Always a Sad Day

I’m obsessed with white boards.  Those that follow my twitter stream and/or facebook feed have seen me rant and rave about white boards.  I recently bought a new one, so have more space for plotting, and when that wasn’t enough, I resorted to using my office window, making good use of the wet erase markers I bought.  The Kassidy book—and that feeding into the series, and it’s definitely going to be a series—took up a ton of space.

Yesterday I finished the first draft.  Today is the sad day when I need to start clearing whiteboards for the next project.  

A sad day indeed.

That’s not to say I’m going to lose the information and ideas I figured out while writing on the white boards and the window.  I’m going to carefully transpose them into a notebook, where they will be kept nice and safe until I pull out the Kassidy book for revisions in another couple months…or a year.  It depends.  

But it’s sad to see those thought processes condensed down onto paper and neatly organized.  My thought process is not organized, and the whiteboards reflect that.  

A picture would preserve that, and I will be taking pictures of the whiteboards, just in case something should happen to the note book.  

The fact remains.  Today, those thoughts and ideas are going to be wiped away, clearing space for the next project, the next idea.  It’s sad to see it go, especially when I had so much fun with Kassidy and her world, but it’s exciting to see what’ll come from the next project.  What sort of ideas will sprout from a thought written on a white board, and spread across the entire office as I track things as they come together and coalesce into something more, something better than the original thought that started the whole writing process.

A Difference in Character

Recently I’ve started working on a new urban fantasy, which shouldn’t come as a surprise to anyone.  I’m enjoying the story, the convoluted plot that I haven’t quite worked out yet, but most of all the characters.  As I write along, I keep thinking about what Jacky—my most worked with character—would do in a given situation, then sit back and watch as Kassidy—my newest UF heroine—goes and does something completely different.  

It shouldn’t surprise me the way it does.  Kassidy and Jacky come from two very different worlds, and have two extremely different backgrounds.  Jacky grew up in a small family, being taught and coached and supported as she learned about herself.  She’s always had someone she could turn to for help when things went wrong, even if it was just venting to her mom.  Kassidy grew up alone, in the wild 1860’s, in the west.  She spent most of her time alone, learning to depend on herself, with a few people making strong impressions that shaped her into the woman is she today.

The scene that really caught my attention was after a fight, where Kassidy had been hurt, but not horribly injured, and she and a new companion—she’s not sure what to make of him yet—are sitting against a wall in a triage area chatting.  Jacky would have accepted the companionship and comfort that the companion offered.  Would have found strength in the knowledge that she didn’t have to fight the upcoming battles alone.  

Kassidy, on the other hand, pulls away.  Isolates herself.  She’s used to working alone.  While she’s glad to have someone watching her back while she heals, she’s convinced he’s going to get in her way.  (Again. Because he’s already interfered with her job once.)  

I’ve written plenty of other characters before, in different genres and settings and circumstances, but none of their differences struck me quite at hard as that between Jacky and Kassidy.  Maybe it has something to do with Jacky once being my favorite character to write with ever, but that I’ve fallen out of love with her and her world.  Kassidy is bright and new and it could be her differences that make her so appealing to me at the moment.

Kind of an interesting thought.  I’m anxious to see if this new relationship with Kassidy will bud into something that will span years, or if the attraction will wear off once she’s no longer shiny and new.

I guess only time will tell, right?

The Unexpected Question

I actually meant to publish this Tuesday, but my older brother got hitched.  I'm still kind of boggled, if truth be told.  It was a very secretive, shotgun wedding, but I think they'll be happy together, and that's what matters.

So!

New Year Day was my family party.  Word had gotten out that I’d self-published a novella under a pseudonym.  I’d expected to get asked a lot of questions about it, which I did, but there was one that took me kind of by surprise.

“Why didn't you publish it under your real name?”

