Martha Wells recounted the criticism that if you compared a Robert E. Howard story to a Lin Carter story, in a REH story you had the sense the city was real and continued on around the hero. In a Carter story, if the hero took a left instead of a right the city would be made of false fronts made of cardboard.

I’m a country girl at heart, but I love cities, because they do have character and a fingerprint as unique as any human being.

Agents and Editors: Why you need them–We didn’t get too much into the horror stories, but yes. You need them. A good agent protects your interests, a good editor is your champion inside the publishing house. Copy editors keep you from looking stupid.

The agent and editors panel.

Tomorrow — the YA panel and more ArmadilloCon goodness.

The workshop:

I co-taught with Rachel Caine, author of the Morganville Vampire Series and the Weather Warden series and a bunch of other books. Best quote: “I want to marry this story.”

And yes, the story was that good.

The workshop is a great experience for aspiring writers because it allows them to get feedback from professional writers and editors, AND they learn how to give feedback to their fellow students. Hearing a professional’s opinion is extremely valuable, but participating fully in the critique process, which means giving and taking critique, teaches you how to look at your own work in a different light.

Do. The. Workshop. Whenever you can, do a workshop.

The panels:

Hands down the best panel was the Research panel. The panelists discussed sources, cautioned against Wikipedia, and had excellent ideas for finding the telling details that bring their work to life. Period newspapers don’t just have news stories, they tell you what people wore, what they bought, how they thought.  University libraries, government archives, and friendly professors are all great sources. I think I brought away the most from that panel.

From left, Jess Nevins, Martha Wells, Joe McKinney, Cary Osborne, Melissa Tyler, Robert Bennett

The panel I enjoyed the most was on Writing Styles. Nancy Kress, Stephen Brust, Joe McKinney, and Paul Benjamin had a lively discussion on style, voice, and tone. Kress and Brust are excellent panelists and carried the panel with panache and some amiable bickering. It was fun, and the audience asked intelligent questions and made intelligent comments, and it doesn’t get much better than that.

Okay, that’s it for now. More in a few days, as I manage to dig out from under. Cons are great, but right now I feel like I’m two weeks behind.

Written by experienced YA novelists Laura Moser and Lauren Mechling, My Darklyng takes on the teen love affair with, well, love — as well as friendship, family relations, burgeoning careers, sex, sports, and vampire novels.

With a cliffhanger every installment (the installments went up in sets of three chapters), the novel is fast-paced and involving. I will be the first to admit that I was addicted. The experience was also broader than simply reading a novel online.

First, Moser and Mechling created a Facebook page for their heroine, Natalie, who is “played” by a 16 year old named Hannah Grosman. If you kept up with the Facebook page, you got another dimension to the story.  (Apparently at least one reader solved the central mystery of the story because it unfolded on Facebook.) The New York Times has a fascinating look at the Facebook portion of the novel.

Then, Slate always has reader commentary, so you could read the installment and talk about it right away with other readers. The reader community also added an extra dimension to the novel.

Now, maybe not a lot of teens read the novel, if only because Slate is a cultural and political magazine. But Hannah Grosman linked her Facebook page to the Natalie page, adding still another layer of meta-fiction over the whole thing, so likely she brought in her friends and friends of friends as fans. I would recommend it to teen readers as well, because it’s not what adults should say about it, it’s how teens enjoy the experience that is important.

I thought it was an interesting experience. I was fascinated by the way facebook was used as an integral part of the narrative. The plot was the kind of plot kids like — fast, faster, and still faster, with all the things that absorb them in their world: Friends, family, growing up, getting a first job, doing what you love, being good at it, navigating relationships.

If you write YA, this is another good one to read.

Meghan Chase is half-human, half-fey. On her 16th birthday, she is plunged into the world of faerie when her little brother is replaced by a changeling and she goes to rescue him. Kagawa takes the conventional faerie mythos of the Seelie and Unseelie Courts and uses them to good effect, and then adds a new fae, the Iron Faerie, which come into being because of our high-tech, industrial world. (The Iron King wears a bluetooth ear thingy, a neat touch that Kagawa inserts with a deft hand.)

Since the Iron King is published by Harlequin Teen, the romance and sexual attraction is front and center, but Kagawa keeps things grounded. Meghan makes a fool of herself in front of a mortal boy she likes, in a cute scene that brought a smile as I read. Kagawa also touches on “sexting,” in which teens send pictures of each other and themselves in compromising positions.

