Words Are Hard

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Picture time!

Yay!  Pictures!  Pop Quiz!  What do all these pictures have in common:

If you said:

  • They are all examples of awesome books.
  • They are six of yours truly’s favorites.
  • Every single character on each of these covers is white.
  • All of the above.

The answer is D: All of the above, but before breaking out the pitchforks, I’d like to point out it’s the covers I’m on about, not the content of the books.  Mercedes Lackey is pretty in your face about sexuality, Jim Butcher has characters from all over.  Ditto for Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett.  Pratchett (and I picked that book in particular for a reason) is pretty vocal about deconstructing racism in many of his books and he’s funny when he does it.  Double win.  So content is not an issue here.

What is an issue is that you can walk down the fantasy/sci-fi section in any book store and be hard pressed to find a cover that doesn’t feature that lovely Caucasian look.  We default to it.  Granted, you might find one or two and, as time goes on, you’ll find more and more and that is a good thing.  Having a white person on the cover of a book isn’t bad.  Having nothing but white people sorta is yeah – especially when other people exist in the world.  Hello!

Like I said: we default to white.  Especially if we are white (hi!).  My leading lady, Sam?  Her looks were based off of a mix of this lovely lady and this one – because I am no less susceptible to falling into the default rut than anyone else.

Then something weird and totally unintentional happened.  I sat down to write the second draft.  Joseph stopped being a priest and Sam’s hair got curly.  A person whose intentions I’m sure were pure [sarcasm tag] pointed out that an urban fantasy novel with an obviously African American lead (that’s right: curly black hair = obvious African American) wouldn’t sell easily.

Thank you Mister Fillion.

So what did I do?

Nothing, actually.  It became a quirky side-story to tell and make people laugh or roll their eyes.   I didn’t change her personality, her description, nada.  She’s pure nut-bar pixie dream girl who will mess you up if you look at her boyfriend funny.  She’s been that way since her initial makeover during that fateful November.  If people wanted to see Sam as black I was totally okay with that.  I couldn’t (and still can’t) think of a good reason why it would be a bad thing.  Then the time came to describe her to my cover artist, because yeah, Sam’s going on the cover.

And while I realized that it didn’t matter to me what color her skin was, I could do one of two things:  I could “correct” the assumption that curly black hair = dark skin, because that’s just a dumb assumption to make no matter what.  Or I could jump in with both feet and go, “Yes, this creative, spacy, smartass hyperactive half angel superhero who is her boyfriend’s knight in shining armor is, in fact, a black girl.”

And if it really didn’t matter to me, then why couldn’t she be?  We’ve got plenty of pretty pale girls in the genre and Sam is not herself if she isn’t standing out from the crowd.  She usually does this by wearing Rainbow Brite arm warmers, mind you, but y’know: whatever.

And if having a black girl on the cover of my self-published e-book means I don’t sell a copy to someone, then gosh I …I just don’t know what I’d do!  /sob

That may have been a lie.

This happened unintentionally.  At first, Joseph didn’t have a last name.  When I actually needed to give him a last name it took me a very long time before (and writers will understand what I mean when I say this) he just sort of sat down in my head, exasperated, and said: Singh.

Oh.

Well okay then.

I didn’t start out to make a statement with my characters.  It sorta happened and I’m good with going with the flow.  My first goal is to tell an entertaining story.  If I manage that and just one person who hasn’t had much in the way of heroes to look up to finds one in Sam or Joseph (or Ben, or Gretchen, or Theo, or Simon – have I mentioned that the majority of the cast is not white?) then awesome.

I hold no illusions.  This will never ever be my day job.  My book isn’t going to end up in the fantasy/sci-fi aisle at your local bookstore so putting characters with darker skin on my cover isn’t going to make the slightest dent there.  It makes my job more interesting because what does a white girl know about this sort of thing?  How do you write a character of color?

Gosh!  Turns out it’s not a whole lot different from writing a white character.  You give them flaws and strengths and personality quirks, just like any other character.  You make them as rounded and real as you possibly can while avoiding the landmine field that is offensive stereotypes which really isn’t that hard.  And then you hope you did it right and if you didn’t, you listen to critique and then you apologize and change what needs to be changed.  Chances are if you treated your characters like people you did mostly okay.  At least, I hope so.

I also trust that if I hit on something offensive by accident, my friends would graciously beat the ever loving snot out of me until the stupid went away.

