Author: terribleminds (page 224 of 465)

Mirna Fowler believes she has been cheated in life, growing up in a broken home alone with a drunken and gambling-addicted father. Now she works at a small hair salon in Reno, doing her best to survive while she saves money for school. Hoping to get a degree that will take her places. 

But in the wake of her father’s death, Mirna inherits his extravagant debt, an amount of money she can never repay. As her fractured world begins to crumble, the search for the truth sets her on a path where life hangs on her every move.

* * *

FINISH HIM!

*Throws spear*

*Shouts Get Over Here!*

So anyway…writing is hard. That’s nothing new. The middle is the most difficult for me to overcome. 3,000 words into a short story, or 30,000 words into a novel. Pat yourself on the back for kicking ass and then the full picture comes into view and you realize how far you still have to climb. BUT – finish your work. Why? Opportunity.

So what if it’s not perfect? (It won’t be.) I know a lot of writers who have been contacted by editors and agents after reading some of their short fiction. Do you have a story to contribute to this anthology? A novel for me to look at? It doesn’t always work out (probably less often than does) but you’re on their radar, and demonstrated you can finish a project.

My first draft of BURN CARDS, way back in 2012, was a piddling 33,000 words (I’d been aiming for 70,000.) But it was “done” in a sense that it had a beginning, middle and end. I bulked it up to 55,000 over the next two months (kitchen-sink-novel achievement unlocked – more on this later). It felt good, but after feedback from an editor and a couple of agents, I knew it needed a ton of work. Which leads me to…

PEACE OF MIND – LET IT SIT & IT’S OKAY TO MOVE ON

Most writers will tell you to lock a first draft in a drawer and sit on it. Two weeks, two months; put some time and distance between you and the pages. You’ll come back with a fresh perspective to better bleed red pen all over it, light pages on fire, etc.

My first thought: I don’t need to wait, I got this – hence adding the initial bulk to the novel after finishing a short draft. After receiving feedback and realizing the amount of time it would take to tackle the book, I welcomed two months in a drawer, out of sight, out of mind (kind of…). I wrote some short stories, worked on a different novella. Two months became three, then four, and then I never wanted to see BURN CARDS again. Finally I came back to the book and faced the facts. I’d taken another cue from the Rules Don’t Apply to Me Department, and like a lot of (most?) writers: I had a kitchen-sink-novel on my hands. Everything I’d wanted to write stuffed into a word sack. But it was “done” in a way, and most importantly I learned a ton and grew from the process of diving back in. I wouldn’t have progressed as a writer without the struggle. With that peace of mind, it’s okay to move on and do something new.

THE STORY’S OVER WHEN IT’S OVER, A.K.A. EMBRACE THE NOVELLA

I have a difficult time with high word counts – both as a writer and a reader. Stylistically I’m on the shorter side. A novel I recently finished writing came in at 60,000 words. Best-selling crime/thrillers run at 80-100,000. I love reading short stories and novellas, and my sweet spot for a novel is 200-250 pages (~65,000).

Reading/publishing seem to be trending my way (anecdotally at least) with some of the big guys rolling out e-book-only presses that cater to shorter works. Regardless, I’ve learned to forget it and just write. Back with the first version of BURN CARDS, one of the agents to request it liked the writing but didn’t care for the plot. They gave me another shot at a plot synopsis. Needing (of course) to get back to him as quickly as possible, I gave it a couple of days and sent a revised synopsis that kept only about half of the book intact. No go.

Fast forward a couple of years and I’m talking BURN CARDS with 280 Steps. I’ve sent my original manuscript with an outline for where I planned to take it, similar to the previous ‘revised’ outline. I get a thumbs-up and it’s off to the races. A better, stronger, faster version of BURN CARDS is shaping up – or is it? I kick it off to a friend/editor, and after some back and forth and a long telephone call, I realize the heart of the story wraps up in 30,000 words. To do it right, it had to be a novella.

I’m lucky to have a fantastic publisher who trusted me and rolled with the new vision for the book. The story took me where it needed to go.

PLAY WITH POV, BUT TRUST YOUR GUT

A very good friend and avid reader finished my short story that inspired BURN CARDS. Then he told me he hates first person. Thought about changing it?

A lot of people rag on second person. I think it can produce terrific stories (Dan O’Shea’s Shroud of Turin comes to mind.)

Everyone loves a good third – head hop between chapters, grow your story (and page count!) At one time I seriously considered switching BURN CARDS to third person, but in the end decided against it because Mirna’s voice was key to the story. I think the exercise was worth it; got me thinking about the book in a different way, and in the end I went with what felt true to the story. Give it a shot and see what you come up with.