Err…I’ll admit to being a little gobsmacked.  I mean, I’d published a regency romance, and most romance writers publish under a pen name.  It seemed so natural, so reasonable, that it took me a second to gather my scattered thoughts.  Cause I really did have a reason for publishing under a pseudonym.

I still want to publish my urban fantasies.  More, I want to publish them through a more traditional means (agent -> editor -> pub house -> bookstore) and I’d like to do that under my real name.  Although maybe not.  I still can’t imagine seeing Jennifer Milligan emblazoned on a cover with a kick ass heroine with titles like Lightning Strike or Blood and Dust.  Still, I’d like that option available.

And it’s not that I’m ashamed of self-pubbing.  I’m not.  I’m actually quite pleased with myself.  I’ve made no secret about being Diana Connell.  The other big consideration is separation of genre.  

There are a lot of authors out there who writer in multiple genres.  Some of them do it all under one name.  Mostly those that have well established, well known names.  Some write in genres that are similar enough to be shelved next to each other.  Others write in genres so different that in order to avoid the possibility to disappointing reader expectations, they writer under a pen name.

Hell, I know a couple authors that write in the same genre under two or three different pen names.

There’s a lot of reasons for publishing under a pseudonym, and my family accepted my reasons.  This whole publishing is a bit of a mystery to them, but that’s all right.  They support me, encourage me, and are glad to listen to me attempt to explain the complexities of seeking publication without really understanding any of it.

Because, you know, that’s what families are for.

That Old New Year Post

2012, the only (writing related) resolution I had was to get shit done.  I’d been spending a lot of time working and reworking one particular book (#TBTRTD) and there were a lot of other ideas clamoring for attention, wanting their time in the limelight.  

I think I managed swimmingly.

I think there’s a post here somewhere that ear marks some of the accomplishments I’ve achieved this year.  Or at least talks about the books I worked on.  

Here’s the grand sum of things, though.

I Wrote:

Dragon Flute (Sort of, I revamped the first half, started rewriting the second half, and decided I hated it and never wanted to talk to it again.  It’s still sulking somewhere on the mini-drive.)

Faerie Bad Luck (querying)

Faerie Curious (sequel, trunked forever, it’s awful.)

Elements of Fire (getting ready to query)

Lighting Strike (also known as #TBTRTD. It’s halfway through it’s second draft.)

Elements of Air (50/70k, stupid NanoWrimo) 

The Kissing Bough (a novella by pseudonym Diana Connell)

Blood and Dust (Started. As of New Years Eve, it’s at 25/80k)

Yeah, and that novella?  That sucker got published, yo.  

Did my career get farther?  Well, sort of.  Self-published novella or not, I’m still agent-less.  But, that’s not something that I have much control over.  I can only keep doing what I’ve been doing.  Writing.  Revising.  Revising again. Querying.  Eventually one of these lovelies will end up with an agent that’s willing to go out on a limb for me and help me find publication through a traditional publisher.  Not necessarily traditional publication, things are changing too much too quickly to expect that, but still.  I have starry-eyed dreams of advances and paying off student loans, and seeing one of my books at the local Barnes and Noble.

Will this year be the year?  Maybe.  I have plans (like querying the snot out of EF, FBL, along with LS and BnD once they get polished up), I’m going to keep busy and get more things done (like the two regency romance novels I’d like to get written, revised, and self-pubbed).  Every book I write is another toe in the door.  Or another straw on the camel’s back.  Another chance to hit it out of the park.  Or something.  It’s late (when I wrote this, which is not the same time as when I published this) and my brain is on the fritz.  

Anywhar!  I hope everyone has a wonderful 2013.  May it be filled with good books, better booze, and the best people to share it with.   

The Decision to Self-Publish

Most of you have probably seen me throwing up links and talking about my alter-ego.  It's less an alter-ego and more a pseudonym.  Along with my love of all things Urban Fantasy, I have quite the adoration for Regency Romances.  I'll admit it, I'm not much of a historian.  I love them simply for the sap.

