Kathleen’s 13 Things Men Are Like
13 Reasons Gwen’s Been a Lazy Blogger
So, yesterday was tax day – I’m sure it didn’t go unnoticed by most of us. They say death and taxes are the only certainties. For most of us aspiring to be published, we can add to that list, rejection.
No, it’s not a guarantee. But, it’s highly likely that through our pursuit of subbing out manuscripts or sending in stories to contests, we’re going to face rejection.
In his 1947 essay “On the Writing of Speculative Fiction,” Robert A. Heinlein listed the following rules for writing:
1. You must write.
2. You must finish what you write.
3. You must refrain from rewriting, except to editorial order.
4. You must put the work on the market.
5. You must keep the work on the market until it is sold.
Sounds simple, right? But, how hard is it to send that story back out once it’s been rejected? Particularly, without making edits/changes to it? Pretty hard, in my own experience.
Writers seem to be plagued with self-doubt and insecurity. And, it’s no wonder. What we’re putting out there is a little piece of ourselves that we’ve often put blood, sweat and tears into. It doesn’t get more personal than that.
But, I believe this simple list of rules is very pertinent to each of us, and is something we should all keep in mind. I plan to keep this list handy, and to try to follow it in the future. However difficult that may be.
How about you? Do you think you can follow this list? Are there other “rules” or suggestions that have suited you along your path to publication? I’d love to hear them – please leave a comment with any that you want to share!
Author Spotlight – Anne Bishop
The Black Jewels Trilogy
I first came across Anne Bishop a couple years ago while browsing the for a big thick book to take on vacation. Fantasy fiction is my first love, and in that section I found The Black Jewels Trilogy. This 1204 page book is actually a compilation of the first three award winning books in the Black Jewels Series – Daughter of the Blood, Heir to the Shadows, and Queen of the Darkness.
In this series, Ms. Bishop takes us to a mesmerizing world where long ago a group of people known as “the Blood” were given the power and responsibility to be guardians of their realms. As with any situation involving power, some use it wisely while others become corrupt. Unfortunately, this corruption is sweeping through the realms causing a taint that has the potential to bring an end to their way of life. For more than 50,000 years, this epic battle of good versus evil has been fought on the battlefields of Earth, Hell, and everywhere in between. The only hope for the Blood is a prophecy that states that one day Witch will be born. She will be a queen powerful enough to cleanse the taint and heal the wounds of the realms. The most powerful forces in history are lined up for the culmination of this battle. Will Witch arrive in time to save the World, or will she be destroyed before she is able to come into her power.
These stories are an example of high fantasy at its best. Ms. Bishop is able to transport the reader into a highly developed, complex world with ease. Her characters are 3-dimensional, filled with strengths, weaknesses, honor, and irreverence. She weaves a tale that draws you in and makes you eager to turn the page. I am very glad that I read these stories as part of this omnibus edition because it would have been torture to have to wait for the next book to come out to complete the story. I highly recommend this book, and I would encourage people to read this trilogy before moving on to any of the stand-alone books in the Realms of the Blood Series.
Dreams Made Flesh
The next instalment in the Black Jewels Series, Dreams Made Flesh, is actually a compilation of two novellas – “The Prince of Ebon Rih” and “Kaeleer’s Heart” and two short stories – “Weaver of Dreams” and “Zuulaman”.
Normally, a reader would have to turn to fan fiction to get the vignettes and background stories that are to short to be fleshed out into a novel in there own right, but in this book, Ms. Bishop artfully gives fans the extra tidbits they crave about the characters they’ve come to love from The Black Jewels Trilogy. She manages to combine fantasy, adventure, mystery, and sensual romance together in a way that touches all of your emotions. I found this book to be incredibly satisfying, and a wonderful book to just pick up and read when you don’t have enough time to get involved with a longer novel. This book should NOT be read before The Black Jewels Trilogy as it contains spoilers that could ruin some of the wonderful surprises in the earlier book.