Here, have a bunny:

BUNNY!

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Suddenly: A Blog!

Whoops.  I’ve been waaaaaaaaay lax with the posting.  Mostly I’ve been lazy and the longer I go without posting something, the guiltier I (inexplicably) feel and then I continue to avoid it and it all just sorta spirals until oh right this thing exists in the world.

So hi there!

But I have been working and the first half of the story is very near ready for line-editing!  Also: In just a few short days it’ll be NaNo time!  I enjoy NaNo in that I love making myself write so much in so little time.  It’s not good writing, and a lot of it is rambling and babbling and incoherent, but it’s fun nonetheless.  This year is the first year I’ve made myself sit down and plot it all out.  I’m taking a break from writing about Nephilim and decided to write about cliched Circus Vampires ™ in the 1930s American dust-bowl era and their groupies instead.

Told from the first person (ew ew ew I hate writing in first person why did I decide that would be a good idea) point of view of one of those groupies …After she’s been committed to an asylum in the 1940s.

So it’s a family-friendly story.

On a whim I decided to try the snowflake method of outlining because I stumbled across it via Google and it seemed like a good idea.  What I’ve ended up with is the entire book in non-prose form, so that should make this November slightly easier.  Considering how many hours of overtime I’ll be working, that’ll come in handy.  We’ll see.  I’m usually a pantser but considering how much re-writing and trashing and restarting and and and — that I’ve done on The World Outside I’m going to try something different this time around.

So anyway, that’s what I’ve got.  It’s not much but it’ll do for now.  I’ll hopefully remember that I have this thing when I need to whine about how November is (or isn’t) going!  Maybe I’ll stick a lil word counter up in the sidebar.

Hmmm….

Life Is Sorta Funny

I’m trying very hard to stop flaking on this writing thing, but it’s sorta difficult.  Apart from making snarky posts about my work-life, what have I been up to?

Not a whole heck of a lot, really.  I mean, I’ve been working.  Yours truly is now a supervisor and if THAT doesn’t fill you will fear and dread, then you may need to get your doom meter checked.  It’s just one of the many reasons I haven’t been able to really DO anything.  I’m winding down my only day off this week while writing this and when I wake up tonight I have a whole six days back on, two of which are thirteen hour shifts.  It’s also been somehow busier than normal so every day I leave work wanting to punch kittens.

Did I mention I quit smoking in April?  I’ve been on the razor edge of a relapse for the past two weeks now.  I still have some of the medication I took to help me stop, but it makes me very ill so it’s not really an option at this point since I haven’t called into work in over two years and I’m not about to start now.  So far, so good though.

So LOTS of reading has been happening and up until yesterday I was on a sorta kinda forced sabbatical from The Project.  The beginning has been throwing me left, right, and center and I think, given a little bit of poking (and prodding from the spousal unit), that I know how to fix it.  So yippee!  I get to do that this week – maybe.  Writing at work isn’t really an option unless I’m writing by hand (ow ow ow ow), so we’ll see how much inspiration I have after coming home from a night of not being able to strangle nurses who think calling before the body is actually ready is a good thing.

But all that being said: Hooray for upswings!  The fun part about being me is that I have a very, very mild type of mood roller-coaster.  I was diagnosed manic depressive before it became known as bipolar, but I don’t really think of myself as bipolar because it’s been so long since that diagnosis was handed down and things have changed (like puberty – puberty happened).  I’ve gotten very good at picking out when the downswing hits and when the upswing starts so when I’m feeling crappy and teary and whiny for no good reason and I can’t find plot for love nor money, I can recognize it.  It doesn’t make it better, per se, but at least I know that it’ll pass.

I just started the climb back up the coaster so I’ve got at least a month or two (if I’m lucky) of productive good times before I dive back down into the miasma of self loathing.  The medication I’m on isn’t strong, so it takes the edge off, but that’s about it.  I don’t get as high, but I also don’t get as low, so it evens out and, frankly, I’m lucky.  It could be much, much worse.

Anyway, babble babble babble, and apart from sorting the beginning of the story out somewhat, I’ve also got a new set of plot bunnies in the back of my head.  Technically, I suppose, they’re old plot bunnies, but like all things, I finally have a plot to go with the characters.  I started up that bible (lower case ‘b’) last week so maybe when I’m done with this book I can take a break from The World Outside and throw together something (not sure what – whether short-ish novella/story or novel) about lesbians in the circus.  There might also be vampires involved because I don’t like vampires much these days, so if I get to make life hell for a pair of them (the vampires, not the lesbians), I’m going to take that opportunity.

