Heyooooo. If you’re feeling charitable and you want sweet, sweet books, I have five books up for grabs at eBay in an auction supporting the Ashland Public Library. You can check out the entry here.
In this fresh-yet-familiar gothic tale—part historical fantasy, part puzzle-box mystery—the worlds of Dracula and Sherlock Holmes collide in a thrilling exploration of feminine power.
At the dawn of the twentieth century in Paris, Samantha Harker, daughter of Dracula’s killer, works as a researcher for the Royal Society for the Study of Abnormal Phenomena. But no one realizes how abnormal she is. Sam is a channel into the minds of monsters: a power that could help her solve the gruesome deaths plaguing turn-of-the-century Paris—or have her thrown into an asylum.
Sam finds herself assigned to a case with Dr. Helena Moriarty, daughter of the criminal mastermind and famed nemesis of Sherlock Holmes and a notorious detective whom no one wants to work with on account of her previous partners’ mysterious murders. Ranging from the elite clubs of Paris to the dark underbelly of the catacombs, their investigation sweeps them into a race to stop a Beast from its killing rampage, as Hel and Sam are pitted against men, monsters, and even each other. But beneath their tenuous trust, an unmistakable attraction brews. Is trusting Hel the key to solving the murder, or is Sam yet another pawn in Hel’s game?
WRITE TO YOUR STRENGTHS
Strange Beasts is my debut, but it’s hardly the first manuscript I wrote. I wrote three manuscripts before it—each of which got so close I could practically taste the cigar smoke, only to be missing that ephemeral something.
So I did what any obsessively analytical person would do and made myself a quiz. Actually, a few quizzes. The first broke down the stories I love into the narrative elements that drew me to them. The second explored every aspect of what I love to write—from the themes I gravitate to, to what kinds of scenes I enjoy, to where I crave the most complexity. The third quiz was actually just the second quiz again, but answered in terms of my readers.
My theory was that my best stories were somewhere at the intersection between what I love to read, what I love to write, and what other people love about my writing. That if I could build a story around that, I could play to my strengths. After all, it’s not like readers crow about how your worldbuilding is so… adequate, your dialogue, present and accounted for. No, readers go feral for the things you shine at. I just had to uncover what they were.
GUT vs RUT
If you had asked me if I was writing what I loved before, I would have said yes, absolutely, why write anything else? These are the books I’ve pulled bloody from the cavity of my chest because what else is worth writing. But the strangest thing happened when I turned off the mood lighting and began my authorial autopsy. I realized I wasn’t following my gut—I’d fallen into a rut.
For example, writing secondary world felt right because it’s what I’d written since forever, but more specifically, since I was devouring fantasy books at the school library during lunch. But it turns out that what I love to write is a subset of what I love to read.
One of my questions on that questionnaire was “what do you enjoy most about world building.” For this, my readers and I are in agreement: it’s bringing a world to life, making it feel real, as if you could press yourself into the book, and walk its crooked streets. Mostly because if I can make the world feel real, then I can make magic feel real. I can make monsters feelreal. A feeling I’ve yearned for ever since I was a child, horrified that the world could dare to be so boring as to be bereft of magic.
You’ll notice I didn’t say “creating a new world and cultures,” which is what I was doing every time I wrote secondary world. I had fallen into a rut writing secondary world and not even realized it, thinking I was following my heart. The funny thing is, I wouldn’t have said I was unhappy writing secondary world, but I was so much happier when I began writing historical fantasy—and my readers were, too.
PERFUME IS FEMINIST
I dug into a wealth of research for Strange Beasts, most of which was rendered down into a single line here or there, but all of which was utterly fascinating (I regret nothing!). I was particularly drawn in by the stories of perfume in the Edwardian era. There were alarmist newspaper articles about socialites in France who bathed in perfume, drank perfume, or even injected perfume into their skin. (These stories might have a grain of truth to them, but were definitely not the cultural norm. If they did happen, it was most likely only socialites scheming for attention).
