June 21st, 2007

sf sapphire and steel winning

we never learn. even deserts burn. and all politicians lie.

Things I love about All the Windwracked Stars.

1) A character who talks in psychic boldface never needs attribution, or dialogue tags for anything but rhythm and emphasis.
2) Kitten with a whip.
3) The goffy wolf-boi. And his fully-lined drama queen cloak...
4) Brokedown steampunk sybercity.
5) Derelict everything.
6) Did I mention the soundtrack? I knew I was hanging onto all that Sarah McLachlan and Oingo Boingo for some reason.

I am really into broken things, you know?

Anyway, I have definitely hit the downhill slide of this book. I have about 150 pages to go, which means I'm now at the point where I start sweating if I can possibly fit the rest of the story into the rest of the book.

And I'm not even looking at the original manuscript anymore, because we have diverged so far. I know where I'm going, and the rough outlines of how to get there, and I know what has to happen to the characters between now and then, in terms of how they change, and I may salvage bits of the very end.

I'm, you know, a little fuzzy on some of the details in the middle. And really have no clue at all how I'm going to handle the not!sex. Since the characters having it now have POV, which means that I can no longer do the thing I did before, which was to basically have everybody stare at their shoes and scuff the floor a lot whenever the subject came up.

Muire is a much more clueful person in this draft, which is good. Maybe I have finally learned that coyness and withholding make for frustrated readers and boring books.

And I did figure out a big reveal that goes in book three, which I am excited about.

I may sit down and try to do a little outlining, and see where it gets me. Collapse )

And then I will have made a book. *g*

Huh. I guess that's the outline, then.

All you get is laughter, ridicule, and a trip to the house of pain.
holmes confidence

better bring your own redemption when you come to the barricades of heaven, where i'm from

Jeff VanderMeer went and got all shiny. Go give him some freelance work: he spent about a billion years on that beyootifool new website.



Laura Anne Gilman tells you everything you need to know about how to handle reviews right here.



More things I love about All the Windwracked Stars, in the cold light of morning:

1) Main battle shoggoths. Shoggoths are the new black, baby!
2) Doomed tragic love affairs with really inappropriate people.
3) Pimp with a heart of gold. Okay, he's more of a madam. Okay, den mother. Okay, collector of stray cats....
4) Un-evil overlord
5) Giant steampunk cybernetic war horse built on Asgardian models.
6) Loki sure spawned a lot, didn't he?
7) Floating university campuses.
8) Hoverboards
9) Yggdrasil
10) Did I mention the music?

Collapse )

I wanted to give you Timbuk 3's "Facts About Cats," but youtube no have.

Any guesses what the book is about? ;-)



Man, I have been sleeping a lot this week. Some of it is probably Sycamore Hill, and some of it, last night, was no doubt because I went to see my massage therapist and after ten days of sleeping on weird things and nearly falling off a trail and driving ~2500 miles in ancient rattletrap trucks, I was a bit wracked up. (I actually hurt more this morning, but freedom of motion is returning, so yay that.)

I had an adventure on my way over there yesterday, though. This is why competent truck drivers are some of my favorite people:

I was in the inside lane of I-91, about to take the left exit onto Route 9. So, fast-moving traffic, wet road, moderate rain, guard rail and breakdown lane on the left side, cars in front, semi coming up fast in the center lane on my right. The traffic in front of me started to bunch up, and that little voice that tells you such things told me to take my foot off the gas and tap the brakes, and let the semi pass me.

So I was in the clear, about five feet off the rear corner of the semi trailer, and had a really good view of what almost-happened next.

The BMW-drivin' guy immediately behind the slow-moving car three places in front of me (50 in a 65 zone, yo) decided that he didn't want to be behind that car anymore, exit or no exit, and cut into the center lane. Directly into the path of the accelerating semi. Who had exactly two places to go--to the left, in front of me, onto the exit ramp, or to the right, in front of somebody in a little dark-colored economy vehicle who was parallel with me, two lanes over.