So I’ve been scrambling for books about both the circus and technical theater and in doing so, completely and totally forgot that I’d promised the spousal unit that I’d beta his former student’s sci-fi novel.  There’s also a book a co-worker lent me, as well as a newly acquired steampunk story with skypirates in it, Let The Right One In, and a couple other books recommended to me by way of this post that I wrote back when I didn’t have anything on my plate.

I need to learn how to read faster.

It would also help if this game weren’t so much fun. Nothing free should be this addicting.

Oh. That good huh?

This is going to be a short post, mostly because the upswing hasn’t come ’round yet and I’ve spent more time dramatically sobbing into a pillow than actually being productive. That may or may be hyperbole, but when one of your beta readers is asked the question, “Would you read past the first chapter?” and their resoundingly honest answer is a very blunt, “No.” it sorta bruises the ego.

Thing is (and this is why I haven’t posted any teasers of the first chapter), I know that bit is broken. It’s (no seriously) attempt fourteen or fifteen (or more, I lost count) at starting this dumb thing and every time I try to fix it, the entire story ends up getting changed. Tweaked. Fixed. Rearranged.

That’s not bad, and it’s not that I don’t appreciate it, but it is exhausting. Eventually I’ll be head over heels thanking dog for honest editors, but right now all I have to go on is a no and a vague idea that the info dump is too much, but not where or how. What makes it worse is this particular reader works days while I work nights, he lives an hour away, and has a small toddler at home. What this means is that I am astonished and humbled that he’s actually taken the time to go through my mess, but it also means that sitting down and talking through where the weak spots are and what about them makes the weak is just shy of being a massive headache.

This upsets me because he is actually qualified to tear the ‘script apart and the novel would (will, I suppose because I will figure this out) benefit from every blow he can throw at it.

The silver lining: the Editor (capital-I-am-being-paid-for-my-time-E) is working on it and she is equally qualified to rip it shreds. Obviously. I mean, I wouldn’t be paying her otherwise. She’ll also be much easier to get in contact with.

The second silver lining: People, if you’re going to marry someone, marry someone whose job it is to teach other people how to write. My wonderful husband took a gander and gave his professional assessment:

I think I know how fix it and no, you probably won’t have to rewrite the whole thing but I need to, like, show you because trying to describe it is hard. But like I need to go to rehearsal (did I mention he’s also an actor?) and you need to go to work so we’ll go over it in the morning.

Seven years of wedded bliss people. This is why. Of course now the big jerk won’t wake up…

Review: The Pull by Rob White

So there are few things more exciting than being able to sit down and think thoughts and then put a loudspeaker up to your mouth and shout them.  There’s also nothing quite so terrifying because I am a firm believer in the rule that says “people in glass houses shouldn’t throw badgers” …or was it ducks?  Anyway.  Bear with me here, because I’m a little bit scared!

The Pull is a novel by Rob White (just like it says on the tin cover) and according to the blurb on Rob’s site:

The Pull is an epic Urban Fantasy tale nearly two decades in the making.  Part fantasy drama, part heroic action tale and part journey of self discovery, The Pull is an unrelenting roller-coaster of a novel that hooks the reader with mystery from page 1 and never lets go.

Nick wants to believe he is an ordinary nineteen year old boy.  He wants to believe he’s nothing special; but the sword in his hand, the metal monster at his back and the Pull in his heart towards a mysterious and frightful destiny tell him otherwise.

There are things to love and things that I thought could’ve gone better. Obviously I liked the book or I wouldn’t be here, sitting at my computer after work, getting blinded by my screen because I keep forgetting to turn the brightness down.

Er, one sec.

…Okay, we’re good.

I want to get this out of the way before I dive into the meat of the story itself.  This link is an article from Cracked.com writer David Wong (speaking of books people should read…).  I’m linking the second page specifically because the point I really want to get to is in #1.

Specifically this part:

Right now I’m reading a book from mega-selling fantasy author George R. R. Martin. The following is a passage where he is writing from the point of view of a woman — always a tough thing for men to do. The girl is on her way to a key confrontation, and the narrator describes it thusly:

“When she went to the stables, she wore faded sandsilk pants and woven grass sandals. Her small breasts moved freely beneath a painted Dothraki vest …”

That’s written from the woman’s point of view. Yes, when a male writes a female, he assumes that she spends every moment thinking about the size of her breasts and what they are doing. “Janet walked her boobs across the city square. ‘I can see them staring at my boobs,’ she thought, boobily.” He assumes that women are thinking of themselves the same way we think of them.