I would have liked to see more friendships between girls in the book. We’re discussing this very topic on a writer’s listserve I’m on, that female heroes stand alone without any female friends, unlike in real life, in which girls and women are surrounded by friends as a matter of course. But I’m one to talk, as my characters Lynn and Kate are surrounded by men during the course of the books and don’t even have staunch friendships as part of their backstory.

However, that’s a minor quibble.

The Iron King. Go read it. Excellent YA, and excellent in general. I’m looking forward to picking up the next installment.

Addendum: I forgot to mention that this is not a defanged Faerie land by any means. There are real dangers, and not the least of which is that promises and bargains can come back to bite you, and they do. Kagawa does not protect her heroine from making a very bad bargain, and the results are poignant and will resonate throughout the series.

So again, excellent story, excellent job.

Sa1300SB Writing Styles

Sat 1:00 PM-2:00 PM Sabine

S. Brust, S. Lynch*, P. Sarath, N. Kress, J. McKinney, P. Benjamin

Sa1500SA Saving your bacon- Why you need agents and editors

Sat 3:00 PM-4:00 PM San Antonio

A. Sowards*, J. Lansdale, S. Swendson, P. Sarath, J. Skillingstead, P. Kitanidis

Sa2000T City as Character

Sat 8:00 PM-9:00 PM Trinity

A. Downum*, I. Andrews, G. Andrews, S. Lynch, P. Sarath, C. Berg, M. Wells

Su1100DR Signing

Sun 11:00 AM-Noon Dealers’ Room

A. Porter, D. Potter, P. Sarath, L. Carl

Su1200SB Planning for Your Time Travel

Sun Noon-1:00 PM Sabine

J. Cheney, K. Kimbriel, L. Antonelli*, P. Sarath, M. Williams, R. Clement-Moore

Su1330P Reading

Sun 1:30 PM-2:00 PM Pecos

Patrice Sarath

Su1400T YA Panel

Sun 2:00 PM-3:00 PM Trinity

P. Sarath, R. Caine, M. Williams, P. Kitanidis, J. Kenner, R. Clement-Moore*

Yeah, Jonathan is keeping me busy this year. I’m also teaching at the workshop on Friday. The con is at a different hotel this year, so long-time attendees, take note. We are up at the Arboretum, not across the highway as in previous years.  By the way, check out the lineup of authors at this con. If you are on the fence about attending a professional writer’s conference, this would be a good year to take the plunge.

It. Was. Wonderful. We went white water rafting, played in the hot springs, hiked up to Agnes Vaille Falls, and visited nearby Salida. At a stop in Alamosa, Colorado, I went into a little bookstore and got Julie Kagawa’s The Iron King, a totally surprising YA that I will be reviewing here in a few days. Excellent book, well worth picking up. I’ll be reading the sequels.

I totally needed this vacation.  I got out of the Austin heat, and even though re-entry was tough (our car has an outdoor temperature display, and it went from 72 degrees in Colorado to over 100 degrees by the time we got home), it was worth it.

Now I’m completely ready for ArmadilloCon and the writer’s workshop, which takes place all day Friday of the convention.

I will be posting pics from my travels and later from Armadillocon, but for now, to keep you satisfied, here’s Cthulhu, frozen for eons in his underground kingdom, and only now unearthed by tourists. He glowers as they pass by but can do nothing until the ritual words are spoken…

Cthulhu in Carlsbad

Franklin the puppy

My only defense for neglecting my blog is that I have been so busy writing GWIII that I’ve let a lot of things slide, not just blogging. You know, household stuff, family stuff (oh look!  kids!) … All I can say is that it’s a good thing my husband does the actual bill-paying or I would be getting some mighty uncomfortable phone calls from guys with gravelly voices who threaten to come to my house to make sure I pay up.

(Seriously, I cover the collections industry, and while they have cleaned up most of their act, there are some pretty unethical companies out there).

Anyway, it’s only partly an exaggeration.

What I’ve been doing:

Writing the aforementioned GWIII. It’s gotten a new lease on life and the writing is coming together with a lot less effort. Sometimes writing is like pulling teeth. This is like the other times, when it’s more like channeling. So, happy happy!

Horsebackriding. I have been working with a mare named Roxy, who is so much fun. I end up thinking every horse that I ride is the best! horse! ever! and she’s pretty cool. She’s a little small for me, at about 14.3 hands or so (I haven’t measured her exactly) but I like small horses.

A new puppy. How much fun can a new puppy be! Franklin affords endless amusement, but he also eats baseboards. Sigh.

