As I mentioned in an earlier post, I’ve inherited my great-grandma’s typewriter, and yesterday I finally received the ink ribbons to go with it.  It works perfectly.  I was stunned when I first laid my fingers on the keyboard to type and it responded with even greater sensitivity than my laptop’s keyboard.  I was prepared to pound my fingers on the keys, but this puppy is digital — the immediate precursor to computers — and it knows my thoughts and has them on the page before I can even make the strokes.  Awesome.

I’ve been doing a lot of editing lately — and I do mean a lot — so my two WIPs have been going slowly, writing-wise, moreso on “Hellborn” than on “In a Darkened Garden.”  I think my problem is that I’m trying to edit as I write my rough drafts, which, as we all know, is completely counter-productive.  On a computer, I can write a paragraph and then think, ”Oh no!  That’s terrible!” and edit for a few hours.  But on a typewriter, once you’ve typed it, the words are out there.  Done.  Sure, you can revise it– if you want to retype everything.  But that’s a lot of effort, and I’m super lazy.

Last night, I pounded out ten pages of type-written material within an hour (and that includes all the fiddling I did to figure out how to format the pages semi-neatly)..  I think it feels like writing on a typewriter is giving myself permission to write badly, which is really what you need to do in a rough draft, so I didn’t worry about phrasing things well or putting together a good sentence or anything else like that.  I just… wrote.  I haven’t done that in ages.  It felt amazing.

What do you guys do to find your productivity when it’s gone into hiding?

I’m inheriting an IBM typewriter from my Great-Grandma, who passed on just a few years ago.  She was a writer, too, and she kept trying to get her manuscript together until she died, even though she was battling the loss of her coherence to dementia.  She was an amazing woman.  Super epic badass.  She was born before the Titanic hit an iceberg and was bleaching streaks of white in her hair to express her individuality before World War II.  There’s nobody in the world cooler than my Great-Grandma.  Period.  Getting to write on her typewriter is so awesome.

Also, I just “discovered” pre-Christian Basque mythology.  I was trying to think of what kind of hell-beasts and whatnot would logically reside in northern Nevada, where my books take place, and it occurred to me that the Basques have quite a considerable presence in the area (including great food).  I wasn’t sure if they would have mythology of their own, since I’m dreadfully ignorant, but I’m thrilled to discover that they do!  And it’s so interesting and neat.  *singsong*  I have some new creatures for my boo-ooks… */singsong*

It’s really no secret amongst those in the Inner Sanctum (ie “serious” writers) that writers spend very little time actually writing.  I know, it’s sacrilege to say it.  Of course we spend hours at a time sweating on the keyboard, making the joints in our fingers explode from the typing, pulling out our hair, bouncing our legs, chewing on pencils, and ultimately coming out with amazing prose.

What total BS.

A lot of my “writing time” isn’t spent in front of the computer at all.  A lot of it spent gazing out a car window with my chin on my hand, seeing demons and angels instead of endless plains of sagebrush.  A lot of it is spent in the shower with hot water pounding on my back, blinking soap out of my eyes, and trying to imagine what a den of blood-suckers would smell like.  A lot of it is spent rambling at my husband, who nods helpfully and offers often-ridiculous plot ideas just to show he’s listening.  (I married the bastard for a reason.)  A lot of it is spent stretched out in bed, my fat cat laying on my hips to my chin, purring and cleaning the same spot on my wrist for hours while I dream of conversations.  A lot of it is spent nibbling at a peanut butter and jelly sandwich in front of my screen, reading what I’ve already written.

Of course, this isn’t to say I don’t have more productive periods.  I once wrote 50,000 words in two days.  That was pretty much non-stop writing for twelve to sixteen hours straight on those two days, and that’s the image a writer wants to project: productivity.  Also, when I’m editing, I can usually do that for hours on end, since it takes less creativity and more objective, analytical thought.  However, this sort of thing is rare.  I try to spend as much of my supposed writing time in my home office with the door locked to help me look more productive, while really I’m slurping tea by the gallons and playing a video game (what us gaming writers affectionately call ”brain-storming”).

How do you kindly folks spend your writing time?  And if you say “I actually write the whole time,” I’ll either laugh at you in disbelief or hate you forever.  Risk it if you dare.  *piercing stare*

I think all writers who take themselves seriously will eventually question whether they would rather make themselves happy or write something that could be commercially viable.  Sometimes, what a writer loves to create has commercial potential, and they are the lucky kind; the rest of us are forced to occasionally make sacrifices to make something that we don’t like as much, but everyone else will like more.