And then there was the lance-parfum rodo, developed using technology used for anesthesia which couldn’t possibly go wrong (reader: it did), which shot a provocative jet of perfume out, supposedly to make scenting your sheets easier, though that was definitely not what was selling it. See Alphonse Mucha’s rendition, with a reclining, artfully undone woman with a jet of perfume arcing toward her chest (ostensibly to the handkerchief she held), if you’d like a deeper ah, education in the matter.
But my favorite aspect of period perfume is how, in an era when the ideal woman took up as little space as possible, it was inexplicably feminist! Proper ladies, you see, only wore perfume on their artefacts, never their skin (the scandal!), and only perfume of a single note so their fragile lady minds wouldn’t get overwhelmed (there were whole books written about their fragile lady minds getting overwhelmed).
To wear perfume on your skin was to remind men you had skin. Which sounds like something out of a horror story, as one generally hopes women have skin, and all other genders too for that matter. But in that era, it was devastatingly provocative. What’s more, said perfume would linger in her wake, taking up space in an era where women were supposed to take up as little space as possible.
THE BEAST OF GÉVAUDAN
Werewolves often represent man’s inability to escape his primal nature. But after they were cunningly used by cult horror classic Ginger Snaps as a metaphor for puberty, I became obsessed with variations in monstrous symbolism. Werewolves, I decided, would be the perfect symbol for feminine rage. And using werewolves meant that my story had to take place in France, for France was the home of the Beast of Gévaudan.
Featured in the fantastic movie The Brotherhood of the Wolf, The Beast of Gévaudan is a real historical monster. Or… something. Accounts vary. There were theories it was just an exceptionally large wolf, a young lion escaped from a traveling menagerie, a striped hyena, a prehistoric predator, a pack of wolfdogs in cunning armor, and a even a man in a wolf costume. And then, of course, there were the theories that it was a werewolf—for the way it seemed impossible to kill, not even flinching at musket shot, until a silver bullet (allegedly) took it down at last.
But we’re getting ahead of ourselves. Before the silver bullet found its heart, the Beast killed 100 people in rural France between 1764 and 1767. Even the king of France got involved, eager to prove himself after the humiliation of the Seven-Year War. He set a bounty on the Beast’s head, and sent his own gunbearer (among others) to hunt it down. When said gunbearer shot a large wolf, the king promptly declared “mission accomplished,” and ignored all the subsequent Beast attacks that followed in its wake.
Of course, there is one major difference between the Beast of Gévaudan and the Beast in my book—the Beast of Gévaudan primarily devoured women and children, whereas my Beast saves its appetite for rich and powerful men in the heart of the city. Rarefied taste, for a Beast. A werewolf, undoubtedly, if they hadn’t all been hunted down decades ago. Political? Almost certainly. A metaphor? Of course. And the mystery at the heart of Strange Beasts.
WOLFSSEGNERS: THE PIED PIPER OF WOLVES
Before I started writing Strange Beasts, I researched everything I could find on historical werewolves. This led me to Peter Stubbe, a werewolf who made a deal with the devil for a magic girdle that would turn him into a wolf; Thiess of Kaltenbrun, the so-called Hound of God, or self-proclaimed good werewolf; and, of course, Wolfssegners, which were kind of the Pied Pipers of wolves.
Wolfssegners could, by way of a Wolfssegen charm, protect your flock from wolves—or, by way of a Wolfbann, sic wolves on your flock (which really incentivized you to pay the Piper). But when I looked deeper, the nuance I found was fascinating.
Their charms varied as much as the Wolfssegners themselves. There are more than 200 established variants in Nassau-Dillenburg alone. One famous example used bread imbued with the magical sayings/prayers to saints, and left in hollows of trees at crossroads while naming devils. Another used a blend of wormwood, asafetida, and other herbs with soil from the stable in a pouch buried under the threshold of your barn. Some also wore Benedictine clothes and taught their clients to bake this spell-bread, sometimes requiring them to say prayers afterwards for days.
By the 17th century, this had the fascinating effect of getting them equally accused of being charlatans (when their charms didn’t work), witches (when wolves attacked and they hadn’t secured the Wolfssegner’s services), and, of course, werewolves. This obviously perked up the Church’s ears because WITCHES, but also because the Reformation happened, and it was Germany, so they weren’t happy with the pre-Reformation feel of their spells.
