Packing ...
This is like planning the invasion of Normandy.
Wasn't it Thoreau who said to beware of any enterprize that calls for new clothes?
Monday, July 28, 2008
RWA National Conference.
Packing ...
This is like planning the invasion of Normandy.
Wasn't it Thoreau who said to beware of any enterprize that calls for new clothes?
Saturday, July 26, 2008
Out-take from Spymaster's Lady
'Moth' asked if there were any other out-takes from My Lord and Spymaster.
I couldn't think of anything from MLAS, but I do have a scene from Spymaster's Lady.
It's a scene I rather like. I regretted pulling it out of the manuscript.
Where it lived ... about three-quarters through Spymaster's Lady, there's a dream sequence with Annique's mother. I put it in that spot, in part, because I wanted to explain Lucille a little bit.
In the end, pacing demanded a very short dream scene, so I abandoned this writing.
With, y'know, regret.
It's a rough draft. And I never got it slimmed down and turned into a dream. So this reads like a realtime event mostly.
***********
She hunched under the blankets, holding onto to them. There was only darkness. That was all there would ever be. Darkness.
"You will get up now and eat. You have eaten nothing."
"It doesn't matter."
"You must begin training. There is work to be done and you lie abed."
"There is nothing I can do. I have become nothing. Go away" ... and leave me to die.
"Nothing. You have decided then, to be nothing." Maman dragged her from the bed, pulled her by the arm, by the hair. "I will not argue."
Maman pushed her across the room, out into the hallway. In her nightshift, she stumbled through darkness that was halls. Then to the stairs, and up and up.
"I do not want to practice walking." She dragged her feet, sullen as a child. "Or eating or fighting. Or anything. Leave me alone."
They walked up stairs, endless flights, up and up. She went along, not bothering to struggle. Limply resisting. It would infuriate Maman.
Then it was cold and hard under her feet. They were outside on the roof. Somewhere. She had not tried to find her way around the chateau. It did not matter. Nothing mattered.
"Here." Maman shoved and poked at her back. Rough stone railing brushed by. "Take another step. Good. This will do." And she let go.
Anneka felt wind on her face. "What is this?" She stretched her hand out and there was nothing. Nothing in any direction. She did not know where she was.
"Maman?" Darkness. She turned and didn't know which way was back. Which way was forward. Everything was empty around her.
"Maman. Where are you?"
Silence. She heard her heart beating and, far below, tiny voices.
"Maman!"
The wind whistling up from below, under the skirts of her nightgown. She stepped back. Back. Her foot stumbled.
She grabbed at air. Screamed. She was falling ...
She threw herself forward, toward the point of balance, and slapped her arms wide. Momentum grabbed her and tried to spin her into the dark.
She was flat on her belly, hugging the stone. She lay her head down, cold with terror. Sobbing air in and out of her lungs. Safe.
How to fall. How to fall safely, exactly where and how you choose. She had learned to fall before she could read. It is the first law of fighting -- how to fall. Her body remembered.
Wind screeched around her, tugging at the cotton on her back. She reached out. She was on a narrow stone walkway, over the air. She could reach from side to side of it, cup it with both hands.
She was weak as wet cloth. "Maman." It was a croak. A pitiful whisper. And everywhere around was only dark. Maman had left her here.
Tears leaked across her face, biting cold paths. "Maman. Help me."
No answer. She was alone.
She breathed in and out for an endless time. Waiting for someone to rescue her.
She would stiffen soon, if she did not move. She would become clumsy. And she was shaking with the cold as well. She must move, or she would fall and die.
Sometimes life is simple.
Now that she listened, it was easy to know where the open air was, and which way must lead back to the roof.
The first letting go, the first shifting of her hands, was the hardest. After that it became possible to creep and creep like a worm over the stones. The parapet that edged the roof was blessedly solid. It was carved with flowers or leaves. She pulled herself up and over, clamped to those flowers and leaves like an inchworm.
It took her an hour, crawling back and forth, to find the door Maman had brought her through. It took that long again to work her way down the stairs, recognize the proper floor by the smell of beeswax and potpourri, and find her way to her bedroom.
Maman was waiting for her there. She could hear breathing, over the spit and crackle of the fire. She could smell perfume. Lavender and bergamot.
She shuffled across the room, bent like an old beggar woman, sweeping the air in front of her with outstretched fingers, heading for the heat of the fire. She hurt in a million tiny cuts and bruises. The stickiness on her hands was blood, where she had scraped herself, falling. She had left a red trail on the walls of this pretty chateau.
"I hate you, Maman."
"I know, cherie." Cloth swished on cloth. Maman came to her. "I know."
Maman took her against warm, scented silk
She had not realized she was crying until she could do it against Maman. Yes, she was snivelling. "I could have died."