I am a fan of George R.R. Winter Is Coming Martin.  I’ve read the books.  I cackled a couple weeks ago when the Red Wedding Happened and the internet exploded.  At the end of season one I was rolling on the ground, schadenfreude coursing through my veins like heroin.  But Wong has a point: we here in Estrogenville really don’t think like this in real life.  I don’t raise a stink over it because this is something that I default into assuming I’m going to run into when a dude writes from a woman’s point of view.  Women trying to write from a male point of view (HI!) run into similar things.

But you will not find that in this book.

Seriously.

The women are the most well rounded, beautifully flawed, wonderful characters in the book.  The other trap that Rob White avoids is sticking one “strong” (and by strong we mean “sassy but at the end of the day still needs a man to save her” S’up Zombieland?) female character in amidst a sea of testosterone and calling it a love interest day.  We are given three women who couldn’t be more opposite each other if they tried.  They are fleshed out and even though a love interest is a thing, apart from one throwaway comment about how sex probably doesn’t even cross Melissa’s radar, ye ole horizontal tango is never mentioned.

Spoilers for the book follow.  If you’re okay with that, hit the jump and read on!

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Happy Father’s Day!

In honor of Father’s Day have a short story about a divine dad’s quest to find a babysitter for his precocious offspring so he can go to the Olympic Games.

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Ack!

Since I started this blog last month I had a good buffer of posts ready to go, but it appears time has finally decided to get down and truly be a terrible, fleeting thing so that buffer has run out. You may have noticed that Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays are post days generally. Oh noes! It’s Thursday already and I have nothing for Friday!

So here, because the proverbial black eyes I asked for are starting to roll in: a rant on feedback, inspired by one too many writers going off the way wrong way after getting constructive criticism. Also notes to self because I’m going to need it in the coming weeks here. I cannot swear enough, people.

After reading the feedback our “friends” gave us: I HATE EVERYTHING

Getting feedback – real, very critical feedback – is a lot like working out (I imagine – I’m sort of allergic to working out). It can leave you feeling like you’ve just taken a good crowbar to the gut. You get the wind knocked out of you because you find out you’re not half as clever as you thought you were and all those funny little moments that you thought were genius actually weren’t. You want to curl up into a ball and cry and never, ever let anyone read anything you write ever again. In fact, you don’t even want to write anymore because OBVIOUSLY WE’RE JUST NOT ANY GOOD AT IT.

The reality is more complicated. Stick with me here. The beta readers are on your side. Unless they’re total asshats in which case they’re not going to be helpful and need to be ditched ASAP. I wish I had an easy to spot solution for finding out who is trying to help and who is just worthless, but I don’t.

And after the workout you’re sore. Your ego hurts. It hurts because this is your baby. You have spent days, months, years, a lifetime of anguish to get these words onto the page(screen). We suffer for our art. Even comedians are drawing the funny from a very dark well. These words are a part of who you are. The story is, in some primal way, your life and to have someone point out that maybe it’s not quite as solid as you thought hurts in an almost physical way.

But hey, we’re all adults here. We’ve been hurt before – it’s what led us to do what we do. I hate being told that, as a writer, I need to have a thick skin. I know this get off my case and let me sob into my beer gawd!

Ahem. Let’s assume that people are generally good. This is difficult for me so you’ll have to bear with me. I’m sort of a misanthrope. So somehow I have to convince myself that getting critical feedback is a lot less like getting beaten to a bloody pulp by a gang of forty and more like this:

After the sore, if you keep at it, you start seeing results. You’re story starts toning up. It starts building muscle. And it starts lookin’ good. Your beta readers are the gym baby and after awhile you start to feel like dancing because you have all the energy and there’s a healthy glow about you and you’re ready to face the WORLD!

HERE IS MY BOOK WORLD! READ IT! READ! ALL SHALL LOVE ME AND DESPAIR! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

And it all comes crashing down after one stupid review on Amazon, but I haven’t gotten to that point yet, so my delusions, let me keep them.