Then there’s the usual stuff — work, home, groceries, teaching my daughter to drive a standard (ah, that’s where my head has been at recently), dieting (weight watchers, fairly successful), and I dunno, the stuff of life.

I’m sorry for neglecting the five of you that come by periodically.

How are you?

Mozart's Blood by Louise Marley

Vampires for grownups. Remember when that’s how it used to be? Well, rejoice, because there’s a new vampire in town, and there’s not an angsty teenager in sight.

Louise Marley’s Mozart’s Blood invokes comparisons to Dracula and Interview with a Vampire because of the sweep and sophistication of her story. She mixes music, opera, and history with a deft hand, and weaves in a story of love and loss, the ache of immortality, and tyranny of greed and lust.

The world of opera in the modern day and throughout the centuries at the world’s great opera houses comes vividly to life, and that’s because Marley, a former opera singer, knows her setting, since she lived it. And she deftly weaves the facts — about Teresa Saporiti, the young soprano who created the Dona Anna role for the first performance of Don Giovanni, about Mozart and his life and death, about La Scala (which is almost a character in the book) — with her made up world, in which Saporiti never died and maintains a bond with Mozart that brings her both grief and joy.

Take a Virtual Tour of Mozart’s Blood

Marley doesn’t shy away from the hard questions. How does a person who believes in God and who takes comfort in God survive as a vampire, knowing they are no longer in God’s grace? In fact, grace is a subtle theme throughout the book.

How does a person live knowing they have become a monster? One of the characters has the strength to essentially will himself to death; another, to make compromises that allow her to survive, but always with the sorrow of her choices.

Is redemption possible? Or is music enough? I don’t know if the last bit is made explicit, but I was thinking about it while I read.

Dear Mom and Dad,

Well, I’m here. It’s not so bad, and I don’t want you to worry, even though I guess you will. The Terricks are taking good care of me. Mrs. Terrick is nice. I like her. She showed me how to spin on a spindle the other day. I know, mom, but it’s important here. I think it’s called housewifery? I remember that from one of my social studies classes. It’s not physics, but running a big house like this one takes a lot of work.

Kate paused to rub her fingers. They were smudged with ink. She dipped the quill pen and began again.

Mr. Terrick is just like I remember him. Gruff and kind of forbidding. He reminds me of that judge that you introduced me to at the Christmas party last year? But he means well, and he’s kind of nice. He even –

She stopped. Would her parents understand when she wrote “He even smiled at me this morning”? She couldn’t cross anything out. She knew they would worry over the crossouts and what she didn’t tell them. Look, she told herself, it’s not like they’re really going to read this. In a week or two, she wouldn’t even be able to read it, once her brain reset from crossing the gordath.

Just tell them the truth.

He even smiled at me this morning.

Colar has two brothers, Aevin and Yare, and a little sister, Erinye. He had another sister, but she died, he said of a fever. He said it was probably something we could have cured back home. That’s so sad, isn’t it? That’s why I plan to become a doctor in Aeritan. Aren’t you proud of me? Haha. I know, you always wanted me to be a doctor.

She put in a smiley face and continued.

Aevin is okay, except he is constantly trying to prove himself and it gets tiring. Yare’s a little pain in the butt, and Eri’s a sweetie. We share a room and I look after her.

Kate paused again, thinking about that. It seemed to help Lady Terrick that she was there to make sure Eri was dressed and clean and had someone to keep her company at her chores. She didn’t mind doing it, and had stepped up without being asked, but now that it was expected, she wasn’t sure how she felt about it. She didn’t know how to put any of that in the letter, so she carried on.

I want you to know how much I love you and miss you. I’m in good hands, okay? I’ll write as often as I can, and maybe someday, you can read these letters.

Love,

Kate

Her vision blurred and she sat back so that she wouldn’t let a teardrop fall on the paper. She strewed sand across the paper and blew on it, then set the paper aside so the ink would dry. Kate blinked back tears as the door opened behind her and Eri came in.

“Kett, mama said it’s time for dinner.”

“Okay, I’ll be right there.”

She got up, sniffed and wiped her face with her sleeve. Eri watched her seriously.

“I’m sorry you’re sad, Kett.”

“Thanks, sweetie. I know.”

Eri came over and took her by the hand. She looked at the letter on the thick, coarse paper, cocking her head sideways the way she did when she was absorbed in something. The lamplight cast her delicate face in shadow so the child looked like a Renaissance subject in her kerchief and simple dress.

