Category: writing

characters, fantasy, humor, world-building, writing

Dream-Maker

elouisebates

After the fun of my sci-fi mash-up dream, and urged on by rockinlibrarian (also aided and abetted by rthstewart, who nearly made me snort tea all over my computer with her take on the animosity between Lando Calrissian and Mal Reynolds (I am so going to think “Not right, man wearin’ a cape” the next time I watch Empire Strike Back, rth!)), I decided I had to start writing it down as a story. Not one for publication, or even for putting up on ff.net due to my blatant self-insert (but she’s not a Mary-Sue! She is not perfect and nobody is in love with her except her off-screen husband, but she and Mal do have great fun with harmless flirting by passing insults at each other), but just a way to get some of this marvelous creativity my subconscious was providing me with down on paper.

I’m about ten thousand words in, and it’s getting crazier and more peppered with cameos from other sci fi/fantasy stories with each paragraph. Mara Jade has insisted on popping in (for more than just a brief cameo, thankyouverymuch, what do you take her for?), and it’s becoming very clear to me that the Doctor would never consent to being left out of a madcap adventure like this, so it is clearly my duty to get caught up on that show, since I still haven’t made it all the way through the Ninth Doctor (though even the few episodes that I have seen have left me with a tendency to say “Fantastic!” just like Christopher Eccleston).

But aside from the sheer fun of this, and the marvelous outlet it has become for releasing any stress in my life, the other nice thing about this story (simply titled “fun” in my computer documents) is that is stirring up my creativity for my other writings, as well. Did you know I hadn’t written one word of fiction since before Christmas, up until I started this nonsense project? Not. One. Word. (Speaking of things that ain’t right.)

And then yesterday, I actually opened up my current MG WIP and skimmed it over, thinking how ready I am to get back to writing more about Cadi &co. And then I started thinking about Maia and Len (my older YA 1920s adventure-fantasy) and realized the first draft had finally settled enough that I was ready to tackle putting it into decent shape for the second draft.

Today I have to take care of some basic household chores (Carl’s been helping out a lot – blessed man keeps washing dishes for me, which is marvelous, darling, thank you – but breadmaking and laundry are still two tasks that will always be delegated to me), but I’m hoping to spend some time this afternoon or evening in “real” writing, writing I might actually be able to show to the world someday.

And I will not be abandoning my “fun” story, either – I have a sneaking suspicion that this is one tale that will stretch out for many years, to be added to whenever it strikes my fancy or I am getting bored, and never quite coming to an end.

What do you do to get your creative juices flowing again? What are some science fiction or fantasy characters you would add to a crazy story like mine?

figure skating, God, Life Talk, philosophy, writing

Sacred Joy

elouisebates

On the second-to-last night of 2011, I unexpectedly got the best gift of the year – two free tickets to see Stars on Ice, my favorite show in the world, in Lake Placid, my favorite village in the world. My mother-in-law, already planning on visiting for the holiday, came out a day early so she could baby-sit the littles; the friend who gave us the free tickets had two others she gave to my mother and sister, so Carl and I met Mom and Lis in the village, had dinner together (served by the Slavic version of Basil Fawlty, though he was more harried than rude, but still – Carl was the first to come up with the comparison and it was so apt), and then went to the SHOW.
It was to flip over.
(I know, groan, but come on, you don’t expect me to get a picture of Ryan Bradley mid-back-flip and not come up with an excuse to use it and make a lame pun with.)

Our seats were in the bleachers, but when they did the retakes for tv after the show we were able to sneak down and take the seats of four people who had left. I pulled my camera out of my bag and just started clicking. Kurt Browning was gracious enough to do the majority of his retakes right in front of where we were sitting. My sister and I might have fan-girl squee-ed just a little.

It was a two+ hour drive back to Albany after the show – the weather was hovering between rain and ice through most of the Adirondacks, which meant we had to drive slowly. So what do two people do to keep each other awake on a late-night long drive back home? Well, my sister and I might have done more squee-ing over the likes of Kurt, Ryan, Todd Eldredge, etc, but since it was Carl and I, of course we started talking philosophy.
Philosophy of figure skating? Why, of course! 