For those of you that don't know, I've recently self-published a short novella under the pen-name Diana Connell.  Along with the novella, I have plans for a quartet that I'm going to be spending the next couple years working on.

Does that mean I've stopped writing other things?  Nope!  Not hardly.  This year alone I've written four novels, nearly finished a fifth (stupid Nano-novel, I'm still procrastinating diving in and finishing it) revised two, written a novella, revised the novella, published the novella.  It'll take a little juggling, which I've gotten good at this year, but I should be able to produce two RR novels a year, and still get other things written.  I'm still planning on subbing my young adult to agents.  I'm still going to resume subbing FAERIE BAD LUCK to agents.

I still want to go the "traditional" route to publication.  But, let's face it.  The publishing landscape has drastically changed in the past few years, and if I really want this to be my career, I can't really sit around and wait to be picked up by an agent, then wait some more before a publisher decides I'm worth a shot.  The best way to get my stuff out there, right into the readers hands, is by self-publishing.

Now, I'll admit it, because I'm an honest sort of person, a couple of years ago, I wouldn't have considered self-pubbing.  There was still a big stigma surrounding it, and it was the mark of an amateur, a clueless plebeian of the writing community.  To admit to being self-published was to guarantee you didn't get picked up by an agent.  A lot of that had to do with the quality of tripe that was being self-published, because anyone that produces a book can do it.  That's still true, but the publishing community has come to realize that not all self-pubbed books are crap, and not all self-pubbed authors are clueless.  Actually, there's quite a few of them that are REALLY GOOD.  Like, six figure deal with one of the big six publishers kind of good.

There's actually been several cases where successful self-pubbed authors have gotten their stories picked up by a traditional publisher.

The publishing industry is changing.  The whole damn world is changing.

Am I self-publishing with an eye to make millions quick?  Hell no.

Do I expect to become a best seller and have my romances picked up by one of the big six, or even a smaller traditional publisher?  Nope.

Then why am I self-pubbing?

Why, for you, dear reader.

I have stories to tell, and the big thing about being a writer (at least for me) is sharing those stories.  I was happy for a long time just writing for myself, sharing things with my younger sister, but now I want more.  I want a wider audience.  I want more people to experience the worlds I visit in my head, meet my characters.  Have a laugh, shed a tear, get angry.  Books should make you feel, and I'm not going to inflict emotion on anyone by keeping my books to myself.

Well, maybe money factors into it a little bit.  There's something about earning royalties that makes you feel like a real writer.  An author.  Frankly, I'm happy with the little I've made.  Which, to date, has been about enough to cover the cost of purchasing the stock images I used on the cover.

If you've been dying to read the books I rant and rave and complain about in the archives of this blog, then I'm sorry to disappoint.  You'll have to wait a while.  But please, feel free to go and take a peak at that pen-name of mine (she's on facebook and twitter, too) and maybe take a gander at the sample available for the novella.

Blog Fail, Renovations, and NanoWrimo

I completely failed to blog last month.  Mostly because I wasn't writing anything, at all, and it sucked, but also because I couldn't remember the last time I wrote a blog post, and I'm far too lazy to actually go to my blog and check when my last post was written.  Unless I'm procrastinating.  Which I tend to do when I'm writing.  Like I am right now.

Life got a little nuts there for a while.  We've been working on some big house renovations.  My room is now a different color, with a different ceiling fan, hard wood floors instead of carpet, with a new door still on order.  Our kitchen, once cursed with hideous blue industrial carpet, is now a lovely wood laminate, the wall paper gone and the walls painted green.  The shit brown living room carpet, with holes chewed in it by the dogs, and the furrier strips poking through in the heavily trafficked hallway is gone.  Now it's green.  The popcorn ceiling in the hallway is gone.  The wallpaper down.

To be fair, my mom has been the driving force behind the renovations, and the one responsible for doing most of the work.  Except my bedroom.  I did that.  The first time.  She painted it the second time (I hated the first color) because I came down sick and she wanted it done as much as I did.

