Long Dry Spring into Summer

I’ve always been the kind of person who tries to keep their mouth shut if I don’t have anything relevant to say, and it’s felt like I’ve had mental amnesia for the last few months, and this blog has truly suffered. If there is anyone out there who, in the past, has followed it, I sincerely apologise.

This is supposed to be a writing blog. I’m not a particularly ‘private’ person...in fact I’d go so far as to say I’m quite capable of telling people far more than they want to know about supposedly private things. However, the journey that brought me to the point where I even WANTED to blog was taken on the road to publication. I didn’t think it fair or particularly wise to share more intimate details of my life in general with the world at large. My life is intertwined with so many other people’s—my husband, children, friends outside of the writing world who have no need or wish for wider publicity—I didn’t, and still don’t, think it would be right.

So what happens when my life outside of writing takes a left at WTFville? I find myself with nothing relevant to say about writing, stop blogging for a while and hunker down, trying to get a handle on it. I even sometimes stop writing, although that is a painful and rather depressing place to be. I take my hat off to the bloggers who always seem to have something interesting to impart. Me? Sometimes I just have to keep my mouth shut, so as not to cross the line into the forbidden territory of sharing stuff no one on the internet really needs to know.

Having said all that, I have to say I’m slowly getting back to a place where writing is at, perhaps not the forefront of life again, but certainly closer to pole position. I have some exciting news I’ll be sharing with my blog readers soon, and next month I’ll be the wrangler for the Samhellion, the Samhain author’s official newsletter. The theme for the month will be History and Research...right up my alley!

So if in the past you’ve been a reader of my blog, and wondered why I fell off the edge of the earth...can I tell you, WTFville is not the kinda place I would wish for anyone to have to visit. It’s too damned easy to get lost going through there, and sometimes feels like you might never get back out. But sometimes, just sometimes, the light at the end of the tunnel isn’t a train.

A Hint of Wicked is, well, wicked!

With all the craziness, I missed my good friend and critique partner, Jennifer Haymore’s release date for her Regency set, A Hint of Wicked.

My bad!

Okay, to be honest, I’ve enjoyed this book from the very first time I saw it as a beta reader, and I’m thrilled beyond words to finally see it in print. I'm also so very happy to see I'm not the only one who appreciates Jennifer's amazing plot and prose. She's garnered some amazing reviews. And yes, you can eat your heart out...I have a signed copy of this gorgeous and enthralling tale in my grubby little hands.

Now I’ll be pestering the author to get the sequel, A Hint of Scandal, finished...
*cracks whip*

How things change!

So I went to visit my pal, Franny, of ParaNovelGirls and what does she do? She not only feeds me delicious things I shouldn't eat, puts me up for the night, introduces me to her gorgeous family and lets me hear a fox in the wild for the first time (VERY FREAKY when it's at two in the morning, on a full moon night) but when I was leaving she gave me a bag of books.

So what? I hear you ask.

A GARBAGE BAG OF BOOKS.

Yeah, you read right, a garbage bag...

I could see the look on my husband's face when I walked in with it but, bless him, he said nothing. I was on hiatus from writing, and reading is just as good in keeping me mellow (that's my story, and I'm sticking to it).

That bag of books ranged from newer releases to some older stuff, and it's the older stuff that made me realise how things have changed in the last number of years, and also how true it is that you can get away with breaking some of the writing rules.

First I read a couple of old Nora Roberts books, Truly Madly Manhatten (2003) and part of the Donovan Legacy series, Entranced (1992). I'll be the first to admit I haven't read a Queen Nora in a while, although I have read several in the past. What did I learn from those older books? Nora Roberts head-hops- a lot - or used to anyway. But the only reason I noticed is because I'm a writer too. I never gave it a second thought when reading BD BW (Back in the Day, Before Writing). What Nora Regina has is the ability to tell a damned good story, and that reinforces what I've believed for a long time: a great storyteller trumps a great technician every time. I don't think it means I, or any other writer, can get away with sloppy craft. Just that if you have the gift of being able to pull the reader (read editor or agent, first and foremost) completely into the tale, maybe you can get away with some of the writing habits touted as 'verboten.'