Way back in college, I wrote a paper on the debate as to whether figure skating was sport or art. My stupid, stupid English professor gave me a C, not because it was poorly written, but because he didn’t think it was a real issue (note: at the beginning of the semester he told us anything was acceptable as a topic, and cited one of his favorite papers from the previous year, on “Why Blondes Have More Fun). I looked at him and said, “I am a figure skater: trust me, it is an issue.”

He refused to believe me; that is the one and only C I have ever received on any assignment in an English class. And yes, it was close to ten years ago, but IT STILL RANKLES.

Anyway. Carl was asking me about my thoughts on it, and being wiser now, I wasn’t so quick to jump to the defense of figure skating as sport. I told him that I couldn’t really be objective on the matter, because figure skating was so much more to me than anything I could describe.

You see, when I am on the ice, just as when I am writing, I feel I am coming closer to the me I am meant to be (I know this all sounds a little “woo-woo.” Sorry about that), back to the core of who I am, the Louise God intended me to be with all the baggage stripped away. Only skating and writing do that for me – nothing else. It is too close to my heart; I cannot speak objectively about it. Even when I am not skating myself, watching pure, good skating gives me an echo of that. It satisfies me in a way nothing else does, the same way that reading a brilliantly-written book satisfies me even when I am not writing myself.

And I am not a great skater, but when I am on the ice I feel like I am great. I am always pretty sure I look like this:

Joannie Rochette and Sasha Cohen)

Or this:
I want to be Katia Gordeeva when I grow up

And I really look like this:
True story – I got done with this spiral and told my friend who was holding the camera “That was great! My leg was really up there, my head was high, it was an awesome spiral!” She said, “uh-huh,” and handed me the camera. I was shocked to see I had only achieved a straight line – but I suppose I should be thankful at least my head was up and my leg was straight. I don’t always even accomplish that.

Or this:
SELL that final pose, girl!

But that doesn’t matter. Not really. I do my best skating when I am all alone in a rink, with no one around to make me self-conscious. It’s not a solitary act for most, but like writing, it is for me.
And that – because it is almost sacred to me – is why it brings me such joy to watch it done well. Oh sure, the eye candy is nice, too, but skating is unique and special and wondrous simply because, for me, it is an act of worship.
As is writing.
It’s kind of a nice way to end the year, isn’t it, making those connections and getting an unexpected chance to experience that again?
It makes me want to write more, too, and to remember more of what my writing is – not just a hobby or career, but an essential part of me, one of those elements that makes me me, and something that brings me closer to my best, my purest version of myself.
And that is the last bit of philosophizing you will hear from me until next year. 
Happy New Year’s, friends!

research, writing

In My Little Corner of the World

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What? Yes, of course I am working!


My new favorite spot to write is here: in the grey recliner in the corner of the living room, half-hidden by the Christmas tree but with a good view out the enormous picture window.

Although since downloading the Kindle app for Macs the other day, I’ve been doing less writing and more reading on my laptop. Not sure this was the best idea after all! I’m also having a terrible time not just buying any e-book that catches my fancy. Something about this instant gratification thing that is tremendously addictive, and dangerous. I have to keep reminding myself that this is real money I am spending, even if they aren’t “real” (ie, paper) books.

Sigh.

But back to the writing. I really have been working, even if much of that work does look like I am just sitting and staring into space. After filling out a basic outline for the Celtic YA fantasy (and was I ever surprised to find myself working on that one again – I figured it was going to take much longer before I was ready to even look at that again, given my Frustrations with it on the last round), I’ve been doing much pondering about how things should go, and careful consideration of my writing style for this one (the source of much of my frustration before – no matter how much I wanted to keep a wryly humorous tone, it would insist on taking itself too seriously, and getting Grim and Depressing). I even have part of the first chapter written – and this is actually more progress than one might think, since (for me) as the first chapter goes, so goes the rest of the book. Plus I can reuse a decent amount of material from the last draft, so once I get past these new beginning bits, a lot of what is going on will be cutting-and-pasting with new (hopefully amusing) filler in between the old stuff.

I had planned to work more on my MG fantasy since finishing the first draft of the 1920s ms, but the muse stirred for this one, so I am bowing to her whims. As long as I am working on one of my plethora of unfinished projects, I’m not particularly fussy as to which one.

