Date: Wednesday, March 10

Where: Hastings Round Rock

Time: 6 pm

I will also be speaking with the paranormal romance readers group later that evening. Please stop by and say hi!

I would like to thank the students of Melony Kempf’s classes for being so engaged and interested in my talk this morning at Pflugerville Middle School. I had fun and hope you all did too.

I talked about how I started writing when I was a little kid and wrote lots when I was in middle school and high school. I brought one of my typewritten short stories from when I was 15 years old, and told the kids they probably had never seen anything typewritten before. I also brought a selection of magazines with my short stories and of course copies of Red Gold Bridge and Gordath Wood.

I gave my writing “rules:” write every day. Commit, don’t give up. Keep everything. Get to the end. You have a writing brain and an editing brain. Don’t try to edit as you go, because you will only hurt your feelings.

I told them that all the entertainment that they enjoy — video games, books, and music — all start with the written word.

We talked about rejections, and they were suitably impressed by the 45-50 rejections I got for Gordath Wood.

And we talked about favorite books. They like Twilight, the Hunger Games, a new book called Unwind, which sounds absolutely fascinating and I must pick it up, so thanks to the kids who recommended it, and Uglies. One young lady is a fan of John Grisham. There were also the Alex Rider series, James Patterson, and Lightning Thief.

People say kids don’t read. Pshaw.

Thanks again, everyone, and read on!

Whatever you can do, or dream you can, begin it. Boldness has genius, power, and magic in it. –Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

I thought the towers were built for me. — Philippe Petit, wirewalker

In 1974 Philippe Petit, the French wirewalker, pulled off a sensational coup. As recounted in the documentary Man on Wire, he set up a cable between the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center, and for 45 minutes walked and danced between them.

To hear eyewitness reports, magic was created that day. People kept on repeating that word; magical. Petit even said it himself.

Magic is real. It’s not just sleight of hand or the flash-bang magic of fantasy books. Petit’s magic is Goethe’s magic, powered by boldness and vision.

Yet we can’t think of Petit’s coup outside of the context of the September 11, 2001 attacks.

On the one hand: magic and wonder. On the other: horror. There was nothing bold or visionary about the 9/11 attacks. After all, with sufficient fire anything will come down. Petit created magic that day; Al Qaeda created disgust.

I keep miscalling the Twin Towers the Two Towers, because after 9/11 they became a part of a bigger narrative than just being the stodgy, somewhat boring, seat of world trade. But even before that, even before the abortive 1993 attack on the towers, they were something else.

In 1974, they were magic.

“One of the things I always tell my kids is that it’s OK to head out for wonderful, but on your way to wonderful, you’re gonna have to pass through all right,” Withers says. “When you get to all right, take a good look around and get used to it, because that may be as far as you’re gonna go.” –from the NPR story on “Still Bill,” a documentary on Bill Withers.

So I’m looking around and I’m thinking, is this it? Is this all right? Cause I expected wonderful, and maybe now I’m thinking I have to accept all right.

I loved writing Gordath Wood. It wasn’t effortless and I made lots of creative changes, and threw out a third of it and started over, and when it sold I couldn’t believe it. And there it was. My book, in my hands. In stores. I  get fan mail and it still blows me away. I wrote something that people loved so much they stayed up all night to read it and then wrote to me about it.

That right there, that was getting to wonderful.

I wrote Red Gold Bridge in a state of stark panic. Again I threw out a third of it, and wrote in utter terror because I had a fast approaching deadline and I wasn’t sure it was any good. My editor and my readers reassured me it was good, but I didn’t believe it until I gained some time and distance, and kind of cracked the book open and acknowledged that yes, I had actually done what I set out to do. And also it is possible to write peering through one’s fingers.

That was another kind of wonderful.

So I have two beautiful books that have entertained and moved people. I get letters from fans. I still think my best work is ahead of me, but these books — these books are wonderful.

But I think I passed through all right without looking closely enough at it.  Because here’s the deal. The books didn’t sell well. They were wonderful, and getting published is wonderful, but the reality is, they just weren’t good enough. I’m trying not to think that means I’m not good enough, but there’s that monster lurking on the edges of my psyche.

This might be it. I might never sell another book again. Oh sure there’s Lulu and all, and nowadays we’re all just a vanity press away from being an author, but to really sell a book, in the old-fashioned, dead tree, terribly inefficient, working with an editor kind of way? The book that I’m currently pouring my heart and soul into will likely not be published that way at all. The sad reality is, if the first two don’t sell, you sure don’t get to sell the next one.