Or is it that with so many of us striving for the few publishing spots, publishers/editors/agents can now be extra picky? Hmmm....

Another book I read was Donna Kauffman's The Legend MacKinnon (1999) and the first thing that struck me, as I read the back blurb was, "Why wasn't this a series?" Series seem to be all the rage now. Then I laughed to myself. I'm one of the people who really sees both sides of the issue, even though I don't like this particular trend much. On the one hand it's great for a writer/publisher to have a series of interconnected books coming out at intervals, hopefully with the readers salivating for the next one. On the other hand, what the hell is wrong with a stand-alone book? Sometimes I really just want something I can read all the way through without any unresolved questions. I also think some authors just don't know when to quit and series go on far too long, becoming either predictable or too complex.

And it seems a shame when I hear of a book being rejected by a publishing house because they can't figure how to make it into a series. Not everything should be a series...some books are grand just as they are. (And no...it wasn't one of my books that was rejected that way! Such a cynical world we live in, I thought I'd just say...)

Sure, Ms. Kauffman might have been able to expand the three interconnected stories in The Legend MacKinnon into three books. There was enough plot there, although the timeline would have had to be severely altered. But would it have been as much fun to read? Probably not.

Word Power

I've been on a self-enforced and necessary break from my keyboard but, like any other addict, I just haven't been able to stay away from loops and feeds. Getting my fix of reviews, commentary and snark just never gets old. People, with all their myriad complexities, are facinating. And scary. The sneaky bitch-assery they do to get their point across blows my mind. The fact that they think they're being clever, even when the true intent shines through like a beacon, makes me chuckle. The overabundance of anger evident in some posts just makes me sad. I definitely don't subscribe to the "If you don't have anything nice to say" school of thought, but I also don't subscribe to the 'let me rip you a new one' school either. For me moderation, or a clearly defined style of snark, work a lot better.

And please note I said 'snark,' not vitriol/rage/destructiveness.

Whether we like it or not, words have power. Whether we like it or not, our opinions are simply that--OUR opinions. Just because I don't believe something to be right, or even true, doesn't mean someone else who holds the opposing opinion is necessarily wrong. I learned that a long time ago, forced into the realisation by circumstances and my wise grandfather's words:

"There are three sides to ever story; yours, mine, and the truth."

And often the truth resides in the gray areas we don't want to inhabit or even examine. In this hard-edged world people seem determined to be the blade, the stabbing point, the bludgeon. Slice, dice, obliterate the "enemy,"; be heard by screaming the loudest, even if what they're screaming is opinion, unsupported by anything other than conviction that they're RIGHT, DAMMIT! Often there is no hesitation, no apparent urge to temper a response, even though it will cause pain, escalate conflict, make someone else feel small or stupid. Debates aren't won that way; they're destroyed, and in the destruction is also lost the chance to listen, to learn and to grow.

Goosebump making diversions

I write about love...so I thought this was appropriate. Bob knew the true international magic of music, and I can't watch these videos without feeling choked up. The following video is even more poignant. Halle Salassie's words are as timely and important today as they were when he spoke them in front of the UN..."Until the philosophy which holds one race superior and another inferior is finally and perminently discredited and abandoned, everywhere is war..." While I love the whole idea of Playing for Change, I will admit to loving, above all else, Bob's version of 'War'.

Out of the mouths...

I have to admit some of the conversations I have with my son could very well be classified as unconventional, and this one ranks right up there with the best of them. First, a little background...my son is fifteen, and quite mature in many respects. He's also a thinker, given to coming out with pronouncements so clear sighted I wonder why he isn't doing better than he is in school! I should also tell you I don't hide what it is I write from him, although he's (obviously) not allowed to read any of it.