Especially since recently I found my research notes and partial outline for the story I had planned on writing this year, the one that got shuffled aside in favor of the 1920s story and the Celtic rewrite. Starsong, the one set in a Renaissance world with a heroine inspired by the Maya culture.

And I really, really want to start working on that one again, but with a second draft needed for the 1920s ms, a picture book to indie publish by this summer (that’s the goal, anyway), a Celtic rewrite needing to be finished, and an MG fantasy impatiently reminding me that it’s been the one sitting around waiting to be finished the longest …

I am Not! Starting! Anything! New! Some people (those with sanity) would tell me this is too much as it is. And they would probably be right.

But it’s fun.

Books, goals, reading list, writing

Book Snippets

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I did not start on my Shakespeare reading this week. I was going to – I had borrowed The Taming of the Shrew from the library, and sat down at the computer to skim over the summary first (my preferred way of reading Shakespeare, since otherwise I lose much appreciation for the language in trying to decipher the plot and keep all the character straight).

And considering that in my reading of the summary I decided that Petruchio was an abusive jerk that Kate should have poisoned at their wedding feast, I figured I wasn’t exactly in the best mindset to read Shakespeare this week. Maybe I should start with Hamlet?

We have been plagued with mice all week long; Carl finally brought home new traps Saturday evening and we caught six – SIX – in a four-hour period. Have not seen any since, though I am planning on using a combination of peppermint oil and mothballs to keep them out until we’ve had a chance to talk to our landlords and find out if they want to bring in a professional to seal every crack and cranny.

So the mice might have soured my appreciation for the Bard. I certainly was not in any mood to read any Redwall books, either.

I did, however, read The Queen of Attolia, which prompted me to re-read my recently purchased copy of The Thief, because it had been a while since I read it and some of the details were a bit fuzzy. In case you are one of the few people on the planet who (like me) hasn’t read this fantastic series by Megan Whalen Turner, go to your library now and start borrowing them. They are incredibly good. So good that, even though I need to be packing today for going up to my parents’ for Thanksgiving, I’m still planning on making a library run to get the next two books in the series. I really, really wish I could read in the car without getting sick!

I also recently finished the Song of the Lioness quartet – I’ve been friends with Kel and Aly for a few years now, and recently with Beka Cooper, but I’d never been able to find all the Alanna books until we’d moved and gone to a new library. I was bitterly disappointed in the ending of the fourth book (villains NEED more motivation than just, hey, let’s destroy the world for kicks, even though it’s going to destroy me too), but at least it gave me enough background to read the Immortals series. Alanna will never replace Kel as my favorite Tamora Pierce heroine, though.

My writing goals are still out of reach. I have two – TWO – chapters left in my 1920s fantasy-adventure, and do you think I’ve been able to write them? No, because I’ve been scrubbing my floors and counters every other day to get rid of mouse droppings! By the time Carl’s home from work and the littles are in bed, I’ve been able to do little more than collapse in bed or on the couch and either read YA fantasy, or watch my newly-purchased first season of Star Trek: Voyager. (Chakotay is STILL my favorite character out of the entire Star Trek canon, although Worf is a close second. Picard is right on Worf’s heels as third. What can I say? I really, really like nobility, goodness, and conflict within oneself in my heroes.)

However, I am tentatively hopeful that maybe this evening, after my packing is finished, or perhaps while we’re at home, in between cooking and cleaning and practicing makeup techniques with my sister, I might be able to squeeze out those 5,000 words.

Because wow, November has flown by. Can you believe it’s almost December? I am starting a new tradition for our family this year – 25 days of Advent activities (or candy, on those days when my inspiration ran out) leading up to Christmas.

Christmas, my friends! It’s just a little over a month away!

Are you a fan of any or all the Star Trek shows? Do you have a favorite character? What good books have you been reading lately? Can anyone tell me if I missed something crucial at the end of Lioness Rampant explaining the villain’s actions and goals a little more clearly? Am I reading too much into The Taming of the Shrew? Do you have exciting plans for Thanksgiving?

1920s, Books, children, families, heroines, Life Talk

Libraries and Death Traps

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Thank you all, again, for your kind words on my last post. You brought a lump to my throat more than once.

We’re still at my parents’ until Tuesday morning; Grandma’s memorial service is Monday. We’re looking forward to having much of the clan gathered together for it. Even though funerals are sad, we always manage to have something of a good time just because we’re together. Some of the aunts and uncles have only met my littles once or twice, so I’m happy (and slightly nervous) to introduce my small people to the larger family.

