Thursday, October 26, 2017

Update



Yeah, I know. Don't say it.

Last month I swore, on here, in public, that I was going to write a minimum of 1000 words of fiction per day, every day, for 30 days. Wellllll ... I didn't. I did okay for two weeks. During that time I hit my quota twice, and got damn close to the edge at least twice more. I was writing every day and making progress. I call that a win.

Then my old bad habits reasserted themselves. I got caught up in the paid freelance work and started to let the writing slide. Then I relapsed into my computer game addiction two weekends in a row. I should probably get professional help for that.

Anyway, I'm in remission again now, so I decided to get back into the groove by joining NaNoWriMo. That's 50,000 words committed to paper and/or screen during the month of November. I've got a project in mind, a couple scenes written, a few things plotted out...

...And then I got a massive editing assignment from the publisher. Close to 400 pages with a two-week deadline. And that's just Part I. There's a Part II looming on the horizon as soon as the first one's finished. A good chunk of November just got spoken for and it hasn't even started yet.

Ever heard that old expression, "It never rains but it pours?"

Well, pour over this: I'm tackling NaNoWriMo anyway. I'm alotting myself one hour of personal writing time in the morning, with the rest of the day reserved for the work that pays for my rent and groceries. If I have any gas still left in the tank at the end of the day, I can write longhand during commercials while I've got the TV on. Or maybe even during the show. So far my favorite is Hell's Kitchen, also known as Gordon Ramsay Angles for a Class-Action Hostile Workplace Lawsuit. That's the most entertaining show I've found on TV this season, which doesn't say much for the current crop of offerings. Though RuPaul's Drag Race is coming back, so I'll reserve judgment till then.

And you folks may get a reprieve. The stats tell me somebody actually looked at this blog of mine, so maybe I won't have to resort to clickbait in order to get attention. Although I just might anyway. Let's see how I feel once November starts next week. I can always use blogging as an excuse not to write. Especially if my topic is, "The Earth has been overrun by outer-space alien hybrids, and the real Earth people have every right to be pissed about it." What am I talking about? Here's your homework: watch some of those alien/UFO shows (my personal favorite is Ancient Aliens on the History Channel) and see if you spot the same common threads and reach the same conclusion I did. And if that's not enough, you should hear my theory on the secret of Christianity. Getting page views is totally worth going to Hell for. See you soon!

Saturday, October 14, 2017

Oops. Now What?


Once upon a time there were two girls. One was named Sarah and one was named Susan. They were the bestest friends, closer than sisters. They posted selfies and praised each other on social media. They had whatever the female equivalent of a bromance is.

They were also writers. Sarah Maas created the Throne of Glass series of YA fantasy adventure books, among others. Susan Dennard wrote Truthwitch. The gushing mutual admiration continued in the Acknowledgements sections, where they sang each other’s praises in support of each other’s books. Susan even said the heroines of her book were based on Sarah and herself, and the series was inspired by their friendship.

And then, apparently, something went very, very wrong.

I learned about the mutual admiration society these two had going when I started binge reading the Throne of Glass series. It was all Susan this and Susan that and Ours Is An Epic Friendship That Will Last Beyond The End Of Time. Well, the end of time must have arrived, because around the fourth or fifth book Susan’s name vanished from the “thank you” pages. I even went back and checked over it again. Nope, she’s gone. Curious, I found a copy of Truthwitch and turned to the Acknowledgements. Plenty of mention of Sarah. That was Book 1. When Book 2 came out, Sarah’s name had likewise been scrubbed clean from the copy. Something was clearly afoot.

Bolstered by the firm belief that fans are fully entitled to be told everything about their heroes, even when it’s none of their business, I turned to that unimpeachable source, the Internetz. Social media confirmed my theory. There were rumors of a falling-out between the duo. A story they’d been writing together online ended abruptly in the middle. A fan who saw them on a writers’ panel at a con reported they made a point of completely ignoring each other.

Details were skimpy. Sarah didn’t say anything. Susan posted a vaguely-worded Tweet referring to “toxic friendships” and “standing up to bullies.” They just don’t make epic friendships like they used to.

My first thought was: Susan’s book was inspired by their relationship. Now that the friendship’s gone bust, what’s going to happen to her series?

Because these aren’t ebooks, where (at least in my experience) each book is an individual item, even if it’s part of a series, and each one gets its own separate contract. This is Big Time Publishing, in print and in bookstores. I’m betting they signed multi-book contracts. It’s not uncommon for traditional publishers to sign an author for two or three or even more books on one contract, even if the first book was meant as a standalone. The author agrees to deliver Book 1 by a certain date, Book 2 by a later date, and so on. Which means if your inspiration dries up, or you get sick, or have a religious conversion and only want to write sonnets praising Buddha now, too bad. You’re still on the hook to produce those books you agreed to write when you signed on the dotted line. Otherwise you have to give back the advance. Dunno if interest is included.

I hope Susan didn’t lock herself in for too many books on her contract. I don’t imagine it’s fun for her writing about those characters at this point, what with all the bad feelings it must be stirring up. The character based on her former bestie might do an about-face and suddenly become the bad guy. Or die. Horribly. That’s one way to get closure.