This proved a deadly catch-22 for Wolfssegners, which lead to the dying out of the practice—though I see it’s echo in the equally fascinating Pennsylvania Dutch Braucherei. Interestingly, Braucherei leans much more heavily on the Bible, the practitioners are required to help others, and there’s a taboo against accepting payment for their work—all of which neatly counter the pitfalls that Wolfssegners fell into centuries before.
Susan J. Morris is a fantasy author and editor best known for a writing-advice column featured on Amazon’s Omnivoracious blog (which TIME magazine online once called “clever,” and which she hence forth has never let anyone forget), and her work editing Forgotten Realms novels. Susan delights in running workshops for Clarion West and in moderating panels for writing symposiums. She lives in the Pacific Northwest with her partner; her cats, Adora and Kitava; and entirely too many plants. Strange Beasts is her debut novel. Find her online at susanjmorris.com.
I haven’t done much here at the blog about the upcoming election, in part because, how do you not already know? How, in this era, could there be undecided voters, and further, how the hell could I even affect their decision? I would hazard a guess that most of the readers at this blog and of my books already know the score as to where I stand politically, and are themselves probably standing pretty near me — or even further to the left of me — on the political spectrum. And again, how, how, HOOOOW could you be undecided in this race? How do you not already have your vote figured out? It’s almost cartoonish how both malevolent and buffoonish Trump is. And it’s not like he didn’t already get a four-year chance at the office, and it’s not like he didn’t fuck it all up. He did! It sucked! Those four years were a daily news carousel of just evil dipshit vibes, every day a new day of, “What did that asshole do now?” So, it’s hard to imagine who or what an undecided voter even is or looks like at this point. And then I met one just outside of Chicago.
I went to the Midwest with my favorite author-slash-besties, Delilah S. Dawson and Kevin Hearne, and we had a good time meeting readers and bookstores and visiting capybaras. (Sorry, gonna have to look at my Instagram for that.) But, in the lead-up to that, I had a day where I was doing school visits, and in doing school visits, I had to take a Lyft between the hotel and the school visits, and after the first school visit, I had a Lyft come and get me, and the driver was a very friendly Black woman — I’d say she was in her mid-30s, though I didn’t ask. Younger than me, for sure. An immigrant, not born here, but here for most of her life. She said oh, she used to live near to the school, this is a nice neighborhood. She said she lives in a different town now and we got to talking about Chicago and the suburbs and she, understandably, talked about how expensive it had become. Particularly with her rent — she said just a few years ago, she was paying (if I recall) $900 a month for a small apartment, and now it’s up close to $1500, because the landlord just raises rent every year. And she said groceries are more expensive, gas, everything. Worse, it’s not like her job paid her more at the same rate, so that means she has to work two jobs — driving Lyft being the supplementary one.
This is, obviously, not new for most Americans. Everybody sees this happening, and a lot of people are experiencing it. Classic shit, right? Rich get richer by picking the pockets of everyone beneath them. The working class has to shoulder a greater burden until they break.
Except, then she said, “I’m just looking for someone to fix this. And if that means voting for The Businessman, I guess it means voting for The Businessman.” That’s what she called Trump. The Businessman.
At first I didn’t really know how to respond to that — I don’t want to give her shit, right? She’s going through real stuff, worse stuff than I certainly am, so what kind of an asshole would I be to lecture her, or worse, demonize her? But I also can’t just be like, “Oh, cool, totally,” because, holy shit. So all I said was, “Well, I think for me what I try to remember is that any economical difficulties are largely because that guy spent four years breaking our economy and we’re all just feeling it now, and worse, he’s gonna keep helping the billionaires and landlords and not the regular people. The economy always fares better under a Democrat.” Trying to walk that line between, hey I get it and also but also he sucks what the fuck. And I didn’t know what the response was going to be, if I was going to be in a fight or what.
And she said, I think honestly, “That’s a good point, I didn’t think of it that way,” and then we talked about some other stuff before we got back to my hotel prior to the second school visit.
(By the way, I’m sure someone will out there will accuse me of just making this story up, but I promise you, I’m not. It happened as described.)