We also had Joy’s fourth birthday party today; I can’t wait to put pictures up on here from it. It was a woodland butterfly fairy tea party (originally, it was going to be a bird and flower and butterfly theme, but it evolved. These things happen), and even the three men involved (my husband, father, and brother-in-law) wore butterfly wings. O yes, they did. They all love Joy very much. They are also all very secure in their masculinity.

And my sister and I made sure to get them blue wings. Pink might have been carrying things a little too far.

And for a first, Joy only got one book for her birthday (and that from Carl and me). Usually books make up the bulk of her gifts. I’m sure she will get more once she receives her package from Carl’s aunt, a librarian in Maine. She always sends lots of book for birthdays and holidays. We are always very happy to see presents from G-Auntie.

This is the book we got for Joy:

No, wait. Wrong one. This one:

thanks to a recommendation from Rockin Librarian (thank you!). I’m excited to see what stories Joy concocts from the illustrations.

Meanwhile, my mom, sister and I are all sick (watching the two of them trying to tack up sheets and white lights while simultaneously hacking and blowing their noses would have been funny if I weren’t trying to slice vegetables without sneezing into them), and I am starting to go a little bit crazy from not writing at all in the last week plus – not since coming up here last Thursday. Family is more important, hands down, no questions asked and no regrets … but writing is such a part of me that I’m starting to feel starved for it.

And my characters are starting to haunt my dreams. Plus last night I dreamed that I had to scale a rickety ladder and swing from a rope to get into a library’s second story, not to mention crawling along the outside of the roof and breaking through a window (and was I ever pissed when I got inside and saw an escalator that led to main lobby, and I realized the librarian at the desk had sent me up the death trap way for, apparently, a lark, and then the escalators shut down because the library closed and I had to come down the same way and I DIDN’T EVEN GET TO CHECK OUT MY BOOKS), which I think is indication that my subconscious is telling me to not neglect books so much.

Or, you know, it could have been the rum in the tea last night. Whatever.

(Almost worse than the horrific ladder (I have a good head for heights, but I have always always hated ladders, and swinging from a frail rope to try to reach a roof window is not my idea of fun) was that I had found a brand-new, just-discovered Lloyd Alexander book in the children section (downstairs) and when I didn’t get to check my books out, I had to leave it behind. LLOYD ALEXANDER, newly-discovered book!)

I am working on the MG rewrite, but of today, Maia of the 1920s fantasy-adventure has been chatting to me, reminding me, impatiently, that I left her in Grave Danger and she needs a chance to Prove Her Worth. She is most definitely not a helpless heroine, and she doesn’t like being left a victim without a chance to take on the villain herself. So I think I need to get back to her soon. She gets very crabby when left alone for too long.

And now if you’ll excuse me, I have some rum-and-tea and a box of tissues calling my name.

And some pictures of three men in butterfly wings to upload onto my computer.

Books, children, critiquing, Life Talk, publishing, writing

Finding My Ark

elouisebates

This has been an up-and-down week for me.

I wrote a children’s picture book. WHEEE!

I got the typical “oh that’s nice” response or, worse, no response at all from family and friends when I tried to share my excitement. WAHHH.

One friend immediately asked about illustrations, and we started collaborating that night. WHEEE!

Trying to figure out the best way to self-publish that offered me electronic options AND the freedom to offer print books to indie bookstores and local galleries on my own AND didn’t cost the sky completely and totally freaked me out. WAHHH.

I had a beautifully positive response from the few friends who did get excited for me, and my first critique partner. WHEEE!

My husband and I had one of those conversations where no one is mad at the other, but everyone ends up feeling lousy afterward (nothing to do with writing). WAHHH.

And then I got sick.

And it’s been raining for what feels like 40 days and 40 nights.

So, I’m finding an ark.

Today I’m going to wear nice clothes, bake cookies, play loud and fun music, laugh with my girls, work on sewing their skirts I cut out last week, and throw encouragement at everyone I can find, even if it is just online. I will hide myself from discouragement in joy. And hopefully when I emerge, the waters will have receded.

Just as soon as the two-year-old stops her wailing for no reason in the background.