Hey, we’re writers. It happens. Sometimes the well runs dry, with or without loss of a friendship. Conan Doyle got so sick of writing about Sherlock Holmes he killed off his most famous character. Then had to bring him back due to popular demand. Ditto for J. K. Rowling. She didn’t kill off Harry Potter, but by now I’ll bet she wishes she had that luxury. She said all she had to say on the subject, wrapped up the series, and attempted to write other things. The public, or maybe her publisher, said, “Write more Harry Potter.” So she’s back to writing about wizards and such, and no doubt grumbling under her breath all the way to the bank.

I’ve had series die out on me, for one reason or another. You get distracted by having to earn a living. Or interest fades. Or you get bored. Inspiration dies out and there’s no magic left. I was writing a long-term serial story over on the old Shapeshifter Seductions blog when a writer’s block hit. I ended up abandoning it in the middle. Maybe someday I’ll finish it; I know where the story’s going, and I’ve already written the ending. For those of you familiar with my vampire series (Belonging, Legacy, and the YA spinoff Slayer for Hire), know this: there was supposed to be a third book, about the Preacher. Then there’s a fourth book set in the future that wraps everything up. I just never got around to writing them. Dunno if I ever will.

In cases where a contract, and the publisher’s legal department, isn’t involved, I don’t know how one goes about boosting flagging interest in your own series long enough to write it, or even if you should. The boredom might be temporary, or you could be finished for good. I recall Stephen King saying something about how he was dragging his heels over continuing his Dark Tower series, until he got hit by that van. Confronted suddenly and dramatically with proof of his own mortality, he whipped out the final three books in short order. I do not recommend arranging a near-death experience to rekindle interest in your story. There’s such a thing as overkill, y’know?'

Anyway, I’ll be keeping an eye on the YA shelves to find out what happens in the next book of Susan Dennard’s series, assuming it even gets written. If she’s lucky, she only signed up for a trilogy. Two down, one to go. Then she can move on to other things without being haunted by the ghosts of friendships past. Mostly I’m curious to see if her ex’s character meets a really nasty end. Never piss off a writer.

Wednesday, October 4, 2017

New from J. J. Collins



Sometimes love comes at you fast. Answering an old friend’s call for help, hunter Dillon Royce comes to Arizona to stop a shapeshifter who’s targeting gay men. He finds himself falling for the prime suspect, cheetah shifter Kaz Genovese. Kaz insists they’re fated mates. Or is he just trying to get close to his latest victim? Dillon needs to solve this one fast, before he totally loses his heart … or his life.

EXCERPT

“Sorry, speedy. I can’t take any chances. You’re going into a holding cell until we get this resolved. If you want to call a lawyer—”
“That won’t be necessary.” Kaz shifted. The bonds meant to restrain a human fell loose on the cheetah’s form. He slid his paws free and bit through what he couldn’t slip out of.
Then he leaped at Dillon.
They fell backward, onto the narrow bed. Kaz shifted back. His teeth grazed Dillon’s throat, just a tease, before he crashed his mouth against Dillon’s in another of those soul-blasting kisses.
Dillon had his knife. One thrust and it would be over.
Instead, he accepted the kiss. How had he gone his entire life without being kissed like this? Like Kaz intended to swallow his soul. As if he already had.
His hands moved as if with minds of their own, exploring, groping Kaz. Not an inch of him was still. Every speck of Kaz’s naked body seemed in constant frantic motion. Holding him was like holding on to a primal life force. His body was the desert, spare and barren at first glance but harboring unexpected bursts of color and flavor and life. An entire ecosystem of fiery desire, all of it focused on Dillon.
So long. Too long since he’d had any relief, or so desperately wanted it.
Only when he realized Kaz was tearing at his fly did Dillon come back to his senses. This was all happening too fast.
Somehow, he got his eyes to focus. “Don’t I even get dinner first?”
“What? Oh.” Kaz slumped, all over. Even then his body still vibrated with speed. “You humans and your stupid rituals. What a waste of time. You’re my mate. We were born for each other. Isn’t that enough for you?”
“Sorry, no. I don’t have the luxury of instinct. Right now, I’ve got a set of murders to solve. That’s my first priority. You and your mating urges—” Our mating urges, he couldn’t help thinking. “—Are going to have to wait.”
“Go slow?” Kaz tested the concept and, from the lift of his lip, clearly found it distasteful. “I don’t know if I can do that. Though it would be an interesting test.”
“You’re going to have to. And you’re going to have to sit in a cell for a while. You’re the prime suspect. Can’t be helped.”
“That’s not going to happen,” Kaz said firmly. “Tell you what. I’ll go do some investigating on my own. I’ll catch up with you tomorrow night and we’ll have that dinner. And then I’m claiming you. That’s as slow as I can go.” He palmed Dillon’s cheek. “We’re going to be spending our lives together. I suppose I should ask you your name.”
“It’s Dillon. Dillon Royce.”
“Dillon.” His name sighed off Kaz’s tongue. “Until tomorrow night, my love.” He captured Dillon’s mouth again and sent his senses spinning. When Dillon opened his eyes, those delightful lips were gone, the hand at the back of his neck was gone, the scent of cat was a fading memory, and the door to his room stood open.
He went to the open doorway, although he knew it was pointless. Of course, Kaz was nowhere in sight. The ache in his groin was now joined by a more poignant ache in his soul, its one true mate discovered and abruptly torn away. Maybe there was something to the mate bond after all, even where humans were concerned.
Or maybe that was guilt he felt, that in spite of everything he was falling hard for his number-one suspect. That he’d let a possible killer go free.