Anyway! Coming up on Sunday I actually do have a post, in honor of Father’s Day. I’m not a fan of this day, generally speaking, but I do have a minor character who is a dad and the idea for the drabble was a cute one (shut up it is) so two plus two equals special post!

Note to self: go through said post and remove spoilers from said drabble, dummy.

Also incoming is a review (!!!). While I’ve definitely done some heavy-handed critique (my snark can get pretty epic, but I only break that out for people I know very well because generally speaking, they ask for it and give as good as they get *see above creys*), I’ve never done, like, a review before. I finished The Pull by Rob White last night at work, enjoyed it, and I’ve got some digesting to do before I get some thoughts together about it but really quickly: if you’re looking for something fun to read in your down time, definitely check it out.

I think that’s your lot.

Wait no. Have a Sassy Dancing Ood:

Now we’re done.

Catharsis

ca·thar·sis

[kuh-thahr-sis]

noun, plural ca·thar·ses [kuh-thahr-seez]

1. the purging of the emotions or relieving of emotional tensions, especially through certain kinds of art, as tragedy or music.
2. Medicine/Medical , purgation.

3. Psychiatry.

a. psychotherapy that encourages or permits the discharge of pent-up, socially unacceptable affects.
b. discharge of pent-up emotions so as to result in the alleviation of symptoms or the permanent relief of the condition.

From here.  In relation to where I’m going with this, what I’m talking about is FEELING ALL THE FEELINGS EVER FELT IN THE ENTIRE WORLD AT ONCE.

Which is pretty much how my whole week has been going.  How’s your week been?

Essentially it’s started out like this:  Hi!  It’s June, which puts me in the interesting and uncomfortable position of going to my beta readers and poking them on the shoulder asking them to maybe give me a little bit of feedback.  In other words, to reword my post into something more polite and send it off in an email to the list of like eleven who asked to read the currently raw manuscript.

And I have to do this because while I’d love to be able to, I really can’t afford to have a professional structural edit done.  Especially since a copy edit is not really optional (it is but it isn’t) and I’m looking to get some cash to my cover designer by the end of this month.

So that’s fun.

But every time I open up my email program this happens:

I think we’ve already gone over how easy it is for me to use reaction gifs.

It is literally exactly that.  I stare at it for about thirty seconds and close the window with a “NOPE!” face to rival NOPE faces.  I don’t want to bother people, even though the rational part of me knows better.  I have been told as much by the very people I’m terrified of bothering.  That doesn’t change the visceral reaction.

So I guess this post is more me working through how to get over myself and, y’know, bug the people who put themselves into a position to be bothered.  And I’m sure that, by the end of June (which was my deadline for myself because if I haven’t gotten something by then…) I’ll have finished feeling feelings and have a few less cares to give.  Hopefully that promised relief will come.

But.

Five times now I’ve sat down to do this necessary thing and five times I’ve immediately turned into Nathan Lane in The Birdcage.

Now did I say that just so I could link this .gif? The world may never know.

So it could go either way, really.

I fully accept that I am a complete and total pansy.  You guys should see the posts that don’t get published.  I have many many opinions, and many of them expressed with more four letter words than can be found on the Jolly Roger.  Blessing in disguise for you guys, really.

Of course, that could change once I get comfortable with the idea of saying things that might be wrong holy crap.

You keep using that word…

How Not To Write A Book

A view from my living room.  This is also what my cat, Audi, thinks of what mom does.

I have read a lot of books on writing.  In fact, for awhile I was one of those people that got so caught up on reading about writing that I didn’t get much writing done.  I’ve heard it said that you need to write anywhere from ten thousand to a million or so words, burn them, and then you’re almost ready to start writing a story that doesn’t suck.

That’s pretty much true.  My only problem is I didn’t keep track of how much I’d written before I decided this was it and lo, the holy grail of my efforts had borne fruit and it was good.  Or at least slightly more palpable than its forebears.

When I say I’ve been working on this story for three to four years, what I mean is that I’ve been working on this particular incarnation of this story for that long.  In all honesty, the “world” the current characters reside in has been in the works for about a decade, slowly being tempered and refined into what exists now.  The original main characters have moved into supporting roles, one of the former supporting characters got a makeover and is now in the spotlight and several more didn’t even exist and only walked into my head when I sat down to bang out the first draft during the NaNo of 2010.

Oh, that’s right.  I NaNoed this baby.

I went on to NaNo (this is a verb right?  I can verb this?) two sequels.  So yeah, this thing is a series.

