Mmhmm, sure.” She smirks again. “Then why did you make Sanych your height?”
“She’s only fifteen during the story. I wanted to emphasize that she wasn’t all grown up. Making her so much shorter than the others, even you, helped emphasize her childlike innocence, and contrasted well with her incredible mental capacity. I gave her the pale hair and big blue eyes not only to make her slightly more doll-like, but also as a contrast to Geret and Salvor. It was a very subtle hint as to her origins, or more accurately, where she wasn't from. Of course, in the denouement, she’s not any taller, but that’s beside the point. It’s the mental image I was trying to create in the minds of my readers.”
“All right, you might have a point,” Meena concedes. “Here’s another for you then: do you think it detracts from the storyline to have a grumpy heroine like myself in the story?”
“Ah, nice one,” I murmur. “It might, in spots, but I really tried to keep your bitterness to one or two words at a time. Small doses, you know. I did make up for it by giving you excellent fighting skills and a good memory for names and faces from your past. Overall, though, you’re the heart of this novel. It revolves around your past, and your present, and all the secrets you slowly reveal to your companions. This quest everyone’s on, it’s not really Geret’s. It’s yours. And you know there at the end, you gave a perfectly good explanation for your constant grumpiness. No one wants to go through what you did. You’re not only the ultimate heroine, you’re the ultimate scapegoat. The victim and the conqueror all in one. Your attitude is essential to the plot, and the novel wouldn’t be the same without that; not at all.”
Meena preens a bit. “I’m pretty used to being important; it’s true. All right, question eight: What in the deeps happened with Rhona? You totally lost it with her, didn’t you?”
I lower my head in embarrassment. “I so lost it with her in the rough draft. She took control of me and off we went! But it was good for the plot, I think. You know how tangled the interpersonal relationships got there at the end.”
“Not to mention limbs, sheets, fistfuls of hair--”
“Stop that. I don’t write erotica, and it’s not fair for you to start.”
Meena chortles; I clear my throat.
“Back to Rhona: initially she was just a brief character. When I decided she needed a larger role to play, I was excited about the continuity that would provide. And then, after the Aldib island chapter, I tossed off those last lines about the champagne case in her cabin, and then I felt I had to go on with that storyline. It mushroomed so fast it caught me by surprise.”
“Maybe a little unresolved issue, there?” Meena eyes me, her expression clever.
I glare at her. “No. A writer’s unresolved issues get edited out for being stupid and conflicting with the plot. Rhona’s plotline with Geret was my subconscious trying to tell me I needed more tension as the story drew toward the final act. And I think it worked out well in the end, after a whole lot of editing. That champagne case stays on deck, now. Although Rhona kinda got the short end of the stick.”
Meena taps her chin with a finger. “Question nine, then: you say you think Rhona’s end is less satisfying than the others', yet you gave it to her with the events that preceded the final conflict. Isn’t it you that’s less satisfied with the outcome?”
“Oh, that’s a sneaky question!” I say. “I think you’re right, though. I'm all about the happy ending when I read books. But when I realized I wanted to take her through to the end, I knew immediately that she couldn’t have everything she wanted; something had to give. And from that moment on, she became a bittersweet character to me. She’s so passionate; she fights, she loves, she’s loyal to her clan and crew--and yet she’s fatally flawed, as I wrote her. Her own imbalance does her in. No matter what perfect ending I wrote for her, she’d screw it up because of that flaw.”
“That’s harsh.”
“But it makes for good reading," I say, nodding wisely.
Meena nods. “You got me there. Let me switch topics for the tenth question. What’s with the detail in the fighting? Can’t you just say my arrow hit the guy, or that Geret and Salvor dueled excitingly for ten minutes?”
I laugh. “Not at all! Fights are fun! You know I took jujitsu for seven years. Our sensei required us to write up a notebook with exacting details on every art we learned: every throw, pin, punch, block and arm bar. Though I’m not an expert with a bow or a sword, I had to ‘dumb down’ my description level to make it less technical and more interesting. The fight sections are definitely geared to those who enjoy visualizing their fights when they read them. I know I’m one of those people. When you shoot your arrows, you have to feel what you’re doing. When the young bucks duel, where are their feet? What can they do next from where they’re at now? The fights have to flow naturally, while still sounding dramatic and interesting.”