So maybe for some people, you pass through all right on the way to wonderful. I’m thinking I got to wonderful and well, it doesn’t get wonderfuller.

Salon’s Laura Miller has an excellent article about what readers look for in a compelling novel. Published writers and aspiring writers can learn much from this column. I especially liked this bit:

3. The components of a novel that readers care about most are, in order: story, characters, theme, atmosphere/setting. Of course all these elements are interlinked, and in the best fiction they all contribute to and enhance each other. But if you were to eliminate these elements, starting at the end of the list and moving toward the beginning, you could still end up with a novel that lots of people wanted to read; the average mass-market thriller is nothing but story. If you sacrifice these elements starting from the beginning of the list, you will instead wind up with a sliver of arty experimentation that, if you’re very, very good, a handful of other people might someday read and admire. There’s honor in that, but it’s daft to write something with the deliberate intention of denying readers what they love and want and then to be heartbroken when they aren’t interested. If you want to engage with more than a tiny coterie, take storytelling seriously; if you think that’s incompatible with art, you are in the wrong line of work.

We won’t be finished arguing about art vs. commercial til the end of time, I imagine, and Miller’s argument here is a succinct and compelling case for the need for both.

I went out with friends tonight to Momo’s in Austin and had what was one of the best nights I’ve had in a while. Good friends, good music, and a “find” — a musician we never heard before and we’re still talking about.

First up was The Vermeers, a friend’s band. I love the Vermeers. They remind me of coming to Austin in 1987, when the music scene was exploding around me. They played some of their older stuff from the Sleepwalkers days as well as newer compositions. (V says they remind her of the Beatles and Elvis Costello. I just get flashbacks to those crazy slacker days when I could survive in Austin on sunshine, beer, and temp jobs.) They have a new member, Pamela Ryder (Rider?), whose voice is gorgeous and dreamy and like molasses. At one point I thought it was Allan singing! But it was Pam and it was fantastic.

Then came the real surprise — a guy named Jarrod Dickenson.

Remember this guy. He will be famous some day. We couldn’t believe what we heard. So listen up, Austinites — he’ll be playing at Momo’s every Monday night in March. You owe it to yourselves to hear him. His band included a violist who was quite simply phenomenal, a standup bass, and drummer, who one of my friends said, hey Middle Eastern drummer playing Middle Eastern beats to Americana-folk! It was that great.

I bought his CD and I’m listening to it now and it’s great, but seriously, catch him live. He was also sweet — came up to us after his set and introduced himself and thanked us for coming.

Next was Dustin Welch. Momo’s never got crowded, so we got a great show in an intimate setting. Outside the cold front was blowing in and inside the room was warm and cozy. Dustin asked us if he could wait for his mom to arrive before he started, as he hadn’t seen her in a while, since she lives in Nashville. She came about five minutes later, gave him a kiss on the cheek, and we settled in to another fine set. His fiddle player was unbelievable — wow, that girl could play. It was just Dustin, the fiddle and bass, and they were relaxed and laid back and beautiful. Probably my favorite song was Sparrows (?) which he said was on a compilation CD, Voices of a Grateful Nation, to support soldiers with closed head injuries and PTSD.

A word about Momo’s — I’m not a musician and even I could tell their sound system was amazing. We could hear every word, nothing was muddied or blaring. My friends who are musicians said Momo’s and the Parish have two of the best sound systems in Austin.

We left before the final two bands, only because we didn’t want to press our luck. We ended the evening on a perfect note, gathered out coats and went out into the growing storm.

Man, I need to get out more.

I’m trying not to feel bad about having to cancel on ConDFW. What’s helping me is that we have sunshine and crisp cool weather that is perfect for seeing my horse.

I cleaned up my office last week after AggieCon with the expectation that I would get some writing done this week. That didn’t happen for a variety of reasons (mostly because the story work right now is going on in my head, not on the page, and also because of various family obligations) and I had expected not to get any writing done this weekend either since I would be away. But yay! I have a weekend back, and that is also salving the pain of missing a con.

In addition, a kind reader asked for some more stories about Colar, especially about Colar in the US. Well, I can do that. So in the coming months expect some short pieces about Colar in North Salem, and adapting to his new life and possibilities as a typical teenager in America, as opposed to his life as heir to Terrick.