“Is that writing?”

“It is.”

“How can you read it?”

“I’ve only been here for a half-month,” Kate said. “Soon, I won’t be able to read it. It fades away after a while, and then I can read and write in Aeritan.”

Which made the whole exercise moot, she thought, because at the point that she couldn’t read and write in English, her parents wouldn’t be able to read what she wrote next.

She squeezed Eri’s hand.

“Let’s go. I’m hungry and I don’t want to keep your mom and dad waiting.”

Eri giggled. “You’re funny, Kate.”

“I’m funny! You’re the funny one, you silly kid you.”

Eri laughed louder and they teased each other on the way down the stairs.

#

Kate thought the great stone house looked like a dragon. It was draped across the landscape, its jagged walls and towers like the backbone and winged joints of the mythical beast. The main part of the house was a rough square, its narrow windows facing the road that led away toward the rest of Aeritan.

She and Colar had ridden up that avenue when she brought him back to Terrick two weeks before.

The stables and outbuildings were scattered to the rear of the dragon, its tail as it were. Allegra and Hotshot were stabled there, and Kate made a point of visiting her horses daily and making sure they were well taken care of. She knew enough not to fret; To a Terrick, it was a point of honor to care well for horses and hounds.

She thought she knew about a Terrick’s honor before but now, living under their roof and by their code, she knew she didn’t understand it at all.

Kate and Erinye slipped into the dining room. The family stood by their chairs at the shining table. Lord Terrick would arrive last, per custom. There were Aevin and Yare on the left, Colar at his father’s right hand. Lady Terrick sat at the foot, and there were two empty chairs for Eri and Kate. Even that stinker Yare sits higher than I do, Kate thought.

It shouldn’t have mattered. She knew who she was and her own value, and all the ingrained sexism of her strange world couldn’t change that. It grated though. Maybe that was in her expression, because Colar caught her eye and shook his head slightly. She gave him a half smile, half-grimace, and stood next to Lady Terrick, Eri on the opposite side. As it happened, she stood next to Yare.

“You’re late,” he told her. “And Eri’s face is smudged. Mama!”

You rotten little brat, Kate thought. She flushed. She had forgotten, again, to make sure Eri was kept clean and presentable. The little girl looked as beautiful as always, but to be sure there was a smudge on her cheek and her simple smock was awry.

“Sorry –” Kate began, but Lady Terrick made a gesture.

“Goodness, child, it’s not the end of the world. Eri is old enough to make herself presentable. Are you not, Eri? Try not to disappoint your father, as he loves you very much.”

“I’m sorry, Mama,” Eri said in a small voice.

Kate’s stomach clenched. No wonder I’ve lost weight; every dinner is like this. The terror of obligation to one’s parents, their honor, and above all their love permeated all things Terrick, even a simple dinner.

Lord Terrick entered the room, bringing the smell of outdoors with him. His eyes flicked down the table and back. Kate’s back stiffened, and she thought even Lady Terrick’s did. To her relief he didn’t cast a particular grim eye over Eri. Saved by the lack of electricity, she thought. The dining room was illuminated with plenty of oil lamps but was still dim.

“By the grace of the high god who holds us all in his hand, we are blessed with food and shelter,” Lord Terrick said. He sat, and they followed suit.

The meal was simple yet hearty; spiced lamb, flatbreads, stewed greens and tubers, like potatoes. Every bite tasted like sawdust. Kate chewed diligently and without savor. She had learned to eat with just a spoon and a knife. Her first dinner at Terrick, she had made a joke to Colar about inventing forks. She thought he would laugh. She thought he would accept her offering of their shared history. It was, she thought, meant as an us against them moment. Instead, he looked at her seriously and said that she would get used to a knife and spoon, just like he had gotten used to forks.

Not us against them at all, she thought. She hadn’t gotten it at the time, but she came to understand that it was him with them. Him with his family. Me against them.

It will be different when we marry, she thought. She washed down an impossibly tiny bite with an even smaller sip of Terrick brandy, which tasted like mouthwash and she loathed. As always it made her break out into a sweat, even the polite taste she had taken. She concentrated fiercely on her dinner, not even trying to catch Colar’s eye. She had tried that on their second dinner, hoping to get a smile from him, only to have Yare shout, “Mama! She’s making eyes at Colar!”

Her face flamed at the memory, or maybe that was the brandy.