In editing my manuscript, I’ve come across this little dilemma in a couple places, primarily in the characterization of the hero.  I’ve been told she isn’t relatable enough.  I have the choice between making her more like the popular heroines of urban dark fantasy (a sexy, witty, smart-aleck), or going in the opposite direction and perhaps making her completely alien to the reader.  This is what makes me happy: a socially dysfunctional semi-sociopath with no ability to empathize with people, driven to be good only by the knowledge that it’s the “right” thing to do, and a fragile relationship with morality.  Most people are not sociopaths, however, and it’s hard for a reader to relate to such a cold character.  On occasion, though, she does have a true emotional outburst, and it’s spectacular when she does.  Such outbursts are rare, and only one or two make appearances later in the book, so the opportunities for a reader to sympathize with her are few and far between.

That is what I like, but frankly, I don’t think it will sell.  This is why I’m asking myself if I would rather make a living off my writing or if I should just write it the way I like it.  I do think if I write something I love, there will be people who love it with me.  Passion is contagious.  I would someday like to live off my writing, though, and it’s a risky move to do something different and potentially unpopular with the hero of my series.

What do you guys think?  Is it sellable?  Should I even care if it isn’t?

Work, work, work.  My writing site has been completely redone from the front page down (check it out here), and it’s been quite an educational experience.  I haven’t really hand-coded a site since the days of animated .GIF backgrounds and MIDIs, so trying to make it all XHTML 1.0 compliant with the shiny CSS to match has been both fun and frustrating.  I’m only twenty-one and I’m a web mastering biddy.  Whodathunk?

I finished second draft edits last week, and five queries have been sent out so far for “Death’s Hand.”  Two have come back rejections (although one with the aforementioned positive note), and I’m trying to stay upbeat.  It’s been a long time since I’ve put myself out there for judgment, and as any writer can tell you, it’s not easy.

A few people have volunteered to read my manuscript so far, and the offer is out there for other people too.  At the moment, I’m only accepting offers from people I’ve known for a long time, such as those from Cipher and my writing groups.  I really appreciate the voices of support from lurkers and friends who haven’t been around as long, but I’m staying cautious for now and keeping things close to the chest.  I might change my mind later and get back to you folk, though, so hang tight. 

I know I have quite a few friends on the submissions warpath at the moment.  How’s it going for you all?

Edits continue. I’m on page 174 now, and I’ve cut about twenty pages out throughout the book. Most of my notes are scribbled suggestions at how to improve the flow of the sentence or big blobs crossed with an X to indicate a cut.

Just now, I reached this passage: “Elise gripped Daniel’s wrist. She didn’t say what she was thinking, but he suspected it involved several expletives. He felt much the same. Daniel shifted so his hand squeezed hers, and he hoped it was comforting.”

This is my note on the page.

Very constructive. Way to go Bethany.

I received my first rejection for the newest draft of Death’s Hand.  The agency seemed pretty eager to read my sample work, and it took them awhile to reject it (which might be a good sign, but is most likely due to the insane workload of the publishing world).  What’s best about this rejection, though, is that it came along with a personal note at the bottom:

I’ve gotten a similar remark before for another manuscript.  “Great story, cool premise, no emotional connection to the characters.”  Even though it’s always awesome — really awesome — to get a personal note,  the similarity to that rejection note a couple years ago stings.  Apparently, for all that I’ve advanced as a writer lately, the improvements have been largely technical and not artistic.

It’s quite possible that another agent later on will look at my novel and say, “Hey, strong premise and background, and I like the characters!”  It’s a subjective business, after all.  I can’t help but feel, however, that this is a greater problem with both my writing and myself.  My failure to connect to other people and experience normal empathy has translated into characters the reader won’t connect with, either.  Bah.  Bah humbug.  Still, I’m thrilled that my first rejection featured a personalized note.  It means that I don’t suck; I genuinely wasn’t a right fit for this particular agency.  Too bad– they seem like a really strong, awesome feminist business, and I would have loved to join in the fun.

Never before has my emotional reaction to a rejection been so mixed.  I want to preen about my positive rejection (and so early in the submissions process!), but I also feel crushed that I still can’t make characters people care about right off the bat.  It’s good to have a strong premise and sound story, but if you have weak characters, it ruins the whole pot.  Conversely, strong characters can really carry a weak premise (I mean, look at all that pop women’s lit that repeats the same thing about how fat the main character feels even as she’s passionate about shoes).

This is something I need to work on.  Badly.

My weekend has been intense so far.  I literally did nothing today and yesterday evening except edit my book.  Again, my feelings are mixed; parts of the book are awesome, and parts are so shitty I just want to turn off my computer and dedicate the rest of my life to playing video games.  It’s fun and wearying.  But this rejection is quite motivational– once I finish line edits, I’m going to go back to the early chapters and really figure out what makes them so emotionally uninteresting.  Hopefully I’ll learn something valuable that I can apply to the rest of the book.

Goodness me, I didn’t realize how long it had been since I blogged.  Way to live up to my own tagline of ”a much neglected journal.” 