So...I'm cruising the blogs and happen to mention to him the growing popularity with m/m romances, many of which are written by women, for women. He looks at me for a long moment, then shrugs. "I can see that," he says, to my surprise. "What do you mean?" I ask. "Well," he replies, "How different is that from all the girl-on-girl stuff men write?"

That blew me away, because honestly I'd never looked at it that way before. But he was right, and looking at it from that angle, it became logical and very understandable.

Then he grinned and added, "Of course, there is one major difference. The stuff you guys write probably has to have a plot."

After I finished laughing and picked myself up off the floor, I decided I wasn't going to make any inquiries into his obvious familiarity with porn...making a fuss would be, I think, rather hypocritical!

My apologies to LOLcatz

I couldn't resist...meet Mo.

Blame it on the gremlins

After seeing thorough chastisements in all the places where people have been expressing disgust at Amazon's latest stupidity, including being told we're paranoid, spouting off without having the facts, seeing bogies where none exist, etc. the only response from the corporate behemoth is the old saw about all of this being a "glitch" which will be remedied soon.

If we (romance writers, and erotic/GLBT writers in particular) are simply throwing conspiracy theories around, I know which group I'd propose as the power behind this act, just to shit-disturb. Who suffers most from egg on their face when authors like Erastes and Alex Beecroft threaten to challenge the 'tried and true', being put out by the usual suspects, on the best-sellers list?

Unfortunately, that's just my late-night, over-active, insomnia stressed imagination at work...but damn, that would be fun. Disillutioned as I am with the workings of the world, I have to look for my amusement where I can find it...

I'm preparing to be tickled even further tomorrow, as the PR machine at Amazon churns out spin to try and recover from this friendly fire incident. I feel rather sorry for 'Ashlyn D', who replied to Mark Probst's inquiry. Girlie, you're probable gonna get thrown under the bus by management, with a big sign saying "Scapegoat" hanging around your neck.

That's the way of the world...and frankly it sucks.

Crazy people, crazy times

Just when you think "civilization" has moved past the blatant bigotry of the past, Amazon makes you realise sheer stupidity and ass-wipe prejudice hasn't died: it was just waiting to find a powerful, fucked-up jackass corporation to lead the charge.

In a move of monumental ridiculousness, Amazon has stripped sales figures and rankings from a wide selection of books they deem to have "adult content." To put it into context, they have decided to to exclude GLBT, erotica and some romance novels from their rankings, which converts into those books not showing up on best seller lists and even on searches done within Amazon. From what I have been able to glean, the main thrust of this book banning exercise is to get all books with any mention of gay, lesbian, transexual or bi-sexual relationships out of the public's view.

To experience the ridiculousness of what they are doing, please visit Meta Writer, for their list of books that have had their sales ranks removed. I'll quote one thing, of the many, that caught my eye in that list. Regarding the stripping of sales rank from The Well of Lonliness by Radclyffe Hall, there was this brief note: "(the only "sex scene" in The Well of Loneliness consists in its entirety of the words "And that night they were not divided.")"

Frankly, no matter how you look at it, it's censorship, pure and simple, with a thick, nasty overcoat of bigotted prejudice.

Sarah, from the Smart Bitches website, has created a new definition for Amazon Rank and it says it all far better than I ever could.

I'm not the combative type, but Amazon is really starting to piss me the hell off. I keep picturing Bezos as The Brain, with the guy who suggested this fuckery as Pinky, saying, "Gee Brain, what do you want to do tonight?" and Bezos replying, "The same thing we do every night, Pinky--try to take over the world."

Amazon...you're gonna have to go through a bunch of us first.

Not so funny ad rant

Anyone else notice the preponderance of goofy men in television ads? Whether oblivious, stupid or silly, it seems to me there are fewer and fewer “normal” men being portrayed in television advertising. Jackasses abound. One builds a deck in his living room as a way to avoid responding properly to, “Honey, we need to talk,” another is so intent on his hamburger he fails to hear his wife say she wants to try for a fifth child. There is the office yoghurt stealer, the slightly demonic looking red-head who seems pleased to inform his wife they will, indeed, one day have arthritis, and the two dads having the late-night snack, sobbing to each other about crying babies.