"There is always that chance. You must wash now, or the cuts will become infected. Then we will practice fighting. I have thought of techniques a blind woman can use."
"I cannot even walk. It is stupid to try to fight when I cannot even walk. We should practice walking first. Besides, I am starving to death."
"We will eat first. Then we will fight."
I couldn't think of anything from MLAS, but I do have a scene from Spymaster's Lady.
It's a scene I rather like. I regretted pulling it out of the manuscript.
Where it lived ... about three-quarters through Spymaster's Lady, there's a dream sequence with Annique's mother. I put it in that spot, in part, because I wanted to explain Lucille a little bit.
In the end, pacing demanded a very short dream scene, so I abandoned this writing.
With, y'know, regret.
It's a rough draft. And I never got it slimmed down and turned into a dream. So this reads like a realtime event mostly.
***********
She hunched under the blankets, holding onto to them. There was only darkness. That was all there would ever be. Darkness.
"You will get up now and eat. You have eaten nothing."
"It doesn't matter."
"You must begin training. There is work to be done and you lie abed."
"There is nothing I can do. I have become nothing. Go away" ... and leave me to die.
"Nothing. You have decided then, to be nothing." Maman dragged her from the bed, pulled her by the arm, by the hair. "I will not argue."
Maman pushed her across the room, out into the hallway. In her nightshift, she stumbled through darkness that was halls. Then to the stairs, and up and up.
"I do not want to practice walking." She dragged her feet, sullen as a child. "Or eating or fighting. Or anything. Leave me alone."
They walked up stairs, endless flights, up and up. She went along, not bothering to struggle. Limply resisting. It would infuriate Maman.
Then it was cold and hard under her feet. They were outside on the roof. Somewhere. She had not tried to find her way around the chateau. It did not matter. Nothing mattered.
"Here." Maman shoved and poked at her back. Rough stone railing brushed by. "Take another step. Good. This will do." And she let go.
Anneka felt wind on her face. "What is this?" She stretched her hand out and there was nothing. Nothing in any direction. She did not know where she was.
"Maman?" Darkness. She turned and didn't know which way was back. Which way was forward. Everything was empty around her.
"Maman. Where are you?"
Silence. She heard her heart beating and, far below, tiny voices.
"Maman!"
The wind whistling up from below, under the skirts of her nightgown. She stepped back. Back. Her foot stumbled.
She grabbed at air. Screamed. She was falling ...
She threw herself forward, toward the point of balance, and slapped her arms wide. Momentum grabbed her and tried to spin her into the dark.
She was flat on her belly, hugging the stone. She lay her head down, cold with terror. Sobbing air in and out of her lungs. Safe.
How to fall. How to fall safely, exactly where and how you choose. She had learned to fall before she could read. It is the first law of fighting -- how to fall. Her body remembered.
Wind screeched around her, tugging at the cotton on her back. She reached out. She was on a narrow stone walkway, over the air. She could reach from side to side of it, cup it with both hands.
She was weak as wet cloth. "Maman." It was a croak. A pitiful whisper. And everywhere around was only dark. Maman had left her here.
Tears leaked across her face, biting cold paths. "Maman. Help me."
No answer. She was alone.
She breathed in and out for an endless time. Waiting for someone to rescue her.
She would stiffen soon, if she did not move. She would become clumsy. And she was shaking with the cold as well. She must move, or she would fall and die.
Sometimes life is simple.
Now that she listened, it was easy to know where the open air was, and which way must lead back to the roof.
The first letting go, the first shifting of her hands, was the hardest. After that it became possible to creep and creep like a worm over the stones. The parapet that edged the roof was blessedly solid. It was carved with flowers or leaves. She pulled herself up and over, clamped to those flowers and leaves like an inchworm.
It took her an hour, crawling back and forth, to find the door Maman had brought her through. It took that long again to work her way down the stairs, recognize the proper floor by the smell of beeswax and potpourri, and find her way to her bedroom.
Maman was waiting for her there. She could hear breathing, over the spit and crackle of the fire. She could smell perfume. Lavender and bergamot.
She shuffled across the room, bent like an old beggar woman, sweeping the air in front of her with outstretched fingers, heading for the heat of the fire. She hurt in a million tiny cuts and bruises. The stickiness on her hands was blood, where she had scraped herself, falling. She had left a red trail on the walls of this pretty chateau.
"I hate you, Maman."
"I know, cherie." Cloth swished on cloth. Maman came to her. "I know."
Maman took her against warm, scented silk
She had not realized she was crying until she could do it against Maman. Yes, she was snivelling. "I could have died."
"There is always that chance. You must wash now, or the cuts will become infected. Then we will practice fighting. I have thought of techniques a blind woman can use."
"I cannot even walk. It is stupid to try to fight when I cannot even walk. We should practice walking first. Besides, I am starving to death."
"We will eat first. Then we will fight."