“So you’re a realist when it comes to detail, even here in an adventurous fantasy novel?” Meena chuckles. “You’re nearly as full of contradictions as I am!”
“Well, it helped me build you convincingly,” I say, laughing.
“Convincingly, in what way? What do you try to make ‘realistic’, and what do you just pull out of your arse?”
“Is that the next question?”
“Yes.”
“Ah. Then the answer is, it varies. The things I usually like to get right are technology, geological features, ships, poisons--you know, things that can be proven to be as they are here in our world. Google is SO my friend when it comes to researching something I know nothing about. What I like to make up is the big picture. The maps, the countries, the cultures. Sometimes it seems so sad that so much is the same in fantasy worlds. A yellow sun, beef for dinner, shingles on roofs...yet I do that too; if it’s too fantastic, no one will identify with it. There’s a boundary there, between exotic and the wrong side of an inside-out galaxy slushee.”
“Well that’s a pleasant image,” Meena says.
“You think so?” I ask eagerly.
“No. That was sarcasm. Next question. What is, this, number twelve? Yes. All right, what is your favorite point in the story, and your least favorite?”
“Ooh. Let me think.” I pause, letting my mind flash over the entire plot. “I think my least favorite is the voyage between Yaren Fel and Ha’Hril. I basically entertained myself by making crap up while enough time passed to get to the next plot point. I didn’t feel I should leave it blank, but you know, I don’t think I’d miss much if I removed that entire chapter or two.
“As for my favorite...I honestly can’t pick. I love all the flashbacks. They are the second layer of chocolates in the box that contains your plot contributions. But there are a few scenes I really enjoy envisioning as well. No, I can’t list many of them; it gives away the plot. I’ll have to say the alley fight. That one point in the story begins a sea change in the way things go, and from that point on, there’s no turning back. I love points of no return.”
“Okay, here’s a geeky question: how do you think your sentence structure aids or hampers the telling of your story? Because I know you’re all into the compound-complex stuff.”
I laugh. “I admit it, I do love the long sentences. But I also know the power of the very short ones. I’d say I tend to over-connect my sentences, with commas, semicolons, and subordinate clauses galore. I know how to use all that stuff, so I do. It’s not always easy to read, though. That’s the problem. I get so into my description and flowing from one thought to the next, that the ease of reading is lost. And once I’ve lost my audience, what’s the point? I do try to edit the most monstrous sentences into smaller sections when I see them. I mean, if I get lost reading it, I know it’s too long. But really, anything over, what, three independent clauses, and I’ve probably gotten a little too strung out on my own awesomeness, there. Ahaha.”
“Ahaha,” Meena echoes, rolling her eyes. “I’m not saying I’m not awesome, as a product of your mind, but you’ve certainly got a good handle on subtle bragging, if I ever saw it.”
“You think so?” I ask, blinking my eyes innocently.
“I ought to swat you. If you were anyone but my creator, I would.”
I grin. “I know. Come on, what’s the last question?”
“What was the best part about this whole create-your-own-tales experience?”
“There you go again, with the hard ones,” I say. “Honestly, I have to say the anticipation. I’d think up these amazing scenes that I hadn’t gotten to yet, and with two in particular--Sanych at the farmhouse, and your attack by the waterfall--I was nowhere near to writing those scenes. I imagined them for weeks ahead of time, honing the details, literally vibrating in excitement; they felt so awesome in my head! The letdown came when I actually wrote them out; my fingers had ten little contradicting minds of their own, and those sections didn’t come out nearly as awesome as they appeared in my mind’s eye. Of course, that’s the magic of editing: I can change reality with a flick of my fingers. Both those scenes have been edited many times now. And while possibly not quite awesome, they at least make more sense than a green-wattled frabjous lizard burping in Old Kroilen.”
“A what?” Meena raises an eyebrow at me.