The Invisible Ring
In The Invisible Ring, Jared, a Warlord who has been turned into a pleasure slave, is sold to a mysterious queen known as “the Grey Lady,” and finds himself thrust into the middle of a struggle between some of the most powerful forces in the Realms. Nothing is as it seems, and Jared must discover the truth in order to be able to save himself, the people he cares about, and his very world from being destroyed by evil.
Although The Invisible Ring was released after The Black Jewels Trilogy, this stand-alone novel is truly a prequel to the other stories. It gives insight into the complex world of the Realms of the Blood and supplies background about some of the pivotal characters and the reasons behind the war that threatens to tear the Realms apart. It is not quite up to the level of the original trilogy, but it is very enjoyable. It could be read at any point without spoiling any of the surprises in the rest of the series.
Tangled Webs
As the latest installment in the Black Jewels Series, Tangled Webs brings us back to the Realms of the Blood and continues the story while shifting the focus onto Surreal SaDiablo, a supporting character from the earlier books. It also includes a bonus short story, “By the Time the Witchblood Blooms”.
While thoroughly enjoyable, this book is not written as smoothly as any of Ms. Bishops earlier works in the Black Jewels Series. The premise of this book is shallower and less intricate than I expected given how high the bar was set by The Black Jewels Trilogy. That said, I was pulled in by this book and read it in a single day.
I would recommend this book to any fan of the Black Jewels Series, although it should NOT be read before The Black Jewels Trilogy or Dreams Made Flesh as it contains spoilers for pivotal plot elements in the earlier books.
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The Landscapes of Ephemera
From a completely different yet equally rich world, Ms. Bishop brings us the duology of Ephemera.
A man’s journey to find his humanity.
A woman’s journey to find her courage.
An ever-changing world that can be saved or destroyed by the human heart.
I think this publisher’s blurb from the jacket of the books sums up the feeling of these books very well. Sebastian follows an incubus who is struggling to find his way in a world that can literally be changed by a persons thought and intentions, while Belladonna tells the tale of a woman who must overcome the labels that have been placed on her, in order to do what must be done to save her world. Both of these books are beautifully written fantasies, filled with magic and sensual romance. These are fun, easy reads that leave you very satisfied.
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Tir Alainn Trilogy
I have not yet read this World of the Fae series, but because of my experience with the other worlds that Ms. Bishop has created, they are definitely near the top of my To-Be-Read list. The reviews that I’ve read leave me to believe that once again, Ms. Bishop has woven tails of fantasy, adventure, and sensual romance taking place in a rich, well developed world.
If anyone has read these books and wants to give their review, please post a comment. I would love to hear other peoples’ opinions about the works of this impressive author!
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While I was writing this, I was inspired by Kathleen’s Fun Writing Challenge. Check out my blog for a snippet of page 123 in Tangled Web – a Writitng Exercise.
The Planter Box by Evilynne
For the Flash Fiction Carnival April Topic-Elements
Angie stood over her kitchen table and dug into the fragrant, cool potting soil that filled her gaily painted planter box. It was soothing, dark and full of fertile promise. Beside the box stood a small flat of assorted plants, waiting to be transplanted into their new home. The marigolds, petunias and bachelor buttons were just small green sprouts right now but would soon burst into bright and cheerful colors.
She had bought the flowers to brighten up her spartan accommodations. After all, it was still an apartment, not yet a home. The place was small, with bare walls and the floor was still cluttered with half filled boxes holding odds and ends of her old life. It looked unsettled and lonely, like she was.
Lonely- even thinking about the word affected her. Unbidden, tears began to form and fell in heavy drops onto the dirt below her. Damn it! She had promised herself that she was done crying over her divorce, but it was a promise she couldn’t seem to keep.
Angry at herself, she pulled off her gardening gloves and sat down. Reaching for a towel she held it to her face and began to cry in earnest. Her shoulders shook with the force of her emotions as she set her elbows on the table and sobbed inconsolably as she gave in to her grief.