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Some MLAS Backstory
Anon said ...
I just started rereading MLAS, and ... I realized as I started though, that I don't know what happened to Jess's mom. Or why where Josiah went and why he didn't come back for her, when she was a kid--if I remember correctly, Jess' mom was still alive when she went to work for Lazarus.
I pulled a good bit of backstory out of My Lord and Spymaster.
It's always a hard choice. Do I go wandering down these side alleys of the distant past, or stick to the straight highway of what's happening right now.
Here's a bit of a scene about Jess' mom, pulled out of an early draft.
***********
Always liked to watch people, Sebastian did. Probably saw a lot.
He said, "What in Blue Blazes did you think you were doing?"
"It was one of those calculated risks."
"It was a calculated madness. Did you really stab him when you were eleven?"
"I tried to. He was expecting it." She frowned and began fingering along a strand of her hair. "I wanted to kill him, Sebastian. He got me locked up in Newgate when my mother was dying of fever. Bad fever, whatever it was. Both the women nursing her died of it in the end. When I got out -- "
"You were in ... For God's sake, you were in Newgate."
"I was safe enough. Nobody touches what belongs to Lazarus. But I about battered myself silly on the walls, wanting to get to my mother. I kept waiting for Lazarus to buy me free. It took me a couple of days to figure out he was the one who peached on me."
"And your mother died."
"When they let me loose, I went after him. Didn't do much more than scratch him. I think I was out of my mind for a while."
"You think you were ... Jess, is there ever a time you're properly sane?"
"I'm cautious, generally. You barging in and asking Lazarus for me -- now that was daft."
*****************
And here's something about Josiah.
***************
Loyal to the bone."
That described Jess pretty well. She certainly picked godawful men to be loyal to. "Where the hell was this father of hers all that time?"
"In Egypt, in Napoleon's army, shooting at Englishmen." Adrian rolled the pencil back and forth on the table. "That is supposed to be a deep dark secret from us."
"In Egypt."
"Whitby got picked up in Boulogne for smuggling and spent six month in Prison, passing himself off as a Frenchman. Ended up swept into the Emperor's army. It took him years to get loose and back to England. Jess and her mother were on their own."
"And Jess sold herself to Lazarus."
"I imagine Lazarus arranged it that she didn't have any choice."
*****************
I just started rereading MLAS, and ... I realized as I started though, that I don't know what happened to Jess's mom. Or why where Josiah went and why he didn't come back for her, when she was a kid--if I remember correctly, Jess' mom was still alive when she went to work for Lazarus.
I pulled a good bit of backstory out of My Lord and Spymaster.
It's always a hard choice. Do I go wandering down these side alleys of the distant past, or stick to the straight highway of what's happening right now.
Here's a bit of a scene about Jess' mom, pulled out of an early draft.
***********
Always liked to watch people, Sebastian did. Probably saw a lot.
He said, "What in Blue Blazes did you think you were doing?"
"It was one of those calculated risks."
"It was a calculated madness. Did you really stab him when you were eleven?"
"I tried to. He was expecting it." She frowned and began fingering along a strand of her hair. "I wanted to kill him, Sebastian. He got me locked up in Newgate when my mother was dying of fever. Bad fever, whatever it was. Both the women nursing her died of it in the end. When I got out -- "
"You were in ... For God's sake, you were in Newgate."
"I was safe enough. Nobody touches what belongs to Lazarus. But I about battered myself silly on the walls, wanting to get to my mother. I kept waiting for Lazarus to buy me free. It took me a couple of days to figure out he was the one who peached on me."
"And your mother died."
"When they let me loose, I went after him. Didn't do much more than scratch him. I think I was out of my mind for a while."
"You think you were ... Jess, is there ever a time you're properly sane?"
"I'm cautious, generally. You barging in and asking Lazarus for me -- now that was daft."
*****************
And here's something about Josiah.
***************
Loyal to the bone."
That described Jess pretty well. She certainly picked godawful men to be loyal to. "Where the hell was this father of hers all that time?"
"In Egypt, in Napoleon's army, shooting at Englishmen." Adrian rolled the pencil back and forth on the table. "That is supposed to be a deep dark secret from us."
"In Egypt."
"Whitby got picked up in Boulogne for smuggling and spent six month in Prison, passing himself off as a Frenchman. Ended up swept into the Emperor's army. It took him years to get loose and back to England. Jess and her mother were on their own."
"And Jess sold herself to Lazarus."
"I imagine Lazarus arranged it that she didn't have any choice."
*****************
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Technical Topic -- Query Letter
La Belle Americaine was asking about query letters. I've pulled out mine and set it here for whatever interest it might be.
Went something like ...
Dear Agent,
[60 or 80 words of why I went to this agent. Basically -- who she represented that I admired.]