What is your “ark” – where do you go, what do you do to rest and recover from discouragement or disappointment, or just plain blah-ness? Are you living in an area that’s been getting drowned, like me, or are you one of the ones suffering from drought? If you are, I so wish I could send you some of our wet!

1920s, editing, publishing, writing

YA, Or Not

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As I was working on my 1920s WIP the other day, I realized something important.

This is not a YA story.

The heroine and the hero, you see, have already come of age. Yes, the heroine is nineteen, but she is fully self-aware. The hero is in his mid-twenties. Both have lived through the War, both came of age during that time. This story is more about moving from young adult to fully adult, in the heroine’s case, and in the hero’s case – again, he’s already adult, and he is more learning just some good, healthy life lessons (like, don’t underestimate women – particularly one woman in particular!).

So. This puts me in a quandary. Either I make some major changes – changes that would alter the entire story (set it before the War, when they are younger? Make the house party one hosted and attended by parental figures, instead of heroine’s personal friends? Keep it after the War and just have them live through it, instead of being personally involved? Somehow this is starting to sound like Muppet Babies or the like – take characters already established and just drop them in age) (did I seriously just make a Muppet Babies reference in this post?), OR I drop the entire idea of YA and just accept that this is an alternate-history adventure-fantasy, end thought.

I’m leaning toward the latter. Except I’m starting to panic, because everything that I’ve looked up in reference to agents and marketing etc has been YA. Are there other stories like this out there? Is there even a genre for alternate-history adventure-fantasy? (Outlander? I’ve never read any of the stories, but I have a vague idea those are somewhat similar) Do I go for the fantasy genre or the adventure/mystery genre? Do I cut out the fantasy along with the YA and just have it be a historical adventure?

So many questions. One of these days I’m going to write something uncomplicated.

How boring will that be!

Have you ever gotten halfway through a project and realized it’s not what you had originally planned? Which is more important to you, sticking within your genre or sticking with your characters and plot? Do you think an alternate-history adventure-fantasy would have a market in the adult crowd? Did you watch Muppet Babies as a kid?

Life Talk, seasons, writing

Turning

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I woke up this morning to a fog so thick that for a split second, my sleep-befuddled brain thought it was snowing because it was so white outside my window.

(Incidentally, wouldn’t that be a great opening line for a story?)

The summer heat has worked its usual magic, and I find myself looking as forward to autumn and – dare I admit it? – even winter as I was to spring and summer this past March.

Autumn and spring are my favorite seasons, each in its turn. I love the awakening that comes with spring, the glorious warmth and light after an inevitably long, cold, dark winter. I love to see the world turning green, the birds returning and filling the air with song, the flowers and plants pushing up from the ground. Everything is fresh and new, and returning to life, and my soul expands with it.

It is a quieter delight that comes with the autumn. The summer has (usually) been hot enough to make me long for cooler days and crisp nights. Even if its a cool summer, I still find myself looking forward to the richness of the autumn colors, the leaves changing and the apples ripening, and soon, the snow starting to fall and all the joys that come with that.

My writing always flows so much better with the changing of the seasons. Watching life start again in the spring, as well as seeing everything settle down in autumn, both start my inspirational juices flowing. My other creative interests seek outlets then, too – usually my quilting picks up for the cooler months, while gardening and photography interest me in the spring and summer.

Our life has taken an unexpected twist this past month, and we have no idea if we will stay in this house for the next month, season, or year. But I know that wherever we are, whatever we are doing, the earth will continue to turn, and the seasons to change. There is great comfort in that, great hope. Great trust.

Do you have a favorite season? Are you happy to see summer drawing to a close, or does the very thought of cooler weather make you cringe? What times during the year are the best for your writing, or other creative outlets?

writing

Writing Room

elouisebates

My parents are in the midst of remodeling their house (FINALLY! After 20 years!), so this vacation we’re staying at my grandmother’s house, across the driveway. Granted, she’s remodeling too, but she at least has three usable bedrooms. After Carl left (he has to work the rest of this week, but the littles and I are staying to play for a bit longer), I moved upstairs so Gram could have her room, with the only double bed, back.