Now, I think there are a few takeaways here —
First, she’s not a data point, she’s an anecdote — aka, an artifact of artisanal data. It’s tempting to make her an emblem of something statistically, but I don’t think you can really do that any more you can than the one driver I had who wanted to tell me about time travelers and parallel universes.
Second, while not being a data point, I do think she portrays a picture of an undecided voter that I was naive to? A young woman of color is telling me she’s willing to vote for The Businessman — meaning, she’s essentially bought that myth about him, that Businessman (unspoken: a successful one) is who he is, and that it isn’t all just a huge fucking lie. She’s feeling a pinch, feels like shit isn’t working in her favor, and wants someone to change that.
Third, it’s actually therefore surprising to me Trump hasn’t gone all in on the economy, because I’d argue that’s always a good soft spot to stick the knife — yes, the economic indicators are still really good, unemployment is low, and so forth, but I also don’t think numbers and statistics capture a total picture. And things like rent and house prices remain high, and greedflation is still a thing, and you can’t just discount them as saying BUT WALL STREET IS HAPPY. Economic indicators can be false, like credit scores — it’s measuring a certain kind of economic health, not necessarily how good the working class is doing, right? But instead that ambulatory orange shitstain cannot contain his racism and is instead fighting to demonize migrants. Which arguably gives Harris the edge on the economy.
Fourth, I really really really want to be wary of casting myself as some kind of WHITE HERO SPEAKING TRUTH TO THE WORKING CLASS OF COLOR; I’m not! I’m a jackass. Definitely do not listen to me! That said, despite my jackassery, I do think there’s some value in trying to counter narratives you hear from people about Trump. I think it’s easy to assume that anyone who might vote for him is some kind of froth-mouthed true believer, but that’s clearly not the case — and I think you can reach some of those people, even with some gentle pushback against Trumpian bullshit. Pop the balloon and let the air out. Now, I note it’s very possible this woman was like, “I don’t want to hear more white nonsense from this guy, and so I’m just going to say, OH YEAH GOOD POINT,” but to be fair, I didn’t get that vibe from her. And there’s also a non-zero chance she thought I was a Trumpy type (being a white man in America) and she was like, “I’m just gonna tell him what I think he wants to hear.” So, I don’t think we can assume any kind of bedrock fact here, which is why she’s not a data point and is just an anecdote.
Fifth, I 100% think Trump can win. Not will. Can. I hear that “I might just vote for The Businessman” from someone I don’t expect, and I think, yeah, yup, this is how he wins. The mass media carries the myth of the man while failing to engage with the fact he’s a brutal fool with a love of Nazi ideology and techniques, and as such, people are not universally exposed to the same kinds of things us Terminally Online people are exposed to. They just don’t always know. It’s not just Fox News feeding out propaganda — a number of the major news sites routinely fail to address the reality of our situation. Trump shouts about hunting and killing migrants and the news media is all, “Trump presents a harder line on immigration” while simultaneously interrogating every aspect of Harris and her record. And hey, it’s also all too easy to memory hole stuff and be like, “Well, maybe he WAS good, I dunno, I got a lot going on,” and then just vote the one way and not the other. So, I think it’s 100% possible that he can win.
And yet…
It’s hard to find the logic in his winning. (Which is a loser’s game, probably, seeking logic in American politics.)
It’s hard to imagine he’s building on his base from 2020 or 2016.
It’s hard to imagine he’s grabbing Democrats and independents.
I know of some local GOP folks — including some politicians — who are so off the Trump train they’re supporting Harris. Which is shocking to me.
The last several elections have gone so much better than expected, nearly always better than polling suggested.
Trump’s rhetoric has gotten worse, more cruel. His speeches have become more erratic and, though I cannot diagnose him with something, difficult to follow. (Once upon a time you could find some way to follow what he was saying — sure, it’s like holding a rope in a hurricane, but you could kinda get it. There really was a “weave” you could follow, if you were diligent. Now, I hear him speak and sometimes it’s like, boy, I got nothing. I can’t even guess. He’s just out at sea, yammering with abject confidence about nothing, nothing at all.)