HAVE FUN

To piggy-back on Chuck’s recent post, “Should You Quit Writing?”…

The editing/re-writing stage of BURN CARDS was the first time I found myself juggling multiple projects – writing comics, finishing a novel. Pile 110 inches of snow on top and this past winter just wore me down. I have all the respect in the world for people who get up day-in, day-out and crank out words. I try my best, but sometimes you just have to pack in it and take a breather. To me, it’s not worth it if you’re not having fun. Sure, writing can be a grind, but don’t beat yourself up too much. Enjoy the ride.

Christopher Irvin: Website | Twitter

Burn Cards: Amazon

The wallpapers are in!

You can view them right here.

Now, I disqualified two out of the gate — I didn’t want to, because disqualifying things makes panda bears sad, and making panda bears sad makes me sad. But one of them had only a Ray Bradbury quote on it (and while I love Ray Bradbury, he is not the keeper of this site in ghostly form). The other one had a flowchart somewhat paraphrasingly terribleminds-related, but the material was original and my fear is that if the wallpaper ever went around, it would be attributed to me when really, it was someone else’s IP.

So, that’s that.

Now, your job is to go to the set of wallpapers and choose your favorite. The way you choose your favorite is easy — drop into the comments and identity by number which one you like the most. Do not vote for two. Just one. (And make it clear which one you’re voting for — sometimes people comment and go back and forth on which one they want, and that makes it difficult to see which one they actually like the most.)

You will notice that one of those wallpapers is one that has no number.

Because I have already chosen it as my winner, so it’s out of the pool.

That one is this reimagining of ARE YOU A REAL WRITER, my flowchart.

It’s by Rebekeh Turner, and it’s right here:

(View the original size version here.)

Rebekeh, you should totally contact me at terribleminds at gmail dot com.

And congrats! That rules.

Anyway, get to voting.

Use the comments.

Vote for one early.

You’ve got 24 hours (voting ends at 9AM tomorrow).

EDIT! WE HAVE ANOTHER TWO WINNERS.

First up: the winner, quite handily, of the voting, was:

#5! By CAL!

And I’ve also chosen a random winner:

#4! The bediapered penmonkey by LISA H!

Both CAL and LISA H — bounce me an email at terribleminds at gmail.

Congrats!

It’s so common a refrain at this point the whole Internet should just get it tattooed on its forehead backward so it can read the message in the mirror every time it brushes its teeth:

DON’T READ THE COMMENTS.

“Hey, here’s a great article about female empowerment BUT DON’T READ THE COMMENTS.”

“Read this news story about the Middle East peace process BUT DON’T READ THE COMMENTS.”

“I found this really great blog post on raising children / using blenders / making cat videos / choosing the right soup crackers BUT FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THE GODS IN ALL THE HEAVENS DON’T READ THE COMMENTS OH GOD DON’T DO IT DO NOT GAZE INTO WHAT IS EFFECTIVELY NOT SAURON’S EYE BUT RATHER, SAURON’S WINKING, LAVA-DISGORGING BUTTHOLE.”

It has become the way of the Internet. We have come to understand that the comments section is not unlike the Internet’s own septic system: it sits below every post and video and article, collecting all the trash and shit and evil clowns that have been cast down from above. It’s positively dystopian. Up above are the elites, zipping about on their information superhighway, while below, the underpass has some kind of violent hobo fight club playing out again and again.

Internet comment sections are routinely rife with abuse. People go there not to have salient discussions, but to have those salient discussions highjacked by psychopathic bandits. Or they go there to be the bandits themselves: derailers, abusers, sexist shit-hats, racist fuckwits. That’s not to say comments sections are without positive discussion. That’s hardly ever the reality. Truth is, you can go to most comments sections and find enlightening, illuminating commentary. You just have to wade through a toxic slurry to get to it. That slurry represents the worst the Internet has to offer, and there you are, crawling through it on your belly like someone trying to find his watch in a gymnasium full of medical waste.

And it’s our own fault.

It’s our own damn fault.

We have failed to tend the field and now that shit’s all thick with weeds.

We own this problem. Collectively.

But we can also fix this problem, collectively.

If you own any online entity that offers up a comments section, you need to do one of two things:

a) Moderate the holy hell out of that comments section.

…or, if you cannot manage that task:

b) Shut down the comments section.