I first attempted NaNo in 2003, got about halfway, and gave up.  I went for it again and “won” in 2004.  The experience was so soul wrenching and stressful because I did it for the wrong reasons that I pretty much left it at that forgot about it.

Prior to 2006 I was writing pretty much daily.  If it wasn’t for myself it was online roleplaying (shush, that’s a thing and don’t you judge me).  Livejournal was huge in my world back then.  Words were everywhere.  I loved reading and I loved writing.

Then life happened and they sort of took a back seat to other things.  I went back to school, got married and then moving and job hunting happened.  Also I discovered WoW at that time and that’ll kill any creative desires you might harbor if you’re not careful.  I still loved reading, but I wrote a lot less.

Then this “nephilim” idea that had been bouncing around came back with a vengeance.  The idea of half-angels (or demons), half-humans as superheroes was not going to go away.  I had a friend that was an artist and the idea manifested as a potential web-comic (minus spandex).  I got character outlines, a basic plot, a ten page treatment and the first chapter’s script written.  The comic never went anywhere and that’s probably for the best.  The story was still in its infancy and while it’s still got a ways to go, it’s not nearly as far as it had to go back then.

I continued to poke at it like a sore tooth.  The artist friend disappeared into the ether and attempts to find a back up went nowhere because I had no idea how to sell this particular snake oil.  I brainstormed and outlined and wrote a few exploratory things.  Then October 2010 rolled around and I remembered NaNo.  Having completely forgotten the gut wrenching hell I’d put myself through six years earlier, I tossed the nephilim into the wringer and, thirty days later, I had something of a beginning, middle, and end.

My main character, Joseph, also started existing, as did a few others.  Joseph’s not what he started out as.  It’s especially funny when you realize that Joseph in the first draft was actually a priest.  My villain wasn’t my villain yet.  Mal, Joseph’s best friend, was definitely not Mal as he exists now.  Sam is pretty much the same.  The three inch high book imp didn’t exist until rough draft round two.

Essentially what I’m trying to say is that the rough draft that existed in 2010 resembles the current incarnation about as much as a porcupine resembles a butterfly.  And that’s okay.  If you’re using NaNo for anything other than throwing ideas at the dartboard to see what sticks and what doesn’t, you might be doing it the hard way.  I took what stuck, tossed what didn’t, and forged ahead trying to temper draft two into something workable.  This is the part that actually took the longest because I did everything All Wrong.

Yeah, I did this a lot.

I decided on the re-write that rough draft #2 would be The One.  I set up a blog for it and started over from scratch, changing things as I went.  I ended up with changes I didn’t like, an ending that didn’t get posted because it didn’t match the beginning, and a bunch of fluff in the middle that didn’t need to be there.  Clearly, I was wrong about The One.

Back to the drawing board then.

I knew a lot about writing, but I knew nothing about structuring those words.  Oh I knew beginning, middle, end was a Thing.  I knew falling action came after the climax and I knew rising action came before that.  The problem was that before all I’d ever really done, prose wise, was write short scenes that I figured would eventually magically squish into that story structure formula.  Some of them did, but a lot of them didn’t and I while I don’t think I wasted my time in writing them because I got things like character development and ideas from them, I could have probably gone about it a lot better.

I’m still learning, but I’m better these days, I think.  At least, it shouldn’t take me three…ish years to write a novel again.

(You can quote me on that when it’s time to have a joke at my expense.)

So books got bought, outlines got written, note cards got posted to cork boards and moved around and omg!  That last bit was way more fun than should have been possible.  The end result was something close to a novel.  So while it’s far from done, I can look over the horizon and see the finish line.

I realize there has to be an easier way to do things.  I’m all ears!

A Place To Call Home

*cracks knuckles*

I mentioned the last post that short stories are not my strong suit, so I’m taking the opportunity while in hurry up and wait mode to practice.  And because I now have a soapbox from which to proclaim all my lovely thoughts and feelings, you get to read my bungling attempts at this stuff too.

Lucky you!

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jerry-mahoney.com

Author, ranter, dad

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borough of lost boys

creative non-fiction. pursuit of truth.

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4 out of 5 people like crap, so crap is what I shall show.

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Follow The Pull

The official site of author Rob White and The Pull series

Ben's Bitter Blog

"We make bitter better."

CATHERINE RYAN HOWARD

She turns coffee into books so she can afford to buy more coffee. And more books.