The walls are pale fawn, the ceiling slants down on one side, there’s a window overlooking the tangled trees which are currently blocking the pond, but will be trimmed back eventually. There’s a little white bed and a bookcase. My very first thought, as I dumped the suitcase beside the bed, was: “This is the perfect writing room.”

(My second thought was that it looked like an Anne of Green Gables room, but that’s slightly irrelevant to this topic.)

I could just see myself set up at a little desk by the window, looking out at the trees for inspiration (most likely with my chin propped on my hand), and then tapping furiously at my keyboard, producing a story in the shortest time ever.

It won’t happen – for one thing, there’s no desk. For another, I have two littles who never let me have that much time to myself. But it was nice to imagine.

At home, I write wherever and whenever I get a few spare moments. It’s one of the reasons I love my laptop so. Kitchen counter, dining room table, Carl’s desk, the easy chair with my legs up on the footrest, in bed … sometimes even on the floor. And it works, but I would love, someday, to have a room which is set aside just for writing, where everything has been planned around and is conducive to the creative process. One that I don’t have to share with the main life of the family!

Do you have a room or space set aside just for writing? What does your perfect writing room look like?

Books, fantasy, reading list, writing

Why Fantasy?

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This is a reasonable question, yet one I’ve never really asked myself before. Why, out of all the genres out there, is it fantasy, most specifically YA fantasy, that appeals to me the most?

My bookshelves are so full that I have to stack books on top of books, and some of the books that I don’t want to get rid of but rarely read (ahem *Star Wars novels*) are packed away. I’d plead for more shelf space, but Carl has hogged it all already.

On my shelves, I have a smattering of classical literature – mostly Austen, Gaskell, Dickens, and Shakespeare. I have some of the Russians – Tolstoy and Dostoyevsky – but I’ve never made it all the way through one of their novels. The problem is I keep picking them up when I’m either pregnant or just had a baby, and I’m already prone to depression … not a good time to read the Russians, I have found.

There’s my history books covering two shelves, the books that I gleefully claim I need for research, but really just get because history of all kinds fascinates me. Then there’s my children’s lit – LM Montgomery, Maud Hart Lovelace, Elizabeth Enright, Louisa May Alcott, etc.

Agatha Christie gets one entire shelf to herself (she was a Very Prolific Author), and Dorothy Sayers, Margery Allingham, Josephine Tey, and Dorothy Gilman cover the next (none of them, alas, were as prolific as I would have liked). I do enjoy a good mystery, especially one that’s not too gruesome. And if you’ve been reading this blog for any period of time at all you know I have an illicit love affair going on with Lord Peter.

The rest of my shelves are all fantasy, and mostly YA or MG. From Narnia to Middle Earth to Prydain to E Nesbit’s England to Mossflower to Ancelstierre and the Old Kingdom to the Enchanted Forest and covering a whole lot more in between.

So why? What is it about fantasy that draws me so, that makes want to read it more than anything else? What is it that makes it my default for writing? Even trying to write a simple adventure story set in 1920s England turned into an alternate history type fantasy (really have to get back to that as soon as I’m done with the rough draft of Cadi’s story – Maia does not take kindly to being set aside for a time).

I never got all that into the traditional sword-and-sorcery fantasy. I’ve read some of those sorts of books and enjoyed them, but not for writing, and I usually only borrow them from the library instead of buying them for my very own. And I’m definitely not big into paranormal or urban fantasy. I have yet to read the book-whose-title-is-synonymous-with-dusk, and vampires etc just don’t really interest me terribly. Unless that vampire is Angel. Duh. Again, I have read some urban fantasy and enjoyed it, but not to the point where I ever want to buy any of the books.

So what is it about certain types of fantasy that draws me the most?

This might be an unfair post, because I don’t really have an answer yet. I think it’s important to ponder, though, and I suspect it boils down to something along the lines of a Lloyd Alexander quote I love:

Fantasy is hardly a way of escaping reality; it’s a way of understanding it.

I think that for me, fantasy has helped me understand this “real world” better, while also allowing me to accept things which we cannot see or understand. I do still believe in fairies, you see, and that belief has helped to shape me into a better person.

And if I can be an ambassador of a magical realm to this one, then that is a task I am proud and yet oddly humbled to accept.

What are your favorite genres to read or write, and why? Do you believe that fantasy does help us to understand reality better? Do you – as Peter Pan might demand – still believe in fairies?