If you own a site where abuse is first allowed and then tolerated once its in the door — that’s not all the fault of the commenters. That’s on you. You’ve created the horrible space and let the monsters frolic there while you turn away. This is especially true with big sites that gets tons of comment traffic. (And here, quite likely, the insidious reality is that turbulent comments sections help those sites — because some people click more just to watch the endlessly replaying car crash going on in that “discussion,” and clicks mean revenue.) It’s not just about programmatic filters, but also about actual humans looking at comments and making editorial decisions about what can go there. Humans will moderate other humans. It has been our way before and must be again.

And here you might say, “Buh-buh-wuh!” And you’ll stammer out something about democracy and freedom of speech and censorship. But I’d ask you shift your POV a little bit. Look at a comments section like it’s the letter section of a newspaper. (For those who don’t know what that is, once upon a time young intrepid children rode their bikes down the neighborhood streets of America, flinging these rolled-up wads of murdered tree, and on the murdered trees someone had printed old, vetted, edited news stories.) The letter section was not a free-for-all. They did not print the rantings of every froth-mouthed cuckootrousers who wanted to air his conspiratorial, hate-fueled grievances with the world. They moderated those letter sections.

Consider, too, shifting your POV and trying to remember that the comments section is a public section. And, as such, it should abide by the relative rules of public discourse. Not entirely, of course, and I recognize this metaphor has its limits, but just the same, you can’t go into Target and take a dump on the barcode scanner. You can’t wander around in public space just yelling hateful shit. (Well, okay, you can in some areas, but it’s not actually encouraged and can have consequences.) Every square inch of floor is not a soapbox. Every gulp of oxygen is not fuel for someone’s belligerence. Every open space is not a concert hall for hatefuckers.

You do not own all the comments sections in all the world.

If you host a blog or any other site, then you own one: your own.

Moderate your comments section, folks.

And have a comments policy in place — I just clarified mine, for the record. And have a way to report abuse, too. (You can always report abuse here to me at terribleminds at gmail dot com.)

This isn’t a perfect solution. Any moderation runs the risk of shutting out voices that have dissenting opinions. It potentially creates an echo chamber if taken too far. (Though even here I’d argue that a safe space echo chamber is preferable to a free-for all prison knife-fight — it’s nice to have voices be heard, but the questions you gotta ask are: heard by whom, and to what effect?) If we are to hope that comments sections can actually be a place for discussion or even argument and not, say, the equivalent of an orgy of Cookie Monsters on a permanent meth binge, then we need to start doing something. Tolerating dissenting opinions does not mean tolerating abuse. It does not mean violating safe spaces online. It does not mean letting the Internet look like something out of Mad Max. This is on us to fix. Some sites do it. Some do it well, others do it poorly, but doing it at all is better than looking the other way. It’s not about creating some singular standard — but those of us with gardens are responsible for tending them to whatever extent we can.

It’s funny — I worked in pen and paper roleplaying games for a long time, and one of the hallmarks of that industry is people coming up to you and telling you about their characters. “I HAVE A LEVEL 14 SPACE JANITOR WITH THE SPECIAL FEAT: DEADLY JAZZ HANDS.” And you nod and smile and say, yes, that’s nice, but you learn to fear those not uncommon moments where someone wants to fix you to a spot and unload their entire character sheet into your brain.

But in fiction, people don’t do that. (Whew.) We’re trained to give a log line, a short elevator pitch (IT’S ALIENS MEETS GOOD WILL HUNTING AS A SPACE JANITOR PLAYS HOST TO A PARASITE NAMED ‘CUPID’ AND HE FINDS LOVE AND…). But really, we still need to be thinking about — and talking about — characters. Character is our entry point into a story. Characters are why we stick around. They’re how we relate. They’re why we give a shit.

So.

Whatever you’re writing right now? Tell us about the protagonist.

Don’t go on too long about it — a paragraph or two, no more — but tell us who they are. What they want. What drives them. What opposes them. Open that character up for discussion and critique. Think about whether or not the character works, or if there’s more you could do — and if there is, ask us. Let’s crowdsource it. COMMAND THE HIVEMIND TO WORK IN YOUR FAVOR.

Or something like that.

Note: if you post about your character, you should endeavor to talk to someone else about their character, too. Quid pro quo, Clarice.

(Extra credit reading: The Zero-Fuckery Quick-Create Guide to Kick-Ass Characters.)

Last week, over 400 (!) of you wrote opening sentences for the challenge.

This week, your job is to pick one and write a story with that as your opening.

Let’s say you’ve got up to 2,000 words for this one. Write the story and post it at your online space. Link back here (with a shout-out to the author of the original sentence, please!) so we can read it. Story should be done by noon EST next Friday (the 24th).