I’m getting really annoyed. The numb-nuts who runs into his sliding glass door was bad enough, but this is getting truly aggravating.

I love TV ads. They’re like the cartoon strips of television. My son and I have spent many a happy hour yucking it up over them (poor soul inherited my sense of humour) but I’m finding less and less of them to enjoy. The Ikea ads amuse me. My co-workers had to get used to occasionally hearing me say, “Start the car! Start the car!” at the end of a shift. No matter what I’m doing I can’t help stopping and watching the kitchen ad with the guy raging in the background and the Antonio Banderas-like voice over. Those are funny. The people look normal but not cartoonish. In most other ads the men fall into two categories: the bumbling fool or the too-cool-for-normal-guy-with-buckets-of-money. How f***ing sad is that?

Ads have tropes too, but what are the advertisers trying to say with these doofus ads? “Women, if you’re married to or dating the guy who wears expensive cologne, drinks $40-a-shot liquor, or drives the $40,000.00 car, then good on you. If not, we know you’re married to an idiot—and you are the real brains behind the outfit?” What ever happened to the idea of partnership in marriage and relationships?

Even in the world of romance writing we’ve come to the point (ab-awesome covers notwithstanding) where we realise we need to make our heroes and heroines more accessible to the readers. I wonder if that was the tack advertisers were trying to take...if so, for this viewer anyway, they’ve missed the mark by a mile. There’s enough bashing, both male and female, going on in the world without them jumping on the bandwagon. Funny is one thing, but these ads make men look like a bunch of absolute losers. Its swung so far I can’t even find them amusing anymore—just enraging, and saddening too.

Blog wandering

Since I've confessed to my growing blog habit, I figured it might be fun to occasionally talk about some of the blogs I find interesting. It's a big ol' blogsphere out there, but that's half the fun of it...

In the blog vein, I discovered a blog called “The Red Brick Store,” where writers of the Mormon faith have banded together to offer advice and support to each other on their writing journeys. First let me say, I don’t belong to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, but the way I found this blog is fairly typical of my strange blog wanderings.

A fellow author posted on a loop saying she had just gotten a somewhat unusual review, along with the link to the blog where the review (or perhaps anti-review) was posted. I was curious (what’s new, right?) and went to the blog to check it out.

I was a little surprised by the post, and frankly by the Samhain author and her actions which lead to the post too, but that’s perhaps another story altogether. Sufficed to say, I thought such archaic notions of gender held by the author had gone out with the Ark. Anyway, the end result was that I found the blog refreshing and interesting (although not enough to add to my growing RSS feed list) and, as is my habit, decided to see what other blogs that blogger liked. And that eventually led me to The Red Brick Store, and the reaffirmation of something I’ve long believed—that our differences, one human from the next, simply serve to emphasise our similarities.

At the Red Brick Store they talk about the difficulty of being true to both their religion and also their artistic visions. They elucidate the difficulties of forging a new literary path within the confines of the Mormon culture. Support is offered to each other as they individually struggle to find the time, and give themselves permission to find that time, to write. A post by Lisa Torcasso-Downing called, 'My House is a Mess' made me both smile and want to cry. She could be my secret twin, separated by distance and culture, nurtured into a different reality but my soul-mate by nature and desire and need.

The bloggers at the Red Brick Store are bound by their faith, and while I can’t join with them in that respect, I hope they won’t mind my following along with their journey. It isn’t much different from my own, although driven by different forces, but that’s another tale to be told another time.

My Blog Obsession

So I finally broke down and started subscribing to feeds because I kept finding all these fascinating blogs I wanted to go back to over and over again. Now, I know many of you are thinking either, “What’s the big deal?” or “Why did you hold off?” and I can’t blame you. It makes sense to subscribe to a feed if you often read the blog, but the reality is I get obsessed with things if I’m not careful. Bad enough to waste time checking my email five-hundred times a day, but to add feeds to the mix? The time wasting possibilities become endless.