I've just completed the manuscript of a 120,000-word, Regency Historical, Anneka. May I submit three chapters and synopsis, or the entire manuscript for your consideration?
[100 words on my publication credits.]
Anneka is the story of Grey, spy master of the British, and Anneka, sneaky, experienced agent of the French. They disagree about politics, philosophy, national pride, and how to brew coffee, but they agree on one thing – Napoleon's invasion fleet, lurking in Boulogne harbor, must not sail.
Sometimes at odds, sometimes forced into an unwilling alliance, Anneka and Grey flee rogue French agents, dodge knives, argue moral choices, pluck bullets out of secondary characters, play subtle spy games, and gradually, inevitably, fall in love. Grey must discover that Anneka's cunning, deadly competence rests upon idealism and rock-solid integrity. Anneka must learn to trust Grey, even as he makes her his prisoner ... even as he betrays her. In the end, they are both willing to sacrifice life, and their life's work, to stay together. Anneka makes the fateful choice between Grey and her loyalty to France.
I see their relationship as Bogey-and-Bacall – the tough, tender, sexually-charged mating dance of a man with a duty and a woman with a mission.
How do enemy spies make love? ... Very carefully.
Please let me know if you would be interested in seeing Anneka.
Yours truly,
Went something like ...
Dear Agent,
[60 or 80 words of why I went to this agent. Basically -- who she represented that I admired.]
I've just completed the manuscript of a 120,000-word, Regency Historical, Anneka. May I submit three chapters and synopsis, or the entire manuscript for your consideration?
[100 words on my publication credits.]
Anneka is the story of Grey, spy master of the British, and Anneka, sneaky, experienced agent of the French. They disagree about politics, philosophy, national pride, and how to brew coffee, but they agree on one thing – Napoleon's invasion fleet, lurking in Boulogne harbor, must not sail.
Sometimes at odds, sometimes forced into an unwilling alliance, Anneka and Grey flee rogue French agents, dodge knives, argue moral choices, pluck bullets out of secondary characters, play subtle spy games, and gradually, inevitably, fall in love. Grey must discover that Anneka's cunning, deadly competence rests upon idealism and rock-solid integrity. Anneka must learn to trust Grey, even as he makes her his prisoner ... even as he betrays her. In the end, they are both willing to sacrifice life, and their life's work, to stay together. Anneka makes the fateful choice between Grey and her loyalty to France.
I see their relationship as Bogey-and-Bacall – the tough, tender, sexually-charged mating dance of a man with a duty and a woman with a mission.
How do enemy spies make love? ... Very carefully.
Please let me know if you would be interested in seeing Anneka.
Yours truly,
Saturday, July 19, 2008
A bit of Yorkshire dialect
Diane B asks ...
How is 'tha' pronounced?
This is talking about Josiah Whitby's voice.
Now Josiah is from Yorkshire. What we have here is second person familiar, (thee or thou,) of course. This is conventionally represented 'tha' in writing Yorkshire dialect.
I'm leaning on that old convention.
I want to suggest the dialect. Folks familiar with Yorkshire speech will fill in the blanks. Folks who don't know it will not be annoyed.
I'm not making any attempt to be phonetic. That is an ocean without any bottom and I don't intend to fall in.
If you wanted to hear it ... the word I've represented as 'tha' appears in this recording.
It's near the beginning. Listen to the bit that goes ...
"Well, me lad, I said ... it'll be a bit before tha' does that again, maybe."
Though the speaker uses the familiar 'tha' in that spot, he uses 'ye' or "you' elsewhere. '
Tha' was only for intimates.
You can also hear the familiar usage in this long and completely incomprehensible joke. It seems to occur in a couple places. One is about three-quarters of the way though. There, it's pronounced, rather clearly, 'thou'.
How is 'tha' pronounced?
This is talking about Josiah Whitby's voice.
Now Josiah is from Yorkshire. What we have here is second person familiar, (thee or thou,) of course. This is conventionally represented 'tha' in writing Yorkshire dialect.
I'm leaning on that old convention.
I want to suggest the dialect. Folks familiar with Yorkshire speech will fill in the blanks. Folks who don't know it will not be annoyed.
I'm not making any attempt to be phonetic. That is an ocean without any bottom and I don't intend to fall in.
If you wanted to hear it ... the word I've represented as 'tha' appears in this recording.
It's near the beginning. Listen to the bit that goes ...
"Well, me lad, I said ... it'll be a bit before tha' does that again, maybe."
Though the speaker uses the familiar 'tha' in that spot, he uses 'ye' or "you' elsewhere. '
Tha' was only for intimates.
You can also hear the familiar usage in this long and completely incomprehensible joke. It seems to occur in a couple places. One is about three-quarters of the way though. There, it's pronounced, rather clearly, 'thou'.
Monday, July 14, 2008
MLAS cover
Moth said ...