“Exactly.”
Meena lets her face fall into her hands. “Stars and darkness. How did someone as fabulous as myself ever emerge from that bizarre mucousy cavern you call a cranium?”
Far from insulted, I lift my chin in pride. “That’s my girl.”
8.30.2010
On Focus
My mind likes to veg out and get deep when I'm in the shower. Some of my best plot inspirations have happened in that oblong white stall with the built-in benches. But I also have other thoughts, about life, the universe, and everything.
Recently, I had a lens analogy pop into my head regarding my views on the world around me. "Focus" was a theme I used when training for my black belt, to help me work on certain aspects of my martial arts. It also encapsulated the whole martial arts experience in a way, so it's become a theme of my life.
While warm water sprayed around me, I realized that my focus has since split in two. One lens is telescopic (yes, I know you need more than one lens to actually achieve a telescopic effect - work with me), seeing far into the future, seeing the broad, wide scope of everything. My cosmic view. The other lens is microscopic, looking very closely at individual situations, and especially at myself and my expression through writing, examining and identifying flaws and faults so that I can make us both better.
Sounds mostly cool, right? The ability to look ahead at long-term consequences, as well as the ability to stop and focus entirely on one facet of myself. But I feel like there's a middle vision, a bifocal, normal vision of the world, that I've lost. I feel impractical, unreliable. I want to wear sleeveless tunics and gauzy pantaloons in January. I want to eat salad that's mostly kidney beans. And I don't mind if my daughter's socks are mismatched on purpose as a representation of her personal style. Don't expect me to pander to you with platitudes. I'm fully capable of a variety of more useful responses, and more inclined to use them.
So much of my earlier life has been unremarkable. I've forgotten years at a stretch. People's names escape me because I wasn't paying attention. Well, screw that! I'm going to take my lenses and turn them to the sun, and set my world on fire, then dance across the coals on bare feet.
BYOMarshmallows.
Recently, I had a lens analogy pop into my head regarding my views on the world around me. "Focus" was a theme I used when training for my black belt, to help me work on certain aspects of my martial arts. It also encapsulated the whole martial arts experience in a way, so it's become a theme of my life.
While warm water sprayed around me, I realized that my focus has since split in two. One lens is telescopic (yes, I know you need more than one lens to actually achieve a telescopic effect - work with me), seeing far into the future, seeing the broad, wide scope of everything. My cosmic view. The other lens is microscopic, looking very closely at individual situations, and especially at myself and my expression through writing, examining and identifying flaws and faults so that I can make us both better.
Sounds mostly cool, right? The ability to look ahead at long-term consequences, as well as the ability to stop and focus entirely on one facet of myself. But I feel like there's a middle vision, a bifocal, normal vision of the world, that I've lost. I feel impractical, unreliable. I want to wear sleeveless tunics and gauzy pantaloons in January. I want to eat salad that's mostly kidney beans. And I don't mind if my daughter's socks are mismatched on purpose as a representation of her personal style. Don't expect me to pander to you with platitudes. I'm fully capable of a variety of more useful responses, and more inclined to use them.
So much of my earlier life has been unremarkable. I've forgotten years at a stretch. People's names escape me because I wasn't paying attention. Well, screw that! I'm going to take my lenses and turn them to the sun, and set my world on fire, then dance across the coals on bare feet.
BYOMarshmallows.
8.11.2010
Bloody. Awful. -- Goodkind's Wizard's First Rule
I have caught a few episodes of the "Legend of the Seeker" TV show, and I heard it was generally based off this book. I figured I should read it to get an idea what makes for popularized fantasy.
I can now say with full confidence that if this is what it takes to get a book turned into a TV show, I'm going to aim for the quirky recluse writer in the big house at the end of the lane, who wears foreign clothes that smell of odd spices and gives full-size candy bars out at Halloween.
Oh wait. I was going to do that anyway.
I have several issues with the way Goodkind constructs his book. I can only assume that the rest of this series will be in a similar vein, and I'm put off enough that I'm not going anywhere near them. Ever. I'm going to dig a hole beneath my star rating so I can go negative on this one. So many factors in the book made for a frustrating, irritating read. This is not so much a review as a rant, I'm afraid.