I don’t know that you can intuit much from political yard signs, but I do know I’m seeing more Harris/Walz than I did Biden or Clinton (and Biden and Clinton both won my county). I also know there’ve been a lot of Harris/Walz signs stolen, including ours. (Our fucking neighbors did it. I watched them do it! I watched them do it. Fucking dipshits. I of course put up more signs in response.) And I don’t think the winning side tends to be the one stealing signs, you know? Plus, I’ve been in some more rural areas recently where the Harris signs equaled or outnumbered the Trump ones, and that kinda blew me away. Pretty unexpected, at least to my mind.
I also think Harris and Walz are good candidates. Not perfect, but looking for perfection in American candidates is the surest way to earn disappointment. I think they’re smart, I think they’re running a savvy campaign, I think they’re actually fun and moving to watch, I think they have a charisma and a momentum that Clinton and Biden both lacked.
But I still think Trump can win. Of course he can. He won in 2016 and I really didn’t think he could’ve won that election, but he did, he fucking did, and we endured four years of cruelty and stupidity as a result.
So one should never feel so comfortable in this election.
It can happen again.
But the takeaway here is, it won’t happen if we don’t let it. You gotta get out there and talk to others about their votes, and that means talking to neighbors and family members. Maybe it means phone banking or doing some canvassing. Whatever you’re comfortable doing. And it means you should definitely consider voting early (info here) and checking your voter registration (here). I voted early, and am glad to have that privilege.
If Trump wins again, I don’t know where we go as a country, but I know some of our most vulnerable — immigrants, LGBTQIA+ folks, women, people of color — are going to be punished. The economy is on the table. Abortion rights are on the table. Education, gun control, freedom of information, freedom of speech, art, all on the table. And above all else? Climate change. Trump will undo the efforts of the Biden administration to thwart climate change. They’ll press the accelerator on this awful machine and plunge us toward irreversible apocalypse. And that sounds dramatic, I know, but I believe it to be true. Project 2025 in his hands means we’ll be combining all the worst outcomes of our dystopian and apocalyptic fictions into one very real, very awful timeline.
So, stand up. Show up. Get your vote out and help others do the same.
Also, don’t miss out on SCARE UP THE VOTE — some really wonderful members of the horror community are coming together to get the vote out for Harris, and you can register for that here. Stephen King, Mike Flanagan, Victor LaValle, Gabino Iglesias, and more. All put together by the wonderful Tananarive Due — and you can watch her talking about it here.
FIRST UP, if you’re headed to the big ol’ NYCC next week, hey, guess what? You have a special super secret (okay not that secret because I’m blabbing about it here) to get an early advanced readers copy of The Staircase in the Woods — as above, go to the PRH booth (3021), and say the password, “I’m Invoking the Covenant.” And then, Good Lord Willing and the Creek Don’t Rise, you will receive the book. (As noted: while supplies last.)
Second, hey, did I get my first semi-proper review of the book? Indeed. It’s from a reader, Daniel Fugate, who said in his spoiler-free review:
“There were moments in this book when I almost yelled out loud. There were moments when I wanted to cry or where I was completely horrified. The book doesn’t pull its punches. There are some gross moments in this book. And yet, there’s also something really wonderful in here. Something thats meaningful and something that will absolutely stay with me.”
Which is a garsh darn delight to hear that. And I know other folks who have read the book and have pinged me along the way of this journey and — well, I’ll just say I’m glad that people are really getting the book. It’s a twisty, mysterious journey, and I’m also glad that people are keeping the spoilers locked up tight.
Anyway. I’m doing the page proofs of the book now (as always, ARCs are not the final final edition of the book), and I’m pretty excited.