Definitely off topic here but I was looking at my copy of MLAS and I was wondering why the cover model has brown hair. Was this one of those things where it was out of your hands? Or too late to fix by the time you were aware of the problem? It's just such a silly mistake I'm mad on your behalf that the publishers did it.
I don't have anything to say about the covers. Not before, not during, not after.
That is marketing. Market is an art to me unknown.
Maybe they think a brown-haired cover is more appealing?
It actually isn't the cover artist's fault either. She doesn't have the manuscript to work with, only directions from marketing.
Definitely off topic here but I was looking at my copy of MLAS and I was wondering why the cover model has brown hair. Was this one of those things where it was out of your hands? Or too late to fix by the time you were aware of the problem? It's just such a silly mistake I'm mad on your behalf that the publishers did it.
I don't have anything to say about the covers. Not before, not during, not after.
That is marketing. Market is an art to me unknown.
Maybe they think a brown-haired cover is more appealing?
It actually isn't the cover artist's fault either. She doesn't have the manuscript to work with, only directions from marketing.
Adrian and Jess met ...
Emlyn said ...
And this may be off-topic, but could you clarify a little more (without spoilers, of course) when and how Adrian & Jess were acquainted? He's in Russia with her & her dad acting as their butler, Hurst (love this! adrian as butler! lol!) after he rescues her from Lazarus, right? Does she know him before this? How did he come to be involved in her rescue?
And this may be off-topic, but could you clarify a little more (without spoilers, of course) when and how Adrian & Jess were acquainted? He's in Russia with her & her dad acting as their butler, Hurst (love this! adrian as butler! lol!) after he rescues her from Lazarus, right? Does she know him before this? How did he come to be involved in her rescue?
Leesee ... In Spymaster's Lady, Adrian gets picked up by Josiah's smuggler boat and rescued.
He returns the favor by intervening in Josiah's struggle with Lazarus over who's going to get to keep Jess.
Adrian and Doyle spirit Jess away. She's had a bad fall and she's still drugged into unconsciousness. She doesn't wake up till she's on the ship and away from England. She never saw Adrian.
All that's in the two books, someplace or other.
What's not in the books ....
Adrian is assigned as Head of Section for Russia, based in St. Petersburg. Josiah also sets up one of his offices there. He and Adrian re-establish contact and Josiah lets Adrian use his house as British Service Headquarters.
That's when Adrian and Jess finally 'meet'.
Adrian, Grey, Jessamyn . . . look like . . .
Emlyn says ...
And because you mentioned that Annique resembled a young Natasha Kinski, could you put a face on Adrian as well? And Jess as well?
I got Jess tacked down someplace or other as Robin Wright, in The Princess Bride. Further back in the posts a bit there's links to pictures for both Jess and Annique.
Adrian ...
Two artists' rendering.
painted about five years
apart.
This is Sebastian.
Here, .
[Edited to add -- I've pulled out the copyright photo and put in a link to it. Now we are all legal again. ]
And Grey.
.
And because you mentioned that Annique resembled a young Natasha Kinski, could you put a face on Adrian as well? And Jess as well?
I got Jess tacked down someplace or other as Robin Wright, in The Princess Bride. Further back in the posts a bit there's links to pictures for both Jess and Annique.
Adrian ...
Two artists' rendering.
painted about five years
apart.
This is Sebastian.
Here, .
[Edited to add -- I've pulled out the copyright photo and put in a link to it. Now we are all legal again. ]
And Grey.
.
creative commons Bollywood Sargam
You are a witch, btw. These characters are ALIVE to me.
.
(jo blinks.)
You mean they aren't alive?
.
.
WAAAAHHH!
Friday, July 11, 2008
Wordie -- speaking of words
Click on the thumb to see it close up. This is a 'word cloud' of the blog. Interesting, no?
The cloud seems to say ... Leesee ... tell one story, action, plot, scene ... really.
Which is what I'm saying.
Oh ...
Here's one for My Lord and Spymaster
Click on the thumb.
And here's one for Spymaster's Lady.
Wednesday, July 09, 2008
My Lord and Spymaster various stuff
I was getting confused answering posts about My Lord and Spymaster that were appended to the 'Dates' post.
So I decided to bring the last one up here and just add it as a new message.
Lady Leigh writes:
First off- I LOVED My Lord and Spymaster. The one scene I keep coming back to is when Jess is lying in the grass. The whole bit about clover and horehair and Sebastian making love to her eyebrows... I've tried to pick apart what is so powerful about it, all the layers and language, what it makes me feel and how. Did it take you a while to write that scene? Did it just come out as magic?
How long does it take you to plot and write a book? When will Maggie's story be done?
Thanks for all your posts on writing instruction etc. I appreciate it! The method to the madness.
Is there an interview with you anywhere? I missed your month at Julia Quinn and Eloisa James' BB.