With all the upset in the house, it kind of affected by ability to sit down and write.  Though that was more because of what I was writing.  Trying to finish the end of The Book That Refused to Die proved to be one of the hardest things I've done.  Because I didn't want to mess it up.  I was petrified by the idea of getting it wrong and having to rewrite the book.  Again.

I am so sick of rewriting Jacky's story.  I sincerely hope this is my last time doing that.

Now, though, I'm happily Nanoing away.  I'm writing the second book in my YA trilogy, so that I didn't actually lie in my query letter that says book two is in progress.  It's now in progress.  Ha.  See.  Not a liar.  No ma'am.  I even told the truth when I said I had book three plotted.

Sorta.  For the most part.

All right.  At least I know how the book ends.  That's got to count for something.

I'd like to get this book finished this month.  NanoWrimo (National Novel Writing Month, for those that don't know) is a great push.  And a really nice way to meet other writers and chat about craft.  Which doesn't happen much during the rest of the year, for whatever reason.

There.  I've blogged.  It's time to get back to the novel writing.  I can still get some more words written tonight.  Or I could call it done and what TV shows via Netflix and knit.

To Each His Own

One of the things a writer needs to learn is that every book, every project, is going to have different needs.  It’s not going to come out the same way, or in the same time frame, or with the same struggles or ease.  Books, rather like people, are all unique, and all require slightly different handling to get them to be the best they possibly can be.

I’m battling against that knowledge with my current project (The Book That Refused to Die) and have been trying to explain that to the creator of a comic I’ve been scripting.  I don’t think he gets it.

Why?  Because I told him I don’t typically work with outlines, and he took that to mean I cannot work from outlines.  Not what I said, dude, but no matter how many times I say “I can outline.”  “Let me outline.”  “No, that’d take for fucking ever and cut too much into my noveling, LET ME DO THE GODDAMNED OUTLINE!” he just doesn’t seem to hear me.

But enough of that.  We’ll get it worked out.  Probably after I write the damn outline and then stuff it down his throat.

Anyway!  Back to the The Book That Refused to Die.

Normally I’m a very linear, sit down, chew it out, stuff it in a draw type of writer.  Oh sure, sometimes I’ll have to do some plot sketching with index cards, or do a web to keep track of all the various evil villains plotting in the background, but usually once I start a novel, I don’t write anything else (except comic pages and blog posts, obviously) until it’s finished.

Not so with The Book That Refused to Die.  

I don’t know if it’s the plot, the mystery elements, the focus on amateur sleuthing as opposed to other sources of conflict and drama, but I’ve had to sit back and let this draft more often, and for longer stretches of time, than any other book I’ve written to day.  And to be perfectly honest, it’s starting to drive me batty.  The best solution, so far, has been to step back and *gasp!* write on something else for a while.  

Yes, that bugs the snot out of me, because I hate leaving things unfinished, and often times if I stop working on one thing to start working on The Book That Refused to Die again, it’ll stay unfinished and I really don’t want to take more time away from my novel than I absolutely have to.  But, that seems to be what this book needs for it to come together.  

Annoying.  Frustrating.  Depressing.  The whole damn process has had me wondering, more than once, if I’m writer enough to finish it and do it justice.  

The plus side of all this is working on something else keeps me from feeling like a total failure.  Which I’m not.  I’m a decent writer, damnit, and even if it takes me another four months, I will get this book drafted, and it will be GOOD.  Maybe not great, but I’d be happy settling for better than a steaming pile of shit.  

So it’s coming.  Slowly.  With breaks of working on other things while it dives behind the curtains and gets its clothes on straight again before the next round of book vs. writer wrestling.  This book needs that.  I’m willing to give it to it, and trust that I’m doing it right.

Not that there’s such a thing as a right or wrong way to right a book.  You just write the thing however it demands to be written.