This week, writers/editors Keene and Golden released the TOC for the upcoming anthology set inside the world of Stephen King’s The Stand…
Foreword by Christopher Golden Introduction by Stephen King
PART ONE: DOWN WITH THE SICKNESS
Room 24 by Caroline Kepnes The Tripps by Wrath James White Bright Light City by Meg Gardiner Every Dog Has Its Day by Bryan Smith Lockdown by Bev Vincent In A Pig’s Eye by Joe R. Lansdale Lenora by Jonathan Janz The Hope Boat by Gabino Iglesias Wrong Fucking Place, Wrong Fucking Time by C. Robert Cargill Prey Instinct by Hailey Piper Grace by Tim Lebbon Moving Day by Richard Chizmar La Mala Horla by Alex Segura The African Painted Dog by Catriona Ward Till Human Voices Wake Us, And We Drown by Poppy Z. Brite Kovach’s Last Case by Michael Koryta Make Your Own Way by Alma Katsu
PART TWO: THE LONG WALK
I Love The Dead by Josh Malerman Milagros by Cynthia Pelayo The Legion of Swine by S.A. Cosby Keep The Devil Down by Rio Youers Across The Pond by V Castro The Boat Man by Tananarive Due and Steven Barnes The Story I Tell Is the Story of Some of Us by Paul Tremblay The Mosque at the End of the World by Usman T. Malik Abigail’s Gethsemane by Wayne Brady and Maurice Broaddus
PART THREE: LIFE WAS SUCH A WHEEL
He’s A Righteous Man by Ronald Malfi Awaiting Orders In Flaggston by Somer Canon Grand Junction by Chuck Wendig Hunted to Extinction by Premee Mohamed Came The Last Night of Sadness by Catherynne M. Valente The Devil’s Children by Sarah Langan
PART FOUR: OTHER WORLDS THAN THESE
Walk On Gilded Splinters by David J. Schow The Unfortunate Convalescence of the SuperLawyer by Nat Cassidy
Afterword by Brian Keene
Okay, that copy/paste is a little weird, but hey, who’s in there? Alongside a holy shit bunch of authors? OH YEAH IT’S THIS GUY
My story, “Grand Junction,” is in there, in the portion of the book that’s set long after the events of the novel. It takes place, appropriately enough, on the Western Slope of Colorado — Grand Junction, Ouray, Telluride.
I feel incredibly fortunate and honestly a little swoony that I get to be in that book. The Stand is one of those formative books for me — of King’s mighty bounty, probably the most formative. Wanderers exists in part because of it — though it’s obviously a wholly different story, it also grapples with some of what is in that earlier novel, because how could it not? (I viewed it like, I hate how some zombie stories refuse to acknowledge zombies in mythology or pop culture, and so in my book, The Stand is a book that exists.) King brings to bear such a legacy, and to be able to stand closer to that legacy and — well, not be a part of it, exactly, but be allowed to exist near it, is honestly huge.
Thanks of course to Brian Keene and Chris Golden for having me, and obviously to King for letting this ding-dong from Pennsylvania anywhere near that world.
And speaking of King…
This weekend is the Harrisburg Book Festival, where I join Catriona Ward, Richard Chizmar, and CJ Leede to talk about King and his legacy —
I apologize now. I don’t write horror, but the journey of a debut novelist is a terrifying experience. I write women’s fiction which can be defined seventy-two different ways (none of which I’m a fan). But before you delete and scroll on, hear me out: writers are all the same under our sweatpants and craft beer t-shirts, no matter your genre of choice. Here are some tasty tidbits for either new or seasoned scribblers.
ONE: no experience required
Publishing is unlike higher education, my previous career. Being a university administrator for two decades was neat and orderly with square boxes to check. Semesters had start and end dates. Faculty used a succinct grading system. Yes, there were challenges: I balanced million-dollar budgets during the great recession, apparently took the Christ out of Christmas (and subsequently handled an NRA demonstration in the college parking lot), admitted tenured faculty members to mental health institutions—all with aplomb and stylish clothing.
Except writing a novel is a spiderweb of stickiness with no foundation to cling to. The only way to measure your progress is page count. You bumble and stumble trying to learn what you don’t know without knowing what you don’t know. Your ego is bitch-slapped, needing constant validation while jumping through fiery editorial hoops and interpreting publisher feedback. All for a goal that is more ego-driven than financial. And at every step, the ‘am I good enough?’ never fades.
The shrugged industry advice ‘just write what you know’ feels like a cop-out because no one is honest enough to share the dirty secret: it’s pounding the keyboard until something comprehensible squirts out. You pull creativity from your nether regions until salve is required.