Case in point...I started with maybe five feeds I read on a regular basis. Two weeks later, there are thirteen blogs in my list, and a couple more I just haven’t remembered to add. The possibilities just keep expanding. I’ll be posting every now and then on some of the things I’ve discovered during this around-the-world-of-blogs tour.

P.S Reminded of those missing blogs by writing this post, I went back to add them—added one and found another that wasn’t on the original list...I’m a lost cause.

And Amy Ruttan was wondering why I don’t Twitter???

So which are your favourite blogs? I’m open to suggestions. Give me more to waste my time on!

Small rant...really...just a little one

So I’ve been trying to spend a bit more time cruising the blogs, just to see what people are saying and keep up with industry news and views. It’s also a good way to show support for other writers, although I don’t often comment. Seems to me I should have something interesting or informative to say before saying it, or the post is about something I really relate to. Otherwise I just browse and enjoy the variety of opinions and subjects.

For the most part I’m amused and entertained by what I come across but occasionally I have to stop and wonder about what the person posting was thinking, and it usually has nothing to do with subject. Here’s the thing...

Most of the blogs I read have something to do with writing and many are posted by writers. There’s no excuse then for the typos and poor regard for grammar I occasionally come across. In fact it’s downright silly. And I’m not talking about a single typo or strange sentence construction. That’s not a big deal. No, it’s the “I’m just dashing this off willy-nilly because I feel I should post today” blog entries that aggravate. Even worse when the writer is guest posting on someone else’s blog. Then it goes from silly to downright RUDE.

Come on! Just a little foresight will have any writer with the “who cares?” attitude to blogging giving their heads a shake. Sure, maybe the number of people who know your name as a writer right now are substantially less than you want, but who knows when that will change? Blogs are forever, as those given to making idiots of themselves find out the hard way. There have been a number of blogs shut down after their owners or moderators have committed what turned out to be extreme internet faux pas, but somehow those final crazed posts just don’t seem to go away!

A sloppy posting isn’t the same as a net-tantrum or cyber flounce, but why chance turning a prospective reader off by publishing what can be considered to be an example of your worse work?

Phew!

Well, one large project out of the way for the time being, and I'm celebrating with a libation and a quiet night, frankly too brain-dead to do much more. There are so many things I've had to put on hold the last few weeks, and so many obligations for the upcoming weeks, I'm beginning to wonder when I'll be able to put in a concentrated stretch of writing.

I'm getting realllllll antsy.

It puts me in mind of Maureen McGowan's blog post on Drunk Writer Talk, when she asked, 'what are you willing to give up?'. Honestly, I'm not sure what I have to give up now, but if I have to find something and excise it from my life to be able to continue writing, so be it! I re-discovered television in all it's varied glory this past week as I was sewing, but will happily go back to my couple of 'must sees' hereafter. Unfortunately I discovered sleep is a must-have...my already suspect brain goes to complete mush without it!

Tomorrow I'm off to the library with the youngster, who needs to do some research, so I'll take my trusty computer and settle in there for a while.

Perhaps it's the advent of spring, or just the right time, but there is a sense of anticipation bubbling inside me, as though something wonderful is just on the horizon. I received my goodie bag from Cassandra Curtis today and the contents seemed to align themselves with this feeling. I got a wonderful Strength talisman (which I'm wearing now, and intend to continue to wear) and a money spell! Hope they both work...

Speaking of the talisman: I got the best compliment ever from my son, who, after hearing what it represented, said he thought Cass picked the perfect one for me. Long may he continue to think of me that way!!

Comfort Food for my soul

Where my husband works there is a small library of books in the employee’s lunch room and the other day he brought home a real treasure: a collection of three of James Herriot’s books. This is a blast from my past. Because of Mr. Herriot’s evocative writing I wanted to be a vet. The life he described seemed like Nirvana to a young animal lover, especially one who grew up in a city and longed for country life. Unfortunately when I finally got a job working in a veterinary clinic I discovered not even James Herriot’s descriptive powers had done justice to the smell. I also discovered an aversion to hurting the animals, which is often necessary to be able to help them.

