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Feathers or Stones

Feathers or Stones

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Once, long ago, there was a poor writer who lived in the depths of a forest with his wife. He would spend his evenings putting words to page while his wife rested by the fire. As she did so she would read those stories which were complete, and yet not yet ready for market. Using a special red pencil, she would note occasional errors and put to him questions the writing had left unresolved, in order that his next version of the story might be improved.

During the day she would walk out into the forest and spend her time hewing mighty trees, for she was a woodcutter by trade. He, meanwhile, would tend to the small garden, and every few days journey into the nearby town, riding down the river on a mighty raft formed of entire tree trunks she had stripped, all lashed together, and he would walk back home before sundown. Thus they had a modest supply of silver, and the wife was content they be together every evening.

But the writer was not content.

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Picking A Lane

Picking A Lane

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The Human Resources Bunker for Black Gate is on sub-level 12, which is normally dank, dim, and mostly empty. But as it was Quarterly Reviews, the cargo elevators continued to disgorge people, making those of us already waiting on long benches between decorative columns pack in even tighter. As I waited, number in hand, I peered up past the moss-covered chandeliers and the ductwork of the air circulation system, to the massive murals painted onto the arching ceiling far overhead, framed in gold, showing scenes of the early days of Black Gate. But the lichen that had accumulated in the years since made the details hard to pick out.

Originally, the plans for the Human Resources Bunker were more modest.

The vents overhead dripped continuously, and I had begun to worry about possible rust stains on my already threadbare suit. So my trepidation was mixed with relief as I heard my number finally called over the loudspeakers, and I strode forward, to sit on the stool before the desk of my Human Resources representative, Salinger. He looked up from his case file with a professional smile.

“So, Mr. Starr! Hope you weren’t waiting more then a few hours!”

“Actually, I-”

“Great, great!” he continued, and I settled further onto a hard stool as he continued to scan reports on my quarterly output. At last he set it aside, and gave me an appraising look. “So, why don’t you tell me how you think your writing has been going?”

“Well, progress on my current novel has been steady-”

“Ah yes,” he said, as if I’d reminded him of a small annoyance that needed to be cleared up. “Let’s begin with that. I hear there’s a marketing issue…” He consulted reports, but I didn’t wait.

“Marketing issue?” I asked, and he gave a wordless grunt in the affirmative. “It’s not even finished yet!”

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Long and Winding

Long and Winding

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January 1st

Dear Diary,
I have decided that my new writing project will be a classic swords and sorcery epic! To that end, I have reams of research on the particulars of many ancient and medieval weapons, and a few pages of notes outlining the magic of this new world. This is the extent of my preparation for this, as I want it to be spontaneous and fresh as I write it. No pesky outline for me this time! I’m going free solo. Au natural! With that in mind, I have decided on the working title of Beatbox, as I assume that performative style requires a certain degree of self confidence.

“Now that is one big book,” thinks an ancient ancestor.

As I write this, Dear Diary, a remarkable amount of work appears to be happening inside the house next door. Craftsmen of all sorts are moving about, finishing projects large and small, and a number of bureaucratic-types have been seen with a woman that I now assume to be the new owner. It is all a mystery, to be honest, and mysteries require methodical work habits to solve. That is not at all my current MO, Dear Diary, and so I will think no more on it!

Still, I have taken note of all the large cups and tiny plates being unpacked by inordinately handsome delivery men.

Theme Music: Thus Spoke Zarathustra, by Richard Strauss. The epic begins!

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New Writers Under Pressure

New Writers Under Pressure

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Image by StartupStockPhotos from Pixabay

Good morning, Readers!

Floating around the Twitterverse yesterday was a long thread of new authors bemoaning all the extra stuff they’re expected to do — all of that extra work extraneous to their craft — that writers are expected to engage in if they have any hope of being successful with their publication.

It’s true. When I first started on this publishing quest oh, some [indistinct] years ago, my research revealed that I had a lot of things to do if I wanted to be successful. I had to be on several social media site. I had to belong to several writing groups. I had to blog. I had to do a book blog tour. I had to secure book reviews and interviews (but good luck getting either if you’re self-published or published by a small/micro press, and entirely unknown). I had to create a launch party. I had to create and maintain a newsletter. The list seemed endless and entirely overwhelming. I understand the dismay and frustration expressed on Twitter yesterday.

It’s valid. There is a lot of hidden work behind being a successful writer (unless you’re very, very lucky).

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Feedback Loop

Feedback Loop

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January 1st

This diagram of a diamond molecule also shows the relationship of your characters to one another. Coincidence?

Dear Diary,

My newest writing project is ready to begin! I have chosen to try my hand at a classic mystery novel, which I will give the working title Alabaster. Welcome to existence, Alabaster! As a mystery requires, I have outlined the novel in its entirety, so I know which clues must go where, and so on. However, in order to temper the heavy-handed planning of my previous project, I have decided to seek out a critique group.