Pick your sentence and get to writing.

Gunslinging, chain smoking, Stetson-wearing Taoist psychopomp, Elouise “Lou” Merriwether might not be a normal 19-year-old, but she’s too busy keeping San Francisco safe from ghosts, shades, and geung si to care much about that. It’s an important job, though most folks consider it downright spooky. Some have even accused Lou of being more comfortable with the dead than the living, and, well… they’re not wrong.

When Lou hears that a bunch of Chinatown boys have gone missing somewhere deep in the Colorado Rockies she decides to saddle up and head into the wilderness to investigate. Lou fears her particular talents make her better suited to help placate their spirits than ensure they get home alive, but it’s the right thing to do, and she’s the only one willing to do it.

On the road to a mysterious sanatorium known as Fountain of Youth, Lou will encounter bears, desperate men, a very undead villain, and even stranger challenges. Lou will need every one of her talents and a whole lot of luck to make it home alive…

* * *

Thinking Carefully about Representation—and Choosing to Write Inclusively—Doesn’t Make Books Less Fun

This is kind of a cheat. I knew this before drafting Vermilion. Most of my favorite novelists do this, after all. But, at the same time, I learned some valuable lessons related to the topic writing my own novel. And, in the wake of the consummately ridiculous Sad/Rabid Puppies claiming a “victory” re: this year’s eyebrow-raising Hugo slate, I feel inspired to discuss this issue.

One of the talking points beloved of the Sad Puppies is that their campaign was intended to put “fun” back in the spotlight. These Puppies claim that the Hugo is no longer the Academy Awards of good old-fashioned fun SFF, but rather a politically-motivated exercise in championing dreary, literary, “politically correct” works of speculative fiction. Where, they wail, has all the entertainment gone in SFF? Where’s the praise for novels about thewsy barbarians conflating rescue and consent? What’s up with how in all these award-nominated books about spaceships, said spaceships are full of career girls instead of cosmic bimbos? Why, they ask, must speculative fiction concern itself with homophobia, racism, transphobia, misogyny? The Sad Puppies have declared that it’s fine to have a little of that stuff, maybe sometimes, but spec fic at is core should be: worldbuilding, exposition, pew pew pew/chop chop chop, oh thank you for saving me, giggity giggity, the end—or is it?!

This argument is as disingenuous as it is fraught, and it is, to me, perhaps the saddest part about Sad Puppies. Thoughtful, inclusive writing just isn’t ever going to be “fun” to certain people. And that’s regrettable.

To bring this around to what I learned from writing Vermilion—eventually—I am a feminist who enjoys reading, watching, and experiencing art produced by and about women. And I’m pretty easy-going, in general. I certainly notice when a book or film or whatever passes the Bechdel test, but it doesn’t determine my enjoyment or approval.

But, in spite my love of and commitment to representation of women in fiction, at some point during the drafting of Vermilion, I realized that Lou, my protagonist — a woman — did not have or develop any truly meaningful, life-changing relationships with other women. This gave me pause. The novel passed the Bechdel test, multiple times over… but even so, it didn’t feel inclusive — didn’t feel complete, didn’t feel like it really represented the wealth of experiences a young woman might have on her first adventure. I did some serious soul-searching about this, including analyzing whether my impulse to rectify what I perceived as a lack was motivated by feminist impulses or writerly ones.

In the end, I realized it was both, and remedied the situation by extensively rewriting the last third of the novel to include and privilege a friendship Lou develops with a young woman named Coriander.

And you know what? The novel is way, way more fun now. Lou’s friendship with a Coriander ended up being an absolute gas to write, and then to read. I don’t usually laugh at my own writing, even when humor was my intent, but during edits I found myself snickering at their interactions. They play off one another in ways that made me excited about rewriting; they bring out one another’s characters that felt naturalistic and comfortable and vibrant. The adventure felt more adventurous, the thrills, more thrilling. I don’t want to sound arrogant, but to me at least, the end of the novel feels livelier and more satisfying for rewriting due to specifically considering issues of representation. If I hadn’t pushed myself to go further, do better, be more inclusive, I don’t think Vermilion would be as strong, as entertaining, and even—yes—as fun.

It Might Be Done, but It’ll Never Be Finished

Vermilion is now a real, actual book that people can hold in their hands, and choose or choose not to read. That’s an amazing feeling! But while I hope you read and enjoy Vermilion, the chance that I’ll sit down and read it cover to cover is slimmer than a shadow’s toot.

