A short

Here’s a short piece I wrote today:

“Silent Cries”
The sunlight filters through the threadbare white curtains, casting a cheery glow on the bright yellow walls and a sleeping boy.
Caleb Michael Richardson, nine years old, 4 feet tall, 56 pounds.
He stirs, blinking into the light and raising one hand to rub at his face. His black hair is buzzed short, but still flattened on the side he was sleeping, and as he gingerly sits, careful not to rattle the cuff locking him to the bed, his ear unsticks from his head, popping out just as far as the other one.
It’s 9:06 according to the digital clock next to his bed. He’s missed the bus again and he knows his teacher will be upset with him. But there’s nothing he can do. He rubs at his face again, tearing away the scraps of sleep and tries to make his hair all stick up or lay down. It doesn’t cooperate with just his one hand and no water.
He licks his dry lips with a dry tongue. Now that he’s thought about it, he’s thirsty. And he needs to pee. But he has to hold it. Daddy gets angry when he pees the bed, even though there are special sheets to easily clean it up. Daddy will be awake soon, he’s sure of it, and then he’ll pee and get a glass of water. Then he can get dressed and maybe Daddy will take him to school, or maybe he’ll walk. It’s not far and he knows Daddy is busy. Daddy is busy a lot.
Standing, he crosses his legs to keep from peeing himself and looks up at his bedroom door. It’s closed, so he can’t tell if Daddy is awake yet. Normally Daddy opens the door when he wakes up, but sometimes he doesn’t if he has a headache and doesn’t want Caleb being noisy. So Caleb makes sure the cuff doesn’t jingle when he moves and even though he has to pee really badly, he just slides down to sit beside his bed where he has a pile of books stashed for mornings like this. He hopes one of them will take his mind off peeing.
They don’t.
Soon he can barely turn a page without thinking about how bad it hurts. After carefully returning his books to their spot, he gingerly puts his hand on the cuff and pulls his other arm, trying to slip it through. Sometimes it works and he can go to the toilet and pee. As long as he isn’t noisy, Daddy doesn’t get mad. So he tugs and tugs and although it scratches and tears away some skin, his hand is free.
He doesn’t take time to rejoice, he’s already scurrying to the toilet to relieve himself. And then he gets out band-aids to put on his hand and quietly–silently, almost–he goes back into his room to get dressed for school.
The end.

Time for an update

Because of the nasty weather we had on the East Coast, my weekend was pretty free, and aside from 4 hours of sleep Friday night, followed by barn work, riding and lots of naps, I was rather productive. Not really on Saturday, because I slept, ate, and watched Avatar, and that was about it. But this morning I finished re-reading a book I’m reviewing, I wrote the review, and then I got to editing CL (on page 73 of 177, if you’re wondering). Sure, I still have loads of editing to do, but every little step helps.

I’m still not sure how I feel about the story overall, but I think working on it so long has left me rather jaded about it. I look forward to sending it off to someone who will give me an honest response about it. But that’s in the future.
I have two other stories that are finished that will also be sent out. One just needs a query written and me to feel like its worth being sent, the other needs a good strong round of edits before the rest happens. And of course, come the end of November I’ll hopefully have 50,000 words of a new novel that is brewing in my mind. Plus I have a short story I’ve started that needs to be finished by April for a submission call.
But for now, it’s time for a walk.

Resolutions…what are those?

Not only have my resolutions been nearly forgotten, but I haven’t even done monthly updates. Blech. So here’s the mid-year review.

Sitting up straight? Nope, I much prefer to look like a question mark. I’m trying to amend this…so it hasn’t completely been forgotten. Just waylaid. Via Timbuktu.

Meditation. Sure, I do that in 5 second increments. I take a deep breath, hold it, and then I’m off doing something else. I have been taking walks and sort of meditating there. So. Yeah.

Reading non-romance book. Er…okay, sorta? Many of the books I’ve read have a queer theme, a bit of romance, but a good portion of them aren’t strictly romance. And some not at all. Let’s be honest Rachel Haimowitz’s Anchored is not a romance, no matter what it’s sold as. In balance I hope to do a month of completely nonromance reading (in August or September it looks like), with the only romances being those I do for reviews (whether I ask for a review copy or I’m given one).

Right.

Now back to work.

Not quitting (update)

I’ve made a decision.

Actually, I made the decision several days ago, but I was distracted. By something.