Still, re-reading these books has been a real treat and reinforced something I’ve been thinking a lot about recently. As a writer I have to be aware of my surroundings and engaged with the world. James Herriot didn’t begin writing his books until after more than twenty-five years of being in Yorkshire, yet the stories show a remarkable recall of situations, personalities and details. Without his powers of recall and description those books would have been a dry, perhaps slightly humorous, relation of facts. Instead they are a rich, warm, laugh-out-loud or bring-tears-to-your-eyes recounting of a journey scattered with characters well worth becoming acquainted with. Even after all these years I’m still riveted and the old longing reasserts itself. I want to run off to Yorkshire and become a vet.

Of course, being an unrepentant animal person who has never owned a dog or cat that was anything less than a crazy personality, these books appeal to me on so many different levels. But even if you have no interest in animals at all, they are well worth reading for the characterizations and descriptions of the landscape, people and dialogue.

For me, reading his books is like eating a favourite comfort food—satisfying, uplifting and just plain good.

Taking a Break

I took a break from my crazy great-coat sewing session yesterday to attend the live chat with artist Kim Reale Johnson, hosted by the Facebook group Red River Writers. Kim paints, and her range of subject matter intrigued me—landscapes, Ukrainian Easter eggs, and interpretations of old photographs—so I went along to listen in on how she developed as an artist. It was a lot of fun just to sit back with a cup of tea and listen to what she had to say. I might even take up her suggestion and experiment with oil painting...although when I’ll have a chance to do that remains a mystery!

That suggestion of Kim’s came when I asked her which of the various media she thought was most forgiving for someone who just wanted to explore their artistic side. I have a few painters in my family, but I can’t count myself in with them. I’m okay with sketching, even did well enough to pass my senior high-school art exam, but realistically fine art isn’t my forte. Not that I don’t love it. On the contrary, I think I love it all too well, and hate the fact that I could never produce what I envisioned each time I started a piece.

Impatience? Yes. Perfectionism? Probably more than a hint of that too. Both really bad attitudes to take into a painting project. I also stayed away from oils, feeling somehow intimidated by them for some reason. Perhaps because they were my grandmother’s medium of choice, or was it that time I got too close to one of my sister’s paintings and got red oil paint on my favourite green-and-white gingham dress? I recall my mother being quite angry about that...Who knows...

Anyway, I think for the time being I’ll stick to writing and sewing, and the occasional craft project. I have the arrival of Kim’s piece to look forward to (I won a beautiful autumn scene she was giving as a gift!) and no time to even scratch my head just now, so it’s all a moot point at the moment. The twin-pack of canvases I have stashed in my garage will go unused, although I'm now forced to wonder if somehow the hand of Fate was in play when I saw them on sale and, without any thought of what I would do with them, bought them!

Death of a Pantser

I’ve always been a pantser—starting with a basic premise, whether a character or situation or dilemma, and just writing. For a long time it worked for me just fine. Yes, on occasion I found myself abandoning a concept partway through because I’d lost interest in the story, or had written myself into a corner, but for the most part it was great.

Recently, however, I’ve begun to think I may have to make a change in my writing habits, and it corresponds, I think, to a change in my way of life.

When I started writing I was working at the mall, in one of those retail jobs that consisted mainly of standing around for a good part of the day doing mindless chores. I also took the bus to and from work. All this waiting, either for the bus, customers or even a hamburger at lunch, gave me ample time to plot the next scene, twist or plot point. By the time I got home, I was ready to sit at the computer and type away.

Well, that’s all changed. I drive to work now, am back to working retail but in a capacity that doesn’t allow for mindless standing around, and have taken on a job sewing re-enactment clothing. I still try to plot mentally as I’m doing other things, but it no longer works the way it used to. The activities I’m involved with now take up too much brain-space. I even had to stop trying to plot when I’m driving since I almost crashed one day, lost in thought, trying to decide which way I wanted to take my latest tale.