I didn't even read everything in this book. At one point, my husband (who had already warned me that this wasn't a "happy ending" sort of book - that's a personal definition, btw; the book does have a technically happy ending) asked me how it was going. I told him I was about ready to throw the book across the room because I'd read, in the last few pages, about the ritual killing of male Confessor infants by their father, at their mother's order, and the gang rape of young girls who had been lucky enough to survive their village being razed by their own lord's army in disguise, just to cement the pretend-enemy's evilness. I've no general complaint against violence in fantasy. Swords and spears FTW. But when you feel it's necessary to stoop to describing violence against children--not necessarily in detail, but in continual reference--I've got a problem with your writing. When you must describe the flying gobs of blood every time there is a battle, the crunching bones and collapsing faces, every time, then you've strayed into violence porn, and you're no better than a 70's mob movie at keeping me focused on the plot you're ostensibly constructing. Some writing style elements just shout too darn loud, and drown the plot out. Excessive gore for its own sake is definitely one of them for me.
Honestly, whatever happened to hinting? I DO have an imagination, you know. It's why I enjoy fantasy worlds in the first place!
After explaining my irritation at the author's choice of details, my husband took the book away and said, "Don't read past when they cross the bridge after the castle then." He marked the place for me, and I skipped a good hundred pages of what he summed up for me as the hero being tortured by sadistic women who are the embodiment of the black widow spider. I didn't feel the loss of reading about a man tortured into Stockholm syndrome in loving detail, just so the next part of the plot could happen. It's the "loving detail" part that irritates me. I've read some twisted works by a misogynist sociopath before--before I realized what he was--and this was little different. Probably due to a good editor. Such things one cannot simply scrub from one's brain afterward. Some things cannot be un-seen.
I have to say, though, that I'm sort of expecting this to be the worst book Goodkind ever wrote. It is his first book, and one usually gets better with time. In this book, I can see other issues with the plot's construction that irritated me on a less personal level than as a mom of living children.
Situational irony got Out Of Control in this book. Sure, you can have the magic box go one way while the heroes are still looking somewhere else for it. Fine. But don't write about it for eighty pages until they realize what happened! After about page 3 of "it's still at the castle, let's get to the castle", and knowing that it wasn't in fact at the castle, I was ready for them to figure it out. But nooooo. In this case, better timing of scene switching, and hurrying up one side or delaying the other so that it balanced better, would have made me much happier.
The other ironic situation was in regards to the traitor who handed the magic box to Lord Rahl. Richard, our hero, is so focused on it being either X or Y that he can't consider anyone else. Meanwhile, the actual traitor had been acting odd from the beginning of the book. It was a no brainer, and caused all sorts of unnecessary conflicts, encounters and confusion until they figured it all out. It added an extra 50 pages to the book to discuss all this uncertainty and its resulting clashes, making the plot limp along with a hop-a-skip to get to the end.
This world is not a happy one. The magic that exists here is based on pain. Sure, there are technically two magics here, and magic has two sides, as they say. That's a cool concept. But the way it's used in the book, I'm fully on the Westlanders' side: I'd move away behind a boundary to get away from those freaky-ass magic users and their bizarre "gifts". There's a fair bit of underworld crossover, and they're always evil/bad/deadly. No friendly ghosts here. No mention of anywhere else for the dead to go, so it seems everyone goes to hell here.
Magic spells, unless you're Zedd, seem to involve manipulating prepubescent boys into adoring you, then killing them with molten lead, or screaming naked in the forest with blood pouring from your wounds, for a couple examples. For Richard, his sword causes him agony every time he kills someone with it, and he can only seem to use it when his anger is merged with its anger, giving him a sort of subjective perspective of righteous rage. For Kahlan, she makes people fall completely in love with her, then commands them to do stuff she wants. Most of the time, this is dying immediately. The original concept of Confessing is so twisted from its stated intent (seeking the truth), that it seems obvious that the wizards who created the Confessors were either psychopaths, or horribly inept. It was nearly inconceivable that her Confessing didn't bring her a small army of fanatics, that she had to kill them all, except Brophy, who wasn't even allowed to remain human anymore. How is that any sort of functioning magic, that the confessed are apparently so obsessive that even the ones you don't order to die on the spot are so irritating that they need to be turned into wolves?