Leaving Sean had been the right thing to do, but that didn’t make doing it any easier. Finding him in their bed with her friend, Terri, had been the last straw and had left her consumed with anger. She had wrapped herself in that emotion and worn it like a suit of armor, protecting herself from the pain that resulted from ripping him completely and utterly out of her life.
When the divorce was final she had removed that outer layer of shielding and was overwhelmed by the emotions she had kept tightly under wraps: betrayal, bitterness and rejection. They had all been difficult to deal with in their own way. They had torn through her psyche like a storm, leaving a tattered and frayed soul in their wake. All that had been left was an oppressive sadness that left her empty, vacant and hollowed out inside.
Despite her inner turmoil, Angie was struggling to rebuild her life. The planter box was a personal symbol of her fresh start. It was meant to show hope and a belief that things would get better. And yet here she was, crying, again, when she should be focusing on the promises of the future, not the pains of the past. She needed to act, to do something that would make her feel more in control of her own destiny. She took a deep breath and forced herself to get back to work.
Putting on the gloves again purposefully, she stood and reached for one of the delicate seedlings on the table and shook it free from its plastic container. Through her tear filled eyes the tiny green plant in her palm looked as fragile as she felt. With her free hand she made a space in the welcoming soil and placed her tender charge gently inside before covering its roots and tamping the soil down around them carefully. Teardrops fell onto its leaves, making them glisten in the early morning sun.
One by one she tucked each plant into its new home and watered them with her sorrows. Soon the container held a fledgling forest of new life that promised to bloom once its roots became more secure. In a few weeks there would be gorgeous hues of yellow, pink, and purple blossoms to contrast with the deep greens of the leaves and brown of the soil.
All they needed was some time before they would be able to stand tall and show off their inner strength and beauty.
She hoped the same could be said of her.
The following is a writing challenge I snagged from Booking Through Thursday.
Here’s mine (From Katie MacAlister’s, The Last of the Red-Hot Vampires):
“I think I’m handling this very well,” I said after a few minutes of watching the night slide by the car window.
“You do?” he asked me.
I glanced over at the formally dressed man driving the car. He looked normal enough, but he was obviously very disturbed in the head. “Well, yeah. You’re telling me that the prince of hell exists and that he wants me to marry him. I haven’t jumped out of the car yet or laughed in your face – I’d say I’m doing awesome!”
He glared at me.
“The prince you refer to is the head of all the seven demon lords who rule Abaddon, and I’m sorry to say that they do very much exist.”
***
What did you come up with? Leave your entry in the comments (either as text, or give us the link to your entry on your blog)!
I had a go at the three line, 17 syllables or less sort of haiku and came up with this
Spring lives
In the blossom on my tree
In the yellow daffodils
Summer dances
In the roses
In the warmth of the sun
Autumn rages
With vibrant leaves
Against the dying light
Winter sleeps
In the stark grey
Under a cold blanket of snow
The seasons change
Have to
What else can they do?
Every Friday, we will post links to a collection of flash pieces written by our contributing Authors and guests. They may be related to the same prompt, they may be randomly assembled, they will always be enjoyable.
This week, we give you a hodgepodge of stories:
Kathleen
A Tough Decision – Originally written for the FFC prompt “cowardice”, this is a short piece about a young woman in a difficult situation.
A. Catherine Noon
Succession – This was written for the March FADness prompt, “No Humans.” The idea is to write an entire story without humans in it. I had fun with this one.
Hard to believe, but it’s already Thursday again. Most of the contributors of the Writer’s Retreat Blog participate in the weekly meme, Thursday Thirteen, so every Thursday we link to the individual sites of each writer’s TT. Hopefully, this helps you get to know each of us a little better. This week we’ve got:
Kathleen – 13 Vacation Happenings
Liz – 13 Working Woes
A. Catherine Noon – 13 Steps to Organize Your House By the End of This Weekend
The writers of the Writer’s Retreat Blog have agreed to contribute essays to our series called, “Wiley Wednesday,” in which we will share our thoughts and opinions about the craft of writing. While we’ve all agreed to this, I’m not entirely sure that I’m qualified to be any sort of authority on the subject. I am, however, full of opinions. So let this be my disclaimer. These are my thoughts and musings only. They may not bear any relevance to the real world. I’m not really a writer (yet), I just play one on the internet.