And an academic degree is more of a hindrance than a help. Besides the shared topic of persistence, my Ph.D. has no added value. Toss in a B.A. in German, and I’m practically verskunked. Statistically speaking, traditionally publishing a book has comparable odds of earning a Ph.D.: between 1-2%. But a book takes longer. Like forever.
My take: Few careers will seamlessly fit into your new author personae.
TWO: goals are relative to your age
Elizabeth Sails is my debut novel. I’m 55 and exhausted.
I blame my writing group. Eight years ago, they said, “Write a sassy book,” and I listened. I’d been writing articles for local lifestyle magazines, which provided a glimpse into publishing. Making word counts, finding brevity, and hitting deadlines – I learned a lot. But a novel? Instead of churning out happy pieces on food trucks, local beer, and yoga for 20 cents a word, a book necessitated a boatload of creativity and budget for more printer ink.
My publishing goals included not just “write a book” but “seeing a woman on a cruise ship reading my book.” To achieve this task meant finding and involving people who wore clothing without elastic waists: publishers, editors, a literary agent. You know, professionals. I adroitly recognized (being in my late forties) I had to get started pronto. I admit there were days I simultaneously watched Intervention drinking boxed wine, wondering how old was too old to be a debut ingenue. But more importantly, was getting a novel published even feasible? Guess what? It is.
My take: There is no optimum time to write a book so stop dilly-dallying and start now.
THREE: it’s years not months
Your characters don’t age, but you do. While on submission and editing, cultural references including songs, food, and technology must be finessed because, yikes! Time does tick. Suddenly the mom character aged into a grandma. Smartphones became simply phones. Waitresses and waiters are now servers. I’m totally woke for this. And it makes sense. But golly-gee-willikers if I don’t feel the need for a daily multi-vitamin and pre-emptively scheduling another colonoscopy.
And editors are young—practically teething babies. My typically rock-solid sense-of-self nearly crumbled when my editor requested removing Lucille Ball as a reference. I gulped, how about Carol Burnett? Who? As I was describing red hair color, she recommended two actresses I ultimately had to google (I can google). I wiped my weeping bifocaled-eyes typing to replace their names. But I absolutely refused while stomping my comfortable Skecher-foot down to substitute Bon Jovi lyrics for Taylor Swift. (Note: she’s great and all, but c’mon, Livin’ on a Prayer?).
And if this doesn’t trip you up, the publishing world has its own language. I’d rather it was Babble-able instead of using multiple definitions for common English terminology. In their own convoluted word-speak: “soon” means in a year, “very soon” in six months, “immediately” by the end of the month, and “ASAP” possibly by next week. Maybe. Basically, they’ll get back to you whenever.
My take: Nothing is happening on your timeline.
FOUR: move thyself
Or you’ll be buying new bras. And bigger pants. Yes, this is an expense your accountant will probably nix but I disagree. All this creative genius takes place whilst sitting on your ass which equates to an increase in clothing size. Add in cruises for ‘research’ and Holy Boobies Batman, I can’t see my shoes anymore. And if you’re on a civilized cruise line that extends complimentary cocktails, then you’re in a whole heap of trouble, sister. Your liver decides it needs a holiday from your holiday.
To counteract this new devilry, I took yoga classes. Then I started swimming. Then walking. And I lost a total of 11 pounds, just before I bounced onto another cruise. By the way—did you know you weigh the same while only standing on one foot? Of course you do. And while weight gain is adorable, it never helps your self-esteem. Which is in the dumps anyway because you’re a writer. We may as well envelop our ballooning bodies in bubble wrap and throw darts at each other.
My take: Save yourself the drama and go up a size.
FIVE: make writer-friends
But you know this already. It’s in every writing-advice article I’ve ever read. Making friends is certainly nice, but let me tell you why. It’s simply a time-saver. You don’t have to habitually explain what an agent/publisher/editor/publicist does because they already know. Plus, you tend to lament the same topics as previous conversations. Before the rant begins, writer-friends typically ask, “Do I say bullshit or awesome this time?” Or if they’re writer-friends on a deadline, “Let me know when you’re done. Just give me a heads-up and I’ll make a comforting noise.”