Seriously, Goodkind must eat spicy quesadillas before bed each night to come up with this stuff.
These characters he's created are not merely flawed. They're twisted, shattered, and broken. They're way beyond flaws that others can relate to; they've entered the realm of the grotesque. They don't stand out because their whole world is similar. It's not a happy ending sort of book because it doesn't seem to grasp the concept of happiness. Love (Kahlan's magic) is twisted to bring death. Righteous anger is twisted to become Richard's Seeker magic, and he can forgive people for their actions with it too, but only by killing or hurting them. Rahl is a complete basket case, with the constant licking of fingertips and smoothing of eyebrows, and he's clearly psychopathic...in loving detail. He employs lots of evil people (Demmin, the Mord-Sith) who also get to do evil stuff in loving detail.
It's not the evil I mind. You can't have conflict without evil. You can't have a gripping story without conflict. It's the loving detail that irritates me. I'm generally in favor of free speech and against the banning of books, but when the intent gets out of hand, I'm not cool with that. There are in fact some things that should not be reveled in. Concepts are important for grasping. You can't deal with evil unless you know what it is. But this book reads like a low-key bacchanal of evil fun, where the heroes cry quite a lot, after proclaiming they never cry, bleed more than most books put together, and everyone seems to get tortured or lost or terrified at regular intervals. It's just a bit much, all around, like the volume got cranked to 12.
I've read worse, so this gets a -3 of 5.
I can now say with full confidence that if this is what it takes to get a book turned into a TV show, I'm going to aim for the quirky recluse writer in the big house at the end of the lane, who wears foreign clothes that smell of odd spices and gives full-size candy bars out at Halloween.
Oh wait. I was going to do that anyway.
I have several issues with the way Goodkind constructs his book. I can only assume that the rest of this series will be in a similar vein, and I'm put off enough that I'm not going anywhere near them. Ever. I'm going to dig a hole beneath my star rating so I can go negative on this one. So many factors in the book made for a frustrating, irritating read. This is not so much a review as a rant, I'm afraid.
I didn't even read everything in this book. At one point, my husband (who had already warned me that this wasn't a "happy ending" sort of book - that's a personal definition, btw; the book does have a technically happy ending) asked me how it was going. I told him I was about ready to throw the book across the room because I'd read, in the last few pages, about the ritual killing of male Confessor infants by their father, at their mother's order, and the gang rape of young girls who had been lucky enough to survive their village being razed by their own lord's army in disguise, just to cement the pretend-enemy's evilness. I've no general complaint against violence in fantasy. Swords and spears FTW. But when you feel it's necessary to stoop to describing violence against children--not necessarily in detail, but in continual reference--I've got a problem with your writing. When you must describe the flying gobs of blood every time there is a battle, the crunching bones and collapsing faces, every time, then you've strayed into violence porn, and you're no better than a 70's mob movie at keeping me focused on the plot you're ostensibly constructing. Some writing style elements just shout too darn loud, and drown the plot out. Excessive gore for its own sake is definitely one of them for me.
Honestly, whatever happened to hinting? I DO have an imagination, you know. It's why I enjoy fantasy worlds in the first place!
After explaining my irritation at the author's choice of details, my husband took the book away and said, "Don't read past when they cross the bridge after the castle then." He marked the place for me, and I skipped a good hundred pages of what he summed up for me as the hero being tortured by sadistic women who are the embodiment of the black widow spider. I didn't feel the loss of reading about a man tortured into Stockholm syndrome in loving detail, just so the next part of the plot could happen. It's the "loving detail" part that irritates me. I've read some twisted works by a misogynist sociopath before--before I realized what he was--and this was little different. Probably due to a good editor. Such things one cannot simply scrub from one's brain afterward. Some things cannot be un-seen.