Musing About the Muse
by Elizabeth Anne
It’s already been established that if you want to be a writer, you need to sit down and physically write. Period. End of sentence. There’s no way around that, no magic formula to somehow put your words onto paper without you doing the work. I think most writers understand that premise. We may whine, cry, and procrastinate about it, but we understand – at least at an intellectual level. The stumbling block that prevents many of us from actually putting pen to paper is a bit less clear. While we want to be writers, we also want something a bit less tangible, a bit more artistic. We want to connect with our readers. We want to evoke emotion. We want to be story tellers. But where do the stories come from? Just what is that elusive muse?
Several years ago, I saw the play, All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten. I remember being struck by the power of one of the first scenes. In it, the narrator asks a room full of kindergartners, “Who knows how to dance? Who knows how to paint? Who knows how to tell stories?” After each question, the entire group has their hands in the air, excitedly trying to share their artistic talents with the world. The scene switches to a group of adolescents and adults who are asked the same questions. None of them admit to these abilities. Instead they offer embarrassment and excuses about the idea of even trying.
So if this play has accurately portrayed our society, and I believe it has, what happened to our artistic side as we grew up? Where did the stories go?
I believe that we are all born with an innate ability to tell stories. I look at my own children, and they were making things up and “playing pretend” even before they were able to talk. Their imaginations are in overdrive so much of the time that they can get confused about reality and have nightmares about the monsters they’ve made up. They tell anyone who will listen about their princesses and talking animals, their heroes and villains. I can also remember being the child who constantly made up stories and begged people to sit down and listen. Those stories don’t just magically disappear as we grow up, do they?
Maybe all these questions shouldn’t be about the stories. Perhaps we need to take a look at ourselves instead. Bear with me as I play amateur psychologist for just a moment. Erik Erikson, a famed psychoanalyst known for his theory of social development, asserts that as small children we strive to achieve autonomy and initiative. In other words, we are striving to be who we are for ourselves. Through the school and teenage years though, Erikson states that we struggle with inferiority and role confusion. At this point, we are concerned about where we fit into our world and what our peers think of us. Is it coincidence that when we start trying to fit into “the real world,” we lose touch with a bit of our creative side?
So, if we have trained ourselves to hide our creativity as a way of fitting in with society, how do we get our stories back? It seems to me that we need to turn back the developmental clock a bit, and rediscover who we are when we’re not trying to be what we think the world is telling us to be. Precisely how do we do that? Well, if I had an easy answer, I’d be more than happy to share it. Unfortunately, I think every person has to find their own solution, and I’m still struggling to find mine.
But all is not lost. Even if we never complete that quest to find our inner child, I believe we all see glimpses of our creative self, often when we least expect them. If we can learn how to listen, perhaps we can find those elusive stories again. No one can do this for us, and it is a step that seems essential if we want to really write. Even famous, prolific, bestselling authors have to start with an idea, and they all seem to find those ideas in different places.
J. K. Rowling states that she tries to put herself in a place where the ideas “can come out of my head.” She goes on to say, “For me, the most idea-producing situation is to be sitting in a fairly quiet corner of a café, looking down at a nice blank sheet of paper, with a big mug of tea slightly to the left and a new pen clutched in my right hand.”
Sara Douglass, arguably the best selling Australian author of all time, offers this advice. “I take a bath. To access your subconscious you need to be warm, relaxed and generally, utterly mindless. I find taking a bath works nicely for me.”
Stephen King has a different take on finding his muse. He has been asked these questions so many times, that he now quips that he gets his ideas from “a small, bloodthirsty elf who lives in a hole under my desk.” But he goes on to say that you can find ideas anywhere, if you’re willing to look at something that seems ordinary and ask, “What if?” He says that to write you must often seek out your ideas, rather than waiting for them to come to you. “Waiting for inspiration can become a long wait.”