This was made far more simple by the fact that the local library has signed a long-term leased to the large and empty house next door, and has spent many weeks now stocking the spacious rooms with a representative sample of the world of literature, as well as a number of programs aimed at enriching the intellectual lives of the surrounding citizens. Lucky me! What more can a writer ask for than a critique group practically on their own doorstep? I watch their preparations from my writing room window each day.

Power Crystal: Diamond, for clarity and strength.

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The Grindstone

The Grindstone

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January 1st

The view out one’s own window is often inspiring!

Dear Diary,
All of the prep work I did at the end of last year has paid off handsomely! My plan for today is to jump right into my new project, to which I have given the working title of Hedgerow. This will put me in the mindset of a gardener, tending to delicate sprouts, always mindful of the bounty to come. Hello, Hedgerow!

Also, the house next door has finally been occupied. After all the investigators and forensics teams, I feared that blackout curtains would become a permanent decorative feature in my writing room to hide me from the endless rounds of reporters. Thankfully, things quieted down soon enough, which was good, since I had no idea what any of them was talking about!

Spirit Animal: A featherless baby bird!

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The Return of a Small Joy

The Return of a Small Joy

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Image by Ulrike Leone from Pixabay

When I was a young(er) person, I was a voracious reader. I blew through books all the time. Once, during a school reading challenge, I read so many books that I ran out of books to read, and ended up doubling up on some titles. I read so many books, my teachers didn’t believe me. They thought I made up the lot. Reading so much, and loving every minute I got to dive into another world; that I got to escape my reality for a little bit is in no small part of why I’m a writer now.

But I will admit, that I’ve been struggling to read of late. A combination of a time-consuming job, several side-hustles, and the added stress of a global pandemic, and all the stupidity of (some) folks regarding it, losing a long-time flatmate and having to move…. It’s all added up. The result was that I could barely pick myself up, let alone a book.

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Undue Influences

Undue Influences

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January 1st

Diaries are written to never be read by other people, and that is an important difference from a manuscript.

Dear Diary,
I have started my new novel, just like I resolved to do! This project, Dearest Diary, will be codenamed Caterpillar, as it is basically in larval form. Get it? Or should it be called Ovum, as it is actually not as developed as a full larva? No, that sounds stupid. Caterpillar it is! Welcome, Caterpillar!

This novel is going to be a romance, in which our heroine, Margarite, an investment banker, meets Jacques, a poor tile-layer, and falls in love with him. Her well-to-do family will put all manner of obstacles in their path toward fulfillment!

On a side note, the house next door has finally been occupied. The moving truck arrived near dawn, right as I was beginning Caterpillar during my early-writing time. Perhaps Jacques should arrive at Margarite’s villa at dawn. Very romantic!
Weather: Sunny, cold.
Emotional Weather: Sparkly!

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Some Words That Must Be Said

Some Words That Must Be Said

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There will soon be more going on here than meets the eye… or the ear.

100:

Well, hidey-ho there, friend! Let me ask you something. Have you or a loved one ever been writing something – say, a novel, or a short story, or heck, even a sonnet– and found yourself apprehensive about the dialogue to come? Or have you ever felt the reverse, an all-encompassing need to document the details of every character’s chit-chat? If so, you might be on the Dialogue Malappropriation Spectrum, or DMS for short.
Golly, I’m not sure. Can you tell me more? Continue from 180.
I most certainly do not! Continue from 320.
I do. I really do! Continue from 440.
You again? Listen, I thought I made it clear I’m just here for the stories and gaming stuff. Continue from 230.

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What Makes Us Human, the Challenges of Writing Cultures in Deep Time, and Important Skills Learned as a Party Clown: An Interview with Benjamin Rosenbaum

What Makes Us Human, the Challenges of Writing Cultures in Deep Time, and Important Skills Learned as a Party Clown: An Interview with Benjamin Rosenbaum

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Benjamin Rosenbaum has been nominated for the Hugo, Nebula, BSFA, Sturgeon, and World Fantasy Awards and is the author of the short story collection The Ant King and Other Stories. (The Ant King was the first story of his I ever read.) He also created the Ennie-nominated Jewish historical fantasy tabletop roleplaying game Dream Apart and is the co-host of the podcast Mohanraj and Rosenbaum Are Humans. His stories have been translated into 25 languages.

He and I were in the Clarion West class hailed as the future of science fiction. Three Black women, three Asian women (including me), three Jewish men (including Ben), people from five different countries altogether: nowadays that may seem quaint, and that’s part of what we talk about in this interview. The world has changed a lot and as an author always exploring the limits of what it is to be human, Ben has gotten a front row seat to the challenge of asking questions that are relevant not just now, but ten years from now. Edgy questions about gender in one decade can become absurdly sexist by the next. Gender is one of the many concepts he explores in his upcoming novel, The Unraveling.

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