I have to say, though, that I'm sort of expecting this to be the worst book Goodkind ever wrote. It is his first book, and one usually gets better with time. In this book, I can see other issues with the plot's construction that irritated me on a less personal level than as a mom of living children.
Situational irony got Out Of Control in this book. Sure, you can have the magic box go one way while the heroes are still looking somewhere else for it. Fine. But don't write about it for eighty pages until they realize what happened! After about page 3 of "it's still at the castle, let's get to the castle", and knowing that it wasn't in fact at the castle, I was ready for them to figure it out. But nooooo. In this case, better timing of scene switching, and hurrying up one side or delaying the other so that it balanced better, would have made me much happier.
The other ironic situation was in regards to the traitor who handed the magic box to Lord Rahl. Richard, our hero, is so focused on it being either X or Y that he can't consider anyone else. Meanwhile, the actual traitor had been acting odd from the beginning of the book. It was a no brainer, and caused all sorts of unnecessary conflicts, encounters and confusion until they figured it all out. It added an extra 50 pages to the book to discuss all this uncertainty and its resulting clashes, making the plot limp along with a hop-a-skip to get to the end.
This world is not a happy one. The magic that exists here is based on pain. Sure, there are technically two magics here, and magic has two sides, as they say. That's a cool concept. But the way it's used in the book, I'm fully on the Westlanders' side: I'd move away behind a boundary to get away from those freaky-ass magic users and their bizarre "gifts". There's a fair bit of underworld crossover, and they're always evil/bad/deadly. No friendly ghosts here. No mention of anywhere else for the dead to go, so it seems everyone goes to hell here.
Magic spells, unless you're Zedd, seem to involve manipulating prepubescent boys into adoring you, then killing them with molten lead, or screaming naked in the forest with blood pouring from your wounds, for a couple examples. For Richard, his sword causes him agony every time he kills someone with it, and he can only seem to use it when his anger is merged with its anger, giving him a sort of subjective perspective of righteous rage. For Kahlan, she makes people fall completely in love with her, then commands them to do stuff she wants. Most of the time, this is dying immediately. The original concept of Confessing is so twisted from its stated intent (seeking the truth), that it seems obvious that the wizards who created the Confessors were either psychopaths, or horribly inept. It was nearly inconceivable that her Confessing didn't bring her a small army of fanatics, that she had to kill them all, except Brophy, who wasn't even allowed to remain human anymore. How is that any sort of functioning magic, that the confessed are apparently so obsessive that even the ones you don't order to die on the spot are so irritating that they need to be turned into wolves?
Seriously, Goodkind must eat spicy quesadillas before bed each night to come up with this stuff.
These characters he's created are not merely flawed. They're twisted, shattered, and broken. They're way beyond flaws that others can relate to; they've entered the realm of the grotesque. They don't stand out because their whole world is similar. It's not a happy ending sort of book because it doesn't seem to grasp the concept of happiness. Love (Kahlan's magic) is twisted to bring death. Righteous anger is twisted to become Richard's Seeker magic, and he can forgive people for their actions with it too, but only by killing or hurting them. Rahl is a complete basket case, with the constant licking of fingertips and smoothing of eyebrows, and he's clearly psychopathic...in loving detail. He employs lots of evil people (Demmin, the Mord-Sith) who also get to do evil stuff in loving detail.
It's not the evil I mind. You can't have conflict without evil. You can't have a gripping story without conflict. It's the loving detail that irritates me. I'm generally in favor of free speech and against the banning of books, but when the intent gets out of hand, I'm not cool with that. There are in fact some things that should not be reveled in. Concepts are important for grasping. You can't deal with evil unless you know what it is. But this book reads like a low-key bacchanal of evil fun, where the heroes cry quite a lot, after proclaiming they never cry, bleed more than most books put together, and everyone seems to get tortured or lost or terrified at regular intervals. It's just a bit much, all around, like the volume got cranked to 12.
I've read worse, so this gets a -3 of 5.
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