I’m not giving up on Clockwork Lives! While I have no idea if I’m going to make it to the deadline, I’m going to give it my best. And what exactly will I be doing? (Probably checking twitter obsessively instead of working…)

I’m going to give CL what it needs. First I’m going to go through it page by page and tear out the bits with questionable writing and fix them up while I’m working in the revisions.

Actually, that’s most of it. 160 pages of hardcore fixing. I’m on page 2, if anyone wants to keep count. And, to give myself an idea of how much is changing, I’m putting in all the new text in blue. Well, at least it should make me feel productive.

Once that’s all done I’ll do more basic edits on it and maybe find a new beta to read the new version (my old beta is going to be 3x too busy). Hopefully the new beta won’t send me back to the revision table again.

Then it goes to publisher.

(Waits for laughter to die down.)

Okay, fine, it probably needs more editing after all the revisions I’m making, but that’s fine as long as I’m not told “I didn’t get it.”

Thanks for everyone’s comments! (And for my beta-brother who gave the best comments of all in my novel :)*

* I have a really awesome understanding brother who is straight and doesn’t mind reading a bit of man on man. How cool is he?

When you just want to quit

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After a nap, lunch and a chocolate bar, I saw down with the notes I’d taken about what my beta readers thought I should revise in my novel CL. I knew I had major work to do, since I’d obviously already read through the recommendations and written them down. I’d begun a little brainstorming and thought I had some possible resolutions to some of the problems.

However, as I sat down today to begin what promises to be a long process, I paused, looked at my notes, looked at my story document, looked back to my notes and referenced my mental solutions to the problem.

Well, shit, I said to myself. I should just rewrite the damn thing.

Not the most encouraging thought. I put aside my notes, minimized the novel document and poked around twitter and email for a little, did some browsing on programs to help authors organize novels (and came across Storybook, which I haven’t used yet, but is free and could be promising). After I stalled enough, I went back to my story and my notes.

Okay, some parts can be saved. Maybe I’m deluding myself, but I think the last half of the novel is better, mostly because it’s told in an active voice instead of trying to cover 5 years in under 40,000 words. So, maybe it’s not better, it’s just more What It Should Be, although I’m not certain about the plot part of that.

Of course, I’m still in the position where half my novel needs to be rewritten and instead of doing that (by the deadline of Nov. 1, no less), I just want to throw my hands in the air and say, “I quit. This one won’t be made into a book, fuck it!”

Which is quickly followed by considering how disappointed my brother would be in me and, honestly, how disappointed I’d be in myself. And I don’t want to abandon this work. I feel like it has potential. I love Coren (Royce, even though he’s the main character, is not my favorite…somehow). I like the world it resides in, although I now see that the world in my head is not the one I put onto paper (another major rewrite).

So what am I going to do?

Honestly, I don’t know yet. It won’t get abandoned into the ether. It won’t get tossed in the garbage. It won’t be submitted as is, that’s for certain. The question remains, then, is how much editing am I going to do to it? Am I going to hobble together the good pieces, rework and add what needs to be done and then see how it turns out, OR am I going to open a new blank document and start over? I can’t imagine doing the latter, although writing that much in 4 months isn’t impossible, just terrifying.

Mostly I just needed to write this down—to face my demons, so to speak—before coming to a decision. I hope to make an update tomorrow on where CL is headed.

Making plans

So after some conversations with friends and family and the (far) looming date of Nanowrimo, I’ve made some decisions and deadlines.

First I need to finish the current story I’m working on (and not get immediately distracted by another). I’ve no idea how long that’s going to take, but hopefully not all summer 🙂

After I finish that story, I’m going to work on CL, because it’s long overdue. My plan is to get it finished before November. Finished enough to be submitted somewhere, now that I know more about the major works that need to be done to it.

And that’ll leave November open to writing 50,000 words on a new story.

So…that’s that.

Good luck!

ETA: I forgot to mention that I’m going to take a month–at some point–to only read non-romance novels. Depending on how it goes will determine if I continue it (and slowly re-include romance novels) or just admit to myself that I’ll be reading fluff for the rest of my days :). I’m compiling a list, so we’ll see how that goes.

It’s a Gender Thing…or not

I had the beginnings of this blog entry all written out–in my head. The problem was that I was driving and it made transcribing very difficult. Actually, kind of impossible. So now I just have to rant and hope it comes out okay.

I was having a discussion with someone (female, woman) and she was, like so many others, complaining about her husband. I didn’t mind that; we all have issues to get off our chests. (Her main issue was she would ask her husband to do something and he’d say he’d get to it and then wouldn’t, or wouldn’t when she wanted it done.) But then she kept saying “men always,” “what is it with men,” “men are so” and so forth. And it bothered me. A lot. Probably more than it should have.