Last night, I sat down in my office shortly before five o’clock, and I didn’t leave until eight.  I only got up from my chair for an occasional thirty-second dance break (sometimes a song comes on my Pandora I just HAVE to belly dance to, and judging by the pops in my back when I do so, occasional motion is much-needed when I’m working), but the rest of the 3+ hours was spent working hard on second draft edits for “Death’s Hand.”  I haven’t done such a large chunk of work on the second draft since… well… ever.  Three hours might not sound like much to you, but since I’d only just gotten off my Real Job at four and I went to bed by eight-thirty, that was pretty much my whole, tired evening.

I think I’ve made pretty good progress on shiny-fying the book so far, although I’m still less than a hundred pages in.  Sometimes I feel like I’m just trying to make a pile of crap look like gourmet, but last night I started seeing some little things in it here and there that made me suspect I might actually be cooking gourmet (if that metaphor makes any sense, which it probably doesn’t).

A couple things helped.  One is my office– I have a whole room to myself in my house, so I can shut the door and keep out cats and The Husband (although he’s very respectful of my Writing Urges and hopes one day he can make a living off being my personal assistant so I don’t really need to lock him out).  Another is the routine of sitting down, starting the music, opening a beer (just one beer, thanks), and facing down an overwhelming stack of pages that I’ve scribbled all over and need to transfer on the computer.

Possibly most motivational, though, was a reread of Stephen King’s “On Writing.”  It’s easily the best book about writing I’ve ever read, even though 80% of it is a memoir of King’s life.  Somehow, reading about the events in his life that formed him as a writer and surrounds him now in his career is so profound that it makes me examine my own motivations and the events that have made me a writer, and subsequently helps create those aforementioned Writing Urges.  Ultimately, the book isn’t about writing at all; it’s about life, and the things that we need in order to breathe and keep going and survive horrible car accidents.  He does have some really good advice about the craft, though, even if I don’t necessarily agree with everything he says.

I think “Death’s Hand” is generally going well, and that makes me happy.  It’s on an agent’s desk at the moment, being perused and carefully thought about and they’re probably drafting a nice, long letter about how wonderful it is.  Ha!  Just kidding.  I’m sure it’s in their slush pile, waiting to be glanced at so they can shuffle off a form rejection (as agents have to do, considering their volume of work).  Once they do, it’ll be on to another place or six.  But I think this book is The One (I hope I hope).

In writing unrelated news, I’m finally 21.  After having spent all my life being too young to do many things, I’m at last old enough (whatever that means).  I celebrated by being one of the few women married to a man dancing at gay bars. 

How’s everybody else’s writing going?

I just received word that the e-magazine, Drops of Crimson, has accepted one of my horror stories for their late-December issue.  The story, “Another Victory,” is about the most eventful night in the (short) lives of a young couple, and will be available to read for free on their site very soon!  I’ll let everyone know when it’s up.

Unfortunately, I also recently learned that an anthology one short story of mine was going to appear in has been canceled after much deliberation, thanks to the poor market for anthologies.  “Something Wrong” was very well received by several publishers, though, so I hope to find a new home for it soon.  I’m a little disappointed about the anthology, but I was expecting it and am frankly kind of relieved.  The publisher really dropped the ball, and I’m glad to have the story free and available for placement somewhere better.

While looking up some publishing folk I want to meet, I realized that one prominent editor in particular will be attending a convention in Portland, Oregon at the end of November.  So I’m waiting to buy my wedding ring (if that shows you my priorities) and instead will be attending the convention.  Is anyone else going to OryCon 30?

The person I hope to meet is Ginjer Buchanan, the Executive Senior Editor at Ace Books these days.  Back in the nineties she edited book extensions of TV shows– Highlander and Quantum Leap in particular.  Time moves fast, and I doubt she’ll remember, but when the Quantum Leap series was big, she worked with my mom.  In fact, a book of my mom’s called “Royal Flush” was slotted for publication, and Ginjer began parading mi madre at conventions as “the next member of her flock.”  But then, as publishing fate would have it, the Quantum Leap series ended, and the publisher put out a final book for conclusion where my mother’s was going to be.

It’s kind of funny, but Ginjer was a fairly prominent figure in my childhood.  I remember my mom getting excited whenever she called and making me sit quiet as they spoke about getting “Royal Flush” put together, and the despair she felt when another book was put in her place instead.  She bought the last novel with no little amount of bitterness– my mom wanted to be a professional writer (rather than a “freelance writer”) for many years, and it was painful for her to get so close and fall short.  She never really picked herself up, writing-wise, after that.  I think the other book is still on her shelf somewhere, dusty and unread and nothing but a painful memory.

But like I said, publishing moves fast.  She’s a big shot now and probably doesn’t remember my mom’s near-miss, or even her name, but I hope if I get the opportunity to introduce myself I can give a brief mention of my mother and stick in her mind just a little bit more than the other writers at the conference.  I’ve ordered business cards and I’m making reservations.  If anything, I can network with other industry professionals and take part in a workshop or two.