And you love them for it. You give them a free pass when they’re grouchy or irritated because they do the same for you. And if something super-duper exciting happens (book offer, foreign-rights, or a film deal with a recognizable production company on board) you are genuinely happy for them. Even while gritting your own teeth.
My take: Find down-to-earth authors who offer real advice, even if you don’t want to hear it. These people are worth hitching your wagon to. Who knows? You may meet them at a conference without a byline to your name, and years later wind-up writing for their infamous blog. It could happen.
Kristin Owens, Ph.D., is an award-winning faculty member with over 25 years university experience. Now a full-time writer in sticky southwest Florida, Kristin has over 100 bylines with celebrated magazines such as Writer’s Digest,Wine Enthusiast, and 5280. Her personal essays have won New Millennium Writing Awards honorable mention, awarded finalist for the New Letters’ award in nonfiction, and included in RISE! a Colorado Book of the Year. She holds certifications with the Court of Master Sommeliers and Cicerone and travels the world writing (and drinking) about wonderful wines, beautiful beers, and surprising spirits. You can usually find her working and playing on a cruise ship. ELIZABETH SAILS is her debut novel.
Beth Schiff ghostwrites autobiographies for politicians, except her own life doesn’t warrant a footnote. Excitement is re-watching classic movies with a Whitman’s Sampler. But when her adventurous Aunt Ethel dies, Beth must scramble out of her comfy sweatpants and into some Spanx to find the missing will aboard a luxury cruise ship.
Figuring out which fork to use at dinner becomes the least of Beth’s worries. The will isn’t lost … it’s hidden. Aunt Ethel devised an elaborate scavenger hunt and each exotic port stop forces Beth to confront her list of insecurities to get the next clue. If she fails, millions revert to a much-hated relative, Max, who is responsible for her dismantled family.
When someone starts trying to sabotage her search, the game becomes personal and her energetic septuagenarian tablemates rally to help. But Beth must make the puzzle pieces fit before the cruise ends or Max gets his greedy hands on the money destined for charities.
For fans of The Bookish Life of Nina Hill and The Jetsetters, comes a heartfelt story about an unintended quest for self-discovery, forgiveness, and an awesome buffet.
And away we go! Out now: Monster Movie!, my next middle grade horror from LBYR (Little Brown Young Readers) — let’s get your procurement services out of the way, shall we?
And don’t forget your local library! They may carry it and if they don’t, you can request that they do, because libraries are awesome like that.
In this hair-raising and hilarious novel by New York Times bestselling author Chuck Wendig, a boy must face his many fears to save his town from a cursed videotape—before “The Scariest Movie Ever Made” devours his friends and family.
Ethan Pitowski is afraid of everything. Luckily, his best friends don’t mind, and when their entire class gets invited to watch a long-buried horror movie at the most popular boy in school’s house, Ethan’s friends encourage him to join in the fun. But when the “scariest movie ever made” reveals itself to be not just a movie about a monster, but a movie that is a monster, only a terrified Ethan escapes its clutches. Now he must find a way to stop the monster and save his friends (and also, um, get their heads back).
With his signature balance of kid-friendly horror and humor, Chuck Wendig crafts a spookily heartfelt novel about anxiety, friendship, and finding your unique voice and inner strength.
Is it good that pretty much every professional reviewer has compared it to Goosebumps? I hope so. It’s certainly an honor to be compared as such.
Why’d I write this book? Hey, as a kid, I was scared of everything, and weirdly, I was extra scared of horror movies — not just of the content of the movies but of the movies themselves, as if they had outsized power merely by existing. My sister told me about THE SCARIEST MOVIE EVER, aka, The Exorcist, and how people were like, dying in the theaters because it was so scary, so suddenly horror movies to me became as much a monster as the monsters they contained — if a film could scare you so badly you died of fright, that’s horrifying! And I thought, okay, well, that’s an angle for sure.
Also, there are a lot of decapitations in this books, so have fun with that.
It’s fine. I promise. It’s umm, it’s fine.
*clears throat*
ANYWAY, hope your kids enjoy it, hope you enjoy it, hope you check it out.