I’m certainly not in the same category as any of these people. I hesitate to even call myself a writer, but I am learning to get more in touch with my inner muse. For me, ideas tend to strike when I am doing a mindless, routine task that keeps my hands busy. Washing dishes, folding laundry, and crocheting are a few of the tasks that seem to work. I have a friend who comes up with all of his writing ideas while running on a treadmill. I believe everyone must go through a bit of trial and error to see what works for them.
So, it seems that the stories may not be so elusive after all. Instead waiting for ideas to miraculously sprout from some outside source of inspiration, we must learn to pay attention to what we already have. We are all born to be storytellers. The stories haven’t gone away since we were children; they’re still inside us, waiting to be heard. If we pay attention, we may find that our muse is actually speaking to us all the time, we just need to listen.
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Here are links to the websites of the authors quoted in this blog.
Stephen King, Sara Douglass, and J. K. Rowling
The Night Is A Harsh Mistress
by A. Catherine Noon
Chapter 2
The phone rang, startling her a little. “Rachel Carmichael,” she greeted without looking at the Caller I.D., her cigarette bouncing in the corner of her mouth. She slipped off her shoes and shrugged out of her jacket. The gun went on the desk for a moment until she could unload and clean it and she moved around behind the desk.
“Missus Carmichael?” The voice sounded young, and panicked.
“Speaking. Who is this?”
“Missus Carmichael, this is David. David Greene?”
Rachel almost fell getting into her office chair. David was the name of the missing teenager. Her luck couldn’t be this good, could it? “David,” she said more warmly. “You’ve worried a lot of people, David. Not least of which are your parents.”
“Are they okay?” David asked wildly. He sounded breathless and not as relieved as Rachel would have expected.
“Are your parents okay, David?” she echoed, mostly to buy time to think. “Of course they are. They’re very worried about you.” She paused. “Where are you?”
“No!” David shouted. “I can’t tell you that,” he said more calmly. “I just need you to stop looking for me, okay?”
Of all the… “Your parents hired me to find you, David. You’re underage and missing. That doesn’t give you a lot of options in the eyes of the law, you know.”
“You’re not the law, though, are you?” David countered.
That seemed to Rachel to be a little too astute for a fourteen-year-old. “What makes you think that, David?” she hedged.
She heard his panicked breathing on the other end for a moment. “Please,” he whispered. “Please, just stop looking!” The line went dead.
“David?” she called futilely. “Dammit!” She resisted slamming the phone down only because, if she broke it, she’d have to replace it. What she really wanted to do was throw the stupid thing out the window.
She sat back in her chair and put her legs up on her desk. She caught the ash of the cigarette before it landed on the carpet, but only just. She finished that one and started another one without getting one iota of inspiration.
She fished out the contract from her inbox, the one that Doug Greene and his mousy wife Constance signed. Mr. Greene’s signature was loopy and illegible, the scrawl of a busy man. Mrs. Green’s was more controlled, precise and neat. Rachel ran her fingers over the signatures absently. They both were indented slightly, like they had been pushing down with some pressure when they signed.
What that meant, Rachel had no idea.
Dammit! She hated it when cases refused to be clear. Why would David want his parents to stop looking for him?
Then her mind, up until now fuzzy with the desire to sleep, kicked awake.
The first thing David asked wasn’t ‘Why are my parents looking for me,’ like most runaways would ask. It was, ‘Are my parents okay?’ Why wouldn’t they be? What would make David worry that his parents, who did the expected thing of hiring someone to find their precious teenaged boy, might not be okay?
That didn’t really have an answer yet. But Rachel was determined it would. She got up, resolute now, and got ready for bed. She set the alarm for eleven and turned off the ringer to the phone. At least the rent was paid, so she could afford to take a day or two looking into the Greene’s background.
Besides, she thought as she had a final cigarette before bed, you could never be too careful about your clients. It paid to know who Mr. and Mrs. Greene were, and why their fourteen-year-old would be worried for their safety.
Rachel got under the covers on her couch gratefully. She finally had a case worth waking up for.