I wish I could think the problem lay somewhere else, or could be solved in another way. I’ve always said to my writing buddies that plotting was like writing the story twice and by the time I got to the end of the plotting process I was too bored with the story to try and write it out. Thinking about it though, writing is kind of like knitting a sweater. Sure, you can, if you want, simply start with your wool, a pair of needles and an idea and take it from there. There may be problems if you get halfway through and decide the pattern you created isn’t working out the way you wanted, or you realise you’ve forgotten to shape for an armhole. Then you have to pull it out and redo it, or put it down without finishing.

It’s so much easier to start with a pattern.

Yeah—whatever.

Although logically it sounds like what I need to do, I’m still resisting. It just doesn’t seem natural. I’ll give it a try and see...maybe there’s some happy medium to be found? I’m going to start with my friend and fellow writer Amy Ruttan’s suggestion—write a synopsis first, add some plot points, and THEN write the book...

I’ll let you know how it works out!

Ranting author here

Okay, so I pick up a book the other day and start to read. It’s a literary novel written by a prominent Canadian author and nominated for a very prestigious literary prize. By the time I finished skimming through it (I couldn’t bring myself to read further than a few chapters in) I was depressed, upset and, yes, a little angry too.

Isn’t it amazing that the literary devices genre writers are constantly criticized for using—the big misunderstanding, great whopping gouts of backstory, the sacrifice of communication for description, etc.—constitute genius in the hands of literary writers?

Firstly let me make it clear—I have no beef with literary novels. There have been a number I thoroughly enjoyed and they remain as keepers on my book shelf. Between their covers I found beauty and clarity of language that made my heart sing. The message transmitted by the worlds those authors carefully constructed was worth hearing, and holding on to. Not all of them were cheerful, or even uplifting. In fact there can be a special kind of emotional pain so intense as to be almost sweeter than any joy imaginable. The moment you are forced to confront your worse fear, your deepest shame, the most tightly held secret in the safety of another’s narrative is worth re-visiting.

Having said all that, I have found the same sense of wonder, joy and emotional satisfaction in genre fiction too. There are sci-fi and fantasy novels, thrillers, mysteries and romances that I will never part with, because the stories found within their covers struck the same types of emotional cords as the above-mentioned literary offerings. A great writer is, IMHO, no less great because he or she chooses to pen a romance or thriller. The ability to take us outside ourselves, make us suspend all tightly held beliefs and simply hang on for the ride, laughing, crying, screaming and, yes, on occasion creaming our panties, is not limited to those “lofty” few who swim in literary waters. In fact, in recent years I’ve found far more genre novels worth keeping than literary.

Just because a book contains a mish-mash of self-consciously overdone (and self-congratulatory) prose and imagery does not, in my eyes, make it a work of genius. If an author feels the need to be so esoteric you have to scramble for a dictionary, thesaurus or encyclopaedia (or all three) every two paragraphs or so, then something’s wrong. The object is to keep the reader in the moment, not lead him or her off on an unscheduled tangent.

Likewise it seems strange to me a piece of fiction can be lauded as an emotional tour-de-force, and yet leave me completely and utterly unmoved. I consider myself an author’s dream reader. I am open to everything—willing, no downright eager, to plunge into the world between those covers—anger, pain, joy, lust, heartache, love, hate, WHATEVER...bring it on. Just don’t bore me, or go into such minutiae my mind wanders off to other, more important things, like flossing, or laundry.

And the comments above are aimed at all writers, no matter the genre.

In the end though, what really made me angry is the realization that really good genre novelists will never be offered the kinds of prizes, awards and accolades some of these literary hacks (YES I SAID THAT BAD WORD) are. While the elite few are enjoying their grants and retreats, compliments of governments and snooty endowments, where are the incentives for genre writers? Where the encouragement and offers of help to allow them time to grow and develop? Where the respect?