But why do we have to take what one person (in this case, husband) is doing, and blame an entire group on it? Okay, what she was describing is similar to behaviors my father exhibits, but my friend B doesn’t act like that, and while my brother B may, I’m pretty sure he doesn’t do it to the same extent. In fact, I would probably do it more than both B’s, just because I don’t like doing things when people tell me to. I need a broad deadline and I’ll get it done before then, but not NOW. I need to work under my own schedule.

Does that make me more of a man than them? No, of course not. Because being a man isn’t (strictly) a set of behaviors. Behaviors, like so many other things, are individual traits that cross over groups. And I’m sick of people putting all groups together as one, especially with negative traits. If you’re going to do it, use the phrase “why are some men so..” etc.

Women would be pissy if a man said “women are so defenseless and weak,” wouldn’t they? Well, then, women should offer men the same respect. I know there are double standards all over the place; it doesn’t mean I have to put up with it.

People are individuals, let’s treat them that way.

(And in case you were wondering, I told the person I was talking to that no, the behavior she was describing was in fact her husband’s behavior and not that of all men. I think she got the point.)

Is it any good?

As you may know, I tend to have difficulties focusing on one story that I’m writing, which is fine, as it lets me jump heads from my insecure, modern-day PR person to my apocalyptic, self-secure wizard. (Those being my two main stories at the moment. The trans-man story may not go anywhere, as ze is being very difficult.) This is, of course, because I get inspired by something, bored by what I’m writing, etcetera. My muses are fairly active, even if they do tend to only do half their job (“OH, HEY, LOOK, AN IDEA. Plot? You’re on your own sweetheart.”) I have a notebook of jotted down ideas that will one day, hopefully, be written.

But are they any good?

I try not to think of my books in any particular genre, because I think good books transcend genres and should be judged as just being good books. However, my books would most likely be tagged as M/M romance (and that’s who I’ll sell to, when I get there). The romance genre never had a great rep, and the same holds true for its gay brethren. However, the romance (M/M in particular) doesn’t have to be what a romance is. If that made any sense. Ignoring the influx of bad writing that e-books permits, there is a wide range of M/M romance, some of which probably shouldn’t be considered romance. If you consider something like Aleksandr Voinov’s Scorpion to ZA Maxfield’s All Stirred Up, the only thing they have in common is that they have two men as the leads and sex happens between those two men. All Stirred Up is a more traditional romance or chicklit, while Scorpion reads more like a military fantasy novel. And yet they are both “M/M Romance” and sold by companies that sell M/M romances. But Scorpion would probably never (currently) be sold as a fantasy novel, because it contains *gasp* gay sex. Yet there are plenty of other fantasy novels that contain sex, a romance thread, and are not shelved as a romance.

I apologize, I’ve gotten terribly off topic. That was a rant about how because there are gay characters, the books tend to be lumped together as M/M romance because currently there are no other outlets for gay fantasy novels.

My real reason for writing is that I’m currently reading Scorpion with its deep plot and dark environment and all I can think is, “My stuff seems so trite next to this.” This happens often when I read an M/M romance book that is more than its genre. Books like Amy Lane’s Truth in the Dark, Aleksandr Voinov’s Scorpion, and Tamara Allen’s Whistling in the Dark. Yes, some of these books have strong romantic plot lines, but they are so much more than just a beach read that is the stigma of romance novels. Anyways, I read these and then I look at my own pitiful attempts and I go “why bother?”

Of course, the reason I bother (and rip my hair out, and exhaust myself and schedule time to write) is because I enjoy it. And it shuts the voices up (at least a little). But part of me still wonders why I can’t write books that transcend the genre. Do I write romance books because of my own unfulfilled romantic life? Do I not have deeper and darker books in me because I have such a happy life and am incapable of dreaming of darker things? Am I just meant to be a hack writer, putting out tawdry (or not so tawdry) romances?

Does it matter?

I write because stories I like writing and I have ideas. I can’t imagine not writing, although plenty of people don’t write ever. Of course part of me would love for my writing to be recognized by the outside world and published and maybe even, you know, read by an audience. So it shouldn’t matter what I write, as long as I am happy and my audience is happy. But that doesn’t make the yearning to write a darker piece any less irritating.

But maybe I’ll write a deeper piece without meaning to, and someone else will write a blog entry just like this using my story as an example.

I can only hope 🙂