He went right. With about three feet to spare on either side, after braking so hard the big truck was shuddering and rocking, and held it together really elegantly, and I'm not sure the guy who cut him off ever noticed how close he came to becoming a hood ornament. And there was nobody in his blind spot on that side, and nobody in his blind spot on my side, and so he had options about where to go.

Thank you, Gentle Teamster. Thank you, guy in the little black economy car. No thanks, yuppie prick.

You may have noticed that this story has a moral, relating to cooperation on the road, big trucks, blind spots, contingency plans, and courteous driving. I figure you can probably write it for yourself. ;-)




The cat kicked me out of bed this morning to feed her. I must really be home.




What's interesting about this revision--I mean really interesting--is that it's demonstrating to me just how far I have stretched the inside of my head by writing novels. In 2001, when I wrote the first draft of this book, it felt huge in my head. It lapped over all the dges, and writing it was a process of running around in circles, pushing it back inside the railings when it tried to bleb out.

Now?

It's a tidy little book, not really very complex at all. I'm trying to add some layers to it as I go, and tricky up the plot a little, but really, it's a pocket-sized novel, pretty nonthreatening. I mean, I survived writing Whiskey & Water. This book has no power to scare me, anymore.

I guess that's what they call growth as an artist.

Chill scares my pants off, however, and I haven't even started writing it yet. I think that might be a good sign too.

And now I need to go shower and make tea and get some words before I hike down to the farmer's market for produce....

Yes, I do have the best job in the world.
writing edda of burdens fenris wolf

everywhere i go it rains on me

In additon to being all about broken things, I am all about the bitterness of loss. Speaking of broad themes in my work.

I suspect because life's policy of "No do-overs" offends me so badly, and that's why I keep writing about it.

Also, I love my writing group:

[09:21] matociquala: hey guys
[09:27] matociquala:  Somebody could rite my scene for me?
[09:27] jmeadows: "a man walked in with a gun"
[09:27] jmeadows: "the building caught on fire just then!"
[09:27] jmeadows: "rocks fell from the sky"
[09:27] hawkwing_lb: "and ninjas came through the windows"
[09:27] jmeadows: "and everyone died."
[09:27] matociquala: yay!
[09:28] matociquala: best scene ever
[09:28] matociquala: this book needs more ninjas
[09:28] matociquala: maybe I can have ninjas in Chill
[09:29] hawkwing_lb: everything goes better with ninjas!

Now I really need to write this scene so I can have breakfast and then walk down to the Farmer's Market and buy some produce. (There is no food for bears before her morning pages when she is on deadline. It is a Rule. It is a Rule that will have to change if I ever come up diabetic, but for now, I think training myself to associate hunger with productivity is a good plan for a working artist....)

And you can never go back
And the answer is no
And wishing for it only makes it bleed.
lion in winter oops

hot war, who could ask for more? six minutes on a cold winter morning.

Yeah, I did something dumb. I looked at the AtWS manuscript and went, huh, I have 252 pages and three pages of notes. I wonder if I could finish this by Readercon.

So I plugged it into my handy dandy spreadsheet. And I discovered that if I write an average of eleven pages a day between now and July 5th, and the draft tops out at 400 pages, I could be done by then.

Aw, fuck. I think my borderline obsessive thing just triggered.

Anybody wants me, I'll be under my rock.

Also, it's beautiful here. Stormlight and cool air. So nice. Supposed to be a beautiful weekend--I need to make sure I get outside some.
spies mfu glower flowers

Things that cross a fantasy writer's mind in the homestretch:

Are voluminous sleeves in the Tough Guide? Because they ought to be.


Derelict
is another one of those words, but I'm not giving that one up. Also, there aren't enough words that mean really really big that aren't an allusion to something in Earth literature. So, Cyclopean, Brobdingnagian, all that is off the menu.

So sad.


tyop: She let a sky escape.



Zokutou word meterZokutou word meter
258 / 400
(64.5%)