Have you ever thought about hosting an online workshop?
OK- enough with the questions ;-)
So I decided to bring the last one up here and just add it as a new message.
Lady Leigh writes:
First off- I LOVED My Lord and Spymaster. The one scene I keep coming back to is when Jess is lying in the grass. The whole bit about clover and horehair and Sebastian making love to her eyebrows... I've tried to pick apart what is so powerful about it, all the layers and language, what it makes me feel and how. Did it take you a while to write that scene? Did it just come out as magic?
How long does it take you to plot and write a book? When will Maggie's story be done?
Thanks for all your posts on writing instruction etc. I appreciate it! The method to the madness.
Is there an interview with you anywhere? I missed your month at Julia Quinn and Eloisa James' BB.
Have you ever thought about hosting an online workshop?
OK- enough with the questions ;-)
Leesee --
-- I am so delighted you enjoyed My Lord and Spymaster. I'm still all worried about that one, so I'm glad when anyone says nice things about it.
-- The one scene I keep coming back to is when Jess is lying in the grass
The scene you like -- Jess and Sebastian in the garden. I have no idea why that one worked. I really have no idea.
I'm very fond of it though. It more or less wrote itself just as it stands, all in one piece, and it's one of the first scenes I wrote for MLAS.
In the end, I was going to leave it out, actually. I came about theeeeese close, (jo holds up maybe three centimeters,) to chucking it. Because it is not in the direct line of action. That is, I could have removed the scene and it would make no difference to the forward progress of the story.
Also, I just knew a lot of readers were going to find it slow going.
But I really liked it. So that edged me one hair to the right and I kept the scene.
-- How long does it take you to plot and write a book?
It takes at least a year to plot and write a story. Maybe longer.
When I was writing TSL and MLAS I was redoing all the walls and floors and installing electrical wire and bookcases, (and endless so on,) in a new house. I think I would have got the manuscripts written faster if I hadn't been doing all that other stuff.
I never did finish doing the bathrooms. I really should get on with that.
No time. No time.
(jo, feeling harried)
-- When will Maggie's story be done?
Maggie's story will be late 2009.
I think.
-- online workshops ...?
I did some online writing workshops at the CompuServe Books and Writers Community. Here . It was a while back. They're under the 'Writers Exercises' section.
-- Is there an interview with you anywhere?
I have done some interviews.
I will post links to interviews on the sidebar the next time I gird my loins and go add things to the sidebar.
I have some reviews to add there also -- including one completely pinch-your-nose-it-stinks review -- and have been procrastinating about it.
Sunday, July 06, 2008
What they look like . . .
Saturday, June 28, 2008
Dates
I wanted to set the dates here and the ages. I hope I have all these right.
Leesee ...
Doyle and Maggie's Story takes place in July, 1794
The Spymaster's Lady -- 1802
My Lord and Spymaster -- 1811
Her Ladyship's Companion -- 1818
Birthdates. Doyle in 1764. Maggie in 1770. Grey in 1775. Sebastian in 1784 Adrian and Anneka in 1782, Jess in 1790.
Leesee ...
Doyle and Maggie's Story takes place in July, 1794
The Spymaster's Lady -- 1802
My Lord and Spymaster -- 1811
Her Ladyship's Companion -- 1818
Birthdates. Doyle in 1764. Maggie in 1770. Grey in 1775. Sebastian in 1784 Adrian and Anneka in 1782, Jess in 1790.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Annique's jingle
A comment was posted on AAR.
Makes me think of the rhyme Annique in Joanna Bourne's The Spymaster's Lady quotes that children sang during the French Terror
"Let the gutters flow with the blood of the aristocrats, let us wash our hands in their entrails, let all who stand aginst the voice of the people perish like rats.."
which is more bloodthirsty.
I wonder if the author made up that little jingle, or if French children really sang songs like that?
Says I: I did make up that particular jinglem but it's typical of the times.
Makes me think of the rhyme Annique in Joanna Bourne's The Spymaster's Lady quotes that children sang during the French Terror
"Let the gutters flow with the blood of the aristocrats, let us wash our hands in their entrails, let all who stand aginst the voice of the people perish like rats.."
which is more bloodthirsty.
I wonder if the author made up that little jingle, or if French children really sang songs like that?
Says I: I did make up that particular jinglem but it's typical of the times.
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Technical Topics -- Show and Tell
The truism, 'Show, don't tell,' covers a lot of territory.
On a 'whole-story' level this means plotting that uses dialog and action and internals to tell the story
rather than narration.
Not -- Twelve battalions converged on the small town of Chesterton, determined to quench the fire of the rebellion.
But -- Tony looked out the window at dawn. Red-yellow pinpoint lights circled the horizon, strangely, horribly beautiful. Campfires. The enemy had arrived.
'Tell' tells the story.