Lord Terrick was going around the table, asking everyone their business. When he got to Eri, his eyes narrowed and Kate held her breath, but he said only, “Erinye, have you practiced your letters today?”

“No, lord father,” Eri said in a small, frightened voice.

“I see,” Lord Terrick said. “Perhaps you had better things to do than improve your mind?”

Yare made a derisive noise, then jumped in his seat, by which Kate thought that Aevin had kicked him under the table. Good, she thought at the boy.

“I–I” Eri started.

Lord Terrick waited politely, and when it was clear that he had silenced his daughter into frightened immobility, he turned to Kate.

“Perhaps our foster daughter can help you, Erinye. Kate’s knowledge and understanding impressed us all last year. You learned to read and write with Talios, among your lessons as his apprentice, did you not?”

“Ye – yes, sir, I did.” Kate winced inwardly at her own stumble. “I would be happy to help Eri with reading and writing, and math too.”

“Math! Learned indeed. Erinye, how would you like to be Kett’s pupil?”

Eri beamed with relief and Kate smiled back at her.

“So it’s decided then.” He turned toward his wife, but Kate interrupted.

“Lord Terrick, it’s just that I can’t just yet.”

He turned back to her. The entire table fell silent. Kate took a deep breath. “I can’t read yet in Aeritan. Yet. I’ll be able to in a few weeks, but it takes a while.”

Lord Terrick’s expression was unfathomable. Kate hurried on. “Same thing happened for Colar, actually. Right?”

She turned to Colar. Help me, she beseeched him silently.

“It’s true,” he said, and she sighed with relief. “But,” he frowned. “It didn’t take me that long – a half-month?”

“Yes,” and now she was babbling. “Longer even, because you were in the hospital, and it wasn’t until you were out and at home that we even began to try to read and write, remember? We started with Catcher in the Rye, because you were going to need it for freshman English…”

Her voice faded. Lord and Lady Terrick were looking at the both of them, as if they couldn’t understand what was happening. Yare had an expression of evil glee, and Aevin just looked shocked.

“Catcher in the Rye,” Colar repeated, as if the memory wasn’t a pleasant one. She had to admit, he had a point.

“When you can, then,” Lord Terrick said finally. “Math,” he added in a considering voice. “Perhaps you should also teach Yare.”

Kate and Yare looked at each other in equal disgust.

“Of course,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Yes, lord father,” Yare said, but she could tell by the gleam in his eye that he had no intention of obeying. Great, she thought. And it’ll be my fault if he doesn’t learn a thing.

As mentioned in my wrapup, I was on the civil rights in SF panel.

It was disappointing. I think it’s time for convention programmers to understand that when you have a panel on a topic that asks questions about science fiction and civil rights, it is imperative to have persons of color on the panel. Because frankly, when the panel is a cross-section of white men and women, it is a failure right from the start. And yes, one can say that because there were women and a gay man on the panel it represented minorities but one would be copping out.

Because here’s the thing — there’s no shortage of women and gay men (and gay women!) in science fiction.

What there is is a shortage of black people.

So here’s how our panel went — Lee Thomas tried valiantly to make it about civil rights, David B. Carren made some excellent points about how Hollywood culture wouldn’t know a non-stereotypical Hispanic if one jumped up and bit Hollywood on the ass, and the rest of us struggled to speak with authority about a topic that doesn’t really affect us.

And the lone black person in the audience that I noticed got up and left about 15 minutes in.

Why didn’t she stay? Why didn’t she stand up and at least say what everyone was thinking — “why are you people up there talking about this when you don’t even have the black perspective on the topic to talk about it?”

And she’d be right, and I’m calling this woman out right now and saying, “You didn’t help the discussion by walking out. You should have stayed and asked questions and made comments and challenged the dumb-ass panel that was all wrong for the topic.”

We don’t need white people on a panel talking about why there aren’t more black people reading and writing science fiction and fantasy. We need more black people on panels like this, discussing this extremely important topic and reaching out to readers who may think that science fiction has nothing to do with them.

So, I am calling out to convention programmers — stop doing this type of programming unless you are fully committed to finding the people who are most affected by it and can talk about it with authority.  And that means thinking seriously about the black people you know already in the science fiction community and asking them to speak on this topic and you know what — maybe then we’ll be talking to each other and not at each other. At this point in the game, good intentions are not enough.

This is a hugely important dialog to have, and we’re not doing it right. Not with that stupid racefail with everyone talking at each other and through and past and over and everything but to one another.

And not with last week’s ApolloCon civil rights panel.