Funnier yet, when you realise which of these two groups makes the bigger economic impact, selling the most books, creating the bigger cash flow. Genre fiction keeps publishing, even in its mostly archaic state, viable. Genre fiction is, and will continue to be, in the vanguard of the publishing revolution now taking place.

Not all genre fiction is good. Not all literary fiction is either. All I wish is that there was a more of an admission of those facts, and people would stop looking down on very good authors in favour of others, less deserving of the praise just because they are considered "literary".

Wow...just Wow

Having a spin through the internet, I came upon a review of a newly released book. It was, IMHO, a well-balance, well thought out review that went into a great deal more detail than many other reviews do. No, it wasn’t all complimentary. In fact it was decidedly mixed. Instead of leaving well enough alone, the author chose to jump to her own defence.

Wow…just Wow.

Now, all authors repeat after me:
I WILL NOT COMMENT ON BAD REVIEWS.

You can’t be a part of the writing world without someone telling you, overtly or indirectly, that you’re doing something wrong. It’s not only human nature, but a product of the fact we are all different people. Books that I have liked have been horribly panned by reviewers; others I thought were a pile of s**t were lauded to the sky. Reviews are, by their nature, subjective. Besides which, each of us have ready-formed likes, dislikes and pet-aversions. One man’s meat is another’s poison and all that crap. Accepting that will lead to a happier, healthier life and public image.

The author in the case I’m talking about ended up looking like a jackass…

When a reviewer says she/he didn’t like a book we’ve written, or gives a so-so review, what should we do? Best bet, I think, is to get off the internet, turn off your computer. Go for a walk, scream cry and pout if you like, but in the privacy of your own home. This does not include pouting on your blog, which is the equivalent of undressing in your unfenced front yard. Do whatever you need to release the tension—anything but reply! Perhaps a restrained, “Thank you for your review” is appropriate but anything more can only make a bad situation worse.

Believe me, I know the urge to strike back. I know it well, and very, very personally. Even now, writing this post, I have to hold back from giving voice to a rebuttal aimed at a reviewer’s comment concerning something in The Pearl at the Gate. “I can use it as an illustration of how reviewer’s prejudices can unnecessarily colour their comments,” that little must-always-be-right voice whispers in my ear.

Get thee behind me, thou feelings of being unnecessarily put-upon.

I still think that comment was ridiculous. I still want to shout it out to the world and say, ‘Everyone, back me on this. Is this or is this not the most asinine reasoning, ever???’

But I won’t.

Why? Am I chicken-shit?

Maybe…but I also have a well developed sense of self-preservation.

And a louder voice is reminding me that everyone has a right, in my world anyway, to their own opinion.

Very important, that.

Anya Revealed...sort of

So, the ladies at The Long and Short of It asked if any of the Samhain erotic writers would be interested in being interviewed for their Whipped Cream Erotic Romance Review site, and I said yes. The questions were really fun, and I had a blast answering them, but when I realised they wanted a picture to go with the interview, I was stumped.

I don’t like having pictures taken. My driver’s licence could belong to a hardened criminal, the photo is so bad. My hair is in that in-between stage where there is nothing to be done with it except find ways to con it into believing it can behave. I hate studio portraits even more than candid...

...Okay, I think you get the gist.

Maybe one day I’ll be forced to give in and get a really nice picture taken of myself for publicity purposes. In the meantime, please meet Anya Avatar (top left), who will be standing in for me in any situation where my image is requested or needed. She’s the version of me I like to portray to the world...a little sassy, fun and smiling. Please note the red dress and shoes (it’s my favourite colour despite (or because of?) the fact my mother didn’t much care for it) and the hair that looks sort of stylish instead of just out-of-control!

My son was candid enough to point out I seem to have, um, exaggerated a few attributes (I’ll leave you to guess which) but I stuck my nose in the air and told him that was what artistic license was all about.

Damn these young know-it-alls. I hope I live to see him have a bunch of kids who are just like him!