'Show' puts us inside the story.
Plotting for 'show, not tell' on a whole-story level,
means general avoidance of scenery, exposition, description, backstory, explanation
and all the other ways the author speaks directly to the reader,
where action can be used instead.
On the level of a scene, 'show don't tell', means information is conveyed not in narration, but in action and dialog. Information comes to us through the filter of a character's perception.
Not -- Jeremy was a hopeless gawk. He'd been that way since High School. which is narrration and the writer speaking to the audience.
But --
Jeremy untangled himself from the front door mat, Karen's dog, appropriately named 'Trip', the overturned aspidistra and his shoe laces.
What a klutz. "You haven't changed a bit," she said.
which is action, an internal, and dialog.
One easy way to make sure we 'show don't tell' is to stay deep in POV. That helps.
Now -- sometimes you find yourself with information to convey that can't be easily put into a character's thoughts or words or shown by a character's actions.
This is a good time to ask yourself if you really need this information.
However, there are also many many times the writer must convey complex information, economically.
And the simplest way to do it is to 'tell'.
Joshua lifted the cup to his lips. Coffee. The true bean of it, and fresh. Coffee came to Latruria by caravan over the hills of Ghangith. That path had been blocked for months by the mountain bandits. The only other source was the sea route. Smugglers. Jandru's smugglers.
He set the cup down without drinking. "How long have you been in Jandru's pay, Madame?"
So sometimes we 'tell, don't show."
This is all part of a huge plot to drive writers insane.
On a 'whole-story' level this means plotting that uses dialog and action and internals to tell the story
rather than narration.
Not -- Twelve battalions converged on the small town of Chesterton, determined to quench the fire of the rebellion.
But -- Tony looked out the window at dawn. Red-yellow pinpoint lights circled the horizon, strangely, horribly beautiful. Campfires. The enemy had arrived.
'Tell' tells the story.
'Show' puts us inside the story.
Plotting for 'show, not tell' on a whole-story level,
means general avoidance of scenery, exposition, description, backstory, explanation
and all the other ways the author speaks directly to the reader,
where action can be used instead.
On the level of a scene, 'show don't tell', means information is conveyed not in narration, but in action and dialog. Information comes to us through the filter of a character's perception.
Not -- Jeremy was a hopeless gawk. He'd been that way since High School. which is narrration and the writer speaking to the audience.
But --
Jeremy untangled himself from the front door mat, Karen's dog, appropriately named 'Trip', the overturned aspidistra and his shoe laces.
What a klutz. "You haven't changed a bit," she said.
which is action, an internal, and dialog.
One easy way to make sure we 'show don't tell' is to stay deep in POV. That helps.
Now -- sometimes you find yourself with information to convey that can't be easily put into a character's thoughts or words or shown by a character's actions.
This is a good time to ask yourself if you really need this information.
However, there are also many many times the writer must convey complex information, economically.
And the simplest way to do it is to 'tell'.
Joshua lifted the cup to his lips. Coffee. The true bean of it, and fresh. Coffee came to Latruria by caravan over the hills of Ghangith. That path had been blocked for months by the mountain bandits. The only other source was the sea route. Smugglers. Jandru's smugglers.
He set the cup down without drinking. "How long have you been in Jandru's pay, Madame?"
So sometimes we 'tell, don't show."
This is all part of a huge plot to drive writers insane.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Copyeditors
Just wanted to add this
"Copy editors are the last set of eyes before yours. They are more powerful than proofreaders. They untangle twisted prose. They are surgeons, removing growths of error and irrelevance; they are minimalist chefs, straining fat. Their goal is to make sure that the day’s work ... becomes an object of lasting beauty and excellence once it hits the presses."
From The New York Times, Lawrence Downes
here
"Copy editors are the last set of eyes before yours. They are more powerful than proofreaders. They untangle twisted prose. They are surgeons, removing growths of error and irrelevance; they are minimalist chefs, straining fat. Their goal is to make sure that the day’s work ... becomes an object of lasting beauty and excellence once it hits the presses."
From The New York Times, Lawrence Downes
here
Friday, June 13, 2008
Auction for a good cause
Edited to say -- The auction is finished ...
A twofer ... A signed copy of My Lord and Spymaster and a signed copy of The Spymaster's Lady
-- at auction, for a good cause, on Julia Quinn's Bulletin Board.
In a separate item, I'm also offering a critique of 50 manuscript pages of your WIP.
But wait .. that's not all.
Get this special offer only at the EJ/JQ Bulletin Board
NOT SOLD IN STORES !!
ARCs from Eloisa James!!
Teresa Medeiros!!
Stephanie Laurens!!
Loretta Chase!!
Laura Lee Guhrke!!
Julia Quinn!!
Karen Hawkins!!
Elizabeth Hoyt!!
Gaelen Foley!!