Being bummed about the con, I decided to spend some of my dealer room money on books here, rather than in Dallas. My son came with me and we had a great time picking out books. I got Good Omens, because I’m coming late to that party. Also picked up another copy of Dies the Fire, since I had loaned my first one out and don’t expect to get it back. Finally, I got a romance called Sliding Home by Kate Angell, which I read last night (romances are quick reads).

Well, I think I lost my capacity to enjoy romance. This had good points, but it was a stupid people plot (i.e., it hinged on people being stupid) and that irritated me. The baseball stuff was fun though and the characters were likable and personable and frankly that goes a long way. I don’t like head-hopping but in romance it seems to be tolerated. Note: a multi-viewpoint book (for example, Gordath Wood) is not the same as head-hopping, in which the author writes from different characters’ POV in the same paragraph. I find it jarring.

After discussions with JK Cheney on the subject of romance, I was looking for the final obstacle plot element that she said is in every romance. Basically this is the last step before the couple gets its Happy Ever After.  Sometimes this is called the big stupid misunderstanding, which I think I first ran across on Holly Lisle’s website. In Sliding Home, the last obstacle made  sense in context and no one behaved foolishly so hey, it was a win. But while I am a romantic at heart, I don’t know if I am that interested in romances any more unless there’s more to them than just the romance.

So now I am looking forward to Good Omens, and rereading Dies the Fire. And writing. And seeing my horse and demudding him.

Into the greenwood

I wonder if there is a fifth taste for writing and music. I think there has to be. Right now I’m listening to Raising Sand by Krause/Plant, and the song Your Long Journey gives me that feeling of fullness, of satiety, it’s so completely beautiful.

Vivaldi’s Winter Largo gives me the same emotional response — a sense of joy and wonder and completeness. I can listen to it over and over. Some of Lucinda Williams excellent music have the same effect (Blue comes to mind). La Boheme. James McMurtry.

Books and stories do the same thing, where the fullness of the emotional response is complete, with not a thing missing. I’ve mentioned Nightingale by Tobias Wolff. I had the same response to a story by Esther Friesner that appeared in The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction years ago, in which one of the Good Folk longed to know God but the Good Folk don’t have souls.*

If food can have salt, sweet, sour, bitter, and umami, why can’t art? What books or music make you feel sated and at the same time, longing for more?

*If anyone can remember that story’s title for me, I would be deeply appreciative.

Frisbee and me

I should have taken a before picture, because he was pretty slathered with mud, but I got most of it off of him. Then I let him graze for a while on the new grass and he was completely content to do so.

He made friends with Ben, who gave him a peppermint, which Frisbee really enjoyed. Ben was wondering if Frisbee would remember him the next time he came to visit, and I told him that horses could be surprising in that way and he just might.

I couldn’t ride today, even though as you can see it was a gorgeous day. Hopefully Tuesday will be as nice a day and I can get some riding time in before Aggiecon. (Speaking of which, preliminary programming is complete and it’s looking pretty good.)

Side note: I just finished 1,600 words today, so GWIII is really coming along!

Remember this?

“It is a comforting belief among much of society, that a plain girl with a small fortune must have no more interest in matrimony than matrimony has in her.”
That is the opening of my novel, The Unexpected Miss Bennet. You can read the first chapter on my Amazon page (scroll down after the GWIII excerpt — Amazon doesn’t hyperlink blog titles, apparently).

Well, it is off to the agent today. Keep your fingers crossed!This is a huge step for many reasons, but the biggest is that this is the first non-Gordath novel to head out the door ever and honestly, who knows what will happen?

Publishing is weird. I want to write all different kinds of books, but the publishing industry has a hard time dealing with an author who doesn’t stick to their tried and true. But I don’t want to just write in the Gordath-verse, although I enjoy it when I’m there. (Yes, I know I was ready to close the door on it last year after I turned in Red Gold Bridge, but the portal has a way of sneaking up on you and demanding to be opened.)

I want to write the Holy Grail of romances, the Regency. I want to write space opera. I want to write a Halo novel. (What? That’s weird?) I want to have a new fantasy series creep out of my subconscious with new characters who speak to me when I should be doing industry analysis from census data. (If my boss is reading this — just kidding!)

So I can see how publishing would find it hard to keep up. So here’s the thing. I’m going to keep writing them. I’ll excerpt them on the website, and maybe start a podcast or two. If publishing wants them, they’ll let me know. If you want one, I can figure out a way to get it to you. Just say the word.

In the meantime, The Unexpected Miss Bennet is off to the agent. Let the adventures begin.