I find it impossible to read my writing without editing it. Heck, even after edits, copy edits, and page proofs, I really wanted to read Vermilion another time before returning the final version of the novel to my editor. Probably I would have refined it even further if I had. But I also knew I needed to be done.

There were several times during the drafting process that I knew I needed to be done, for whatever reason. It was difficult for me, acknowledging at those various points in the process that the book would never be perfect. But, in the end, the only reason it’s a real, actual book is because I forced myself to be done, even if I knew in my heart I’d never feel the novel was finished.

Cultivate Curiosity

I’m a huge fan of directed research, but today I’d like to talk about curiosity.

A few years ago I had an opportunity to tour the death facilities at the Denver Museum of Nature and Science. The what, you may ask? In short, DMNS has an agreement with several wildlife organizations, and whenever a creature dies, they get the corpse to play with. I mean, preserve. They strip the meat using carnivorous beetles, bleach the bones, preserve the skins or furs or feathers. It’s really cool. Cool… and pungent.

I went on this tour because when I was just starting to draft Vermilion, and in Vermilion, my main character deals quite a bit with death. She’s a psychopomp, a soul-guide, who helps unquiet ghosts and vampires and other undead find eternal rest. I figured the tour would be good research.

Well… I learned a lot on that tour, but not a single fact was relevant to my novel.

But! Afterwards, we were at our leisure to tour the Denver Museum of Science and Nature. So, I did. And what I found there actually make it into the novel.

Talking bears were always part of my vision for the weird western landscape of Vermilion. When I toured the DMNS, I learned that sea lions are related to bears, evolutionarily speaking. Well, Vermilion starts in San Francisco… and just like that, talking sea lions seemed like a really neat addition to the landscape of Lou’s hometown. They run the ferries, compete with human fisherfolk, and snooze in piles on beaches and piers when they’re not working.

I really can’t say enough good things about directed research, but in this case, stepping back and taking a little extra time to be merely curious helped me create a richer setting for my novel.

Listen, But Also Don’t Listen

I wrote the first draft of Vermilion in 2010. Over the past five years I received a substantial amount of criticism and did quite a few revisions. I showed the first draft to a ton of people, and I listened to them all, even a beta reader who told me the novel would never be published in the form it was in. (To be fair, he was right!) Two agents gave me feedback. I had a huge notebook filled with ideas, suggestions, notes, rewrite ideas…

And at some point, I stopped listening, and just followed my own heart when it came to making Vermilion the book I wanted it to be. Only I knew the story I wanted to tell, and I had to trust I knew how to tell it. While the often extensive, and always thoughtful critiques people gave me were helpful in getting the novel to a certain place, I had to go alone into the final draft. At times, I had to go against the advice of people I respected to keep Vermilion the book I wanted it to be. And in the end, I’m glad I did.

Be Proud of What You Do (And Act Like It)

Talking about one’s own writing can be weird. There are times when it is more and less appropriate, and that can sometimes be difficult for an early-career writer to navigate. But, one of the times when it’s absolutely appropriate is when an editor asks you directly about what you’re working on. Then, go for it. Be excited, be proud. Speak confidently (and succinctly!), even if it feels completely terrifying.

I ended up seated next to Vermilion’s publisher, Ross Lockhart, at a big breakfast event at the H.P. Lovecraft Film Festival back in 2012. We were already friendly; he’d been excited to republish my necromancer picaresque “The Infernal History of the Ivybridge Twins” in his The Book of Cthulhu. During the breakfast he asked the dreaded question… What I was working on?

After years of conditioning to never babble about one’s in-process novels, even though he’d done the asking I struggled to confess that yes, I had a novel, and yes, it was about some stuff. It turned out that Ross is a fan of the subgenre of Hong Kong films that first inspired Vermilion, and he got super excited about the project right then and there. Lesson: learned. If I hadn’t pushed myself to speak proudly about my novel to an editor whom I knew I liked to work with, well… it might not be coming out this week, and through a publisher who really “gets” what I’m doing.

* * *

MOLLY TANZER is the Sydney J. Bounds and Wonderland Book Award-nominated author of A Pretty Mouth (Lazy Fascist, 2012), Rumbullion and Other Liminal Libations (Egaeus, 2013), Vermilion (Word Horde), and The Pleasure Merchant, forthcoming from Lazy Fascist in the fall of 2015. She lives in Boulder, Colorado with her husband and a very bad cat. When not writing, she enjoys mixing cocktails, hiking in the Rocky Mountains, experimenting with Korean cooking, and (as of recently) training for triathlons.

Molly Tanzer: Website | Twitter

Vermilion: Amazon | B&N | Word Horde