A Sabrina Jeffries Manuscript -- signed!!
GO before I run out of !!s.
Such a deal!
A twofer ... A signed copy of My Lord and Spymaster and a signed copy of The Spymaster's Lady
-- at auction, for a good cause, on Julia Quinn's Bulletin Board.
In a separate item, I'm also offering a critique of 50 manuscript pages of your WIP.
But wait .. that's not all.
Get this special offer only at the EJ/JQ Bulletin Board
NOT SOLD IN STORES !!
ARCs from Eloisa James!!
Teresa Medeiros!!
Stephanie Laurens!!
Loretta Chase!!
Laura Lee Guhrke!!
Julia Quinn!!
Karen Hawkins!!
Elizabeth Hoyt!!
Gaelen Foley!!
A Sabrina Jeffries Manuscript -- signed!!
GO before I run out of !!s.
Such a deal!
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Chapter Two -- Maggie
MAGGIE. Chapter Two. I've put the rabbit scene back in.
I have all kinds of excuses, but basically I just like the rabbit.
(gloomily)
I'll probably take it out again.
In other news, I've cleaned up the draft to 7700 words ... and there's thousands more really rough draft.
I have all kinds of excuses, but basically I just like the rabbit.
(gloomily)
I'll probably take it out again.
In other news, I've cleaned up the draft to 7700 words ... and there's thousands more really rough draft.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
More Rights
Way cool news.
They've sold Russian foreign language rights to The Spymaster's Lady.
Russian. Oh my.
They've sold Russian foreign language rights to The Spymaster's Lady.
Russian. Oh my.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Tech Tops -- Yet again words ... #3
I'm returning to word usage in TSL.
Franzeca Drouin, Eloisa's research assistant, brings these to me.
Her site is here, go check it out.
p 239. & elsewhere "front room." It's in OED, but in early reference simply indicates the more attractive rooms in the front of a structure, probably for public use. I don't think it refers to the large gathering place in a contemporary house. "Sitting Room" or even "parlor" would be a workable substitute for that.
This accords with the meaning I intend. I get the same subtext from 'front room' that Franzeka talks about. My Southern aunts had a 'front room' where they received guests.
The 'front room' at Meeks Street is a stiff, over-decorated room at the front. It's deliberately uncomfortable ... used to discourage visitors. The agents relax in the study upstairs or in the library on the ground floor. I'll keep 'sitting room' and 'parlor' in mind for talking about the rooms they use to congregate in.
page 249: Turkish robe; did you find that somewhere? I found an early 20th century reference to Turkish toweling, but not to a robe. "chenille" wouldn't work, either..
I have been thinking lately of circa 1800 bath towels,
in which I am now a very minor expert.
I have a reference to 'Turkish towel' in Night Scenes of City Life by DeWitt Talmadge, pub. 1801,
To whit: "Brisk criticism is a coarse Turkish towel with which every public man needs every day to be rubbed down, in order to keep healthful circulation." There seem to be other solid refs to this sort of Turkish towel in the early decades of the 1800s.
I am delighted to know they had hefty decent towels because huck towels just don't do it for me.
Anyhow. I feel that I have the towels. Future scenes in baths can include this detail.
I suppose one could arguably make a robe of this cloth. It's not beyond likelihood.
But in the time frame 'Turkish robe' seems to be ... y'know ... a caftan. Or a long robe of about any kind. Generally fancy.
I suppose I could squeak thought if I pretend my 'Turkish robe' is just a robe made of velvet or something and not necessarily made of toweling ...
OK. OK. My bad. When I say 'Turkish robe' I should know what I mean.
p 242: "land mines" 1890 in OED; seems to indicate a sophistication of mechanized warfare not available in early 19th century. Did you find it in your research?
Criminy. Yes.
I don't know what I was thinking ...
p. 249: "bedspread" per OED, orig US, 1845; anything else would work, sheet, coverlet, blanket, quilt, etc.
It may be in Ralph Waldo Emerson, 'Journals' in 1833.
But it does not seem to be an early 1800 word.
Who knew?
This one is like 'sweater'. Totally blindsides me.
p. 263: "linden tree" more commonly called "lime tree" in Britain. (I learned this the hard way, trying to find a tree that bloomed in late summer.)
I feel ok about this one. There's lots of refs to 'Linden tree' in the early decades of the 1800s so it was a common alternate name.
No way I'm going to use 'lime tree'. I'd put in poplars or something. Or modern sculpture. Or electrical pylons.
p. 275: "suicide" as a verb, 1841, sounds very contemporary and edgy.
The line is ...
Maggie scowled. "You will be satisfied, I suppose, if she suicides herself to escape you."
So it's meant to be, not so much modern, as French. From the verb se suicider. Thus the reflexive 'suicides herself'.
I thought of it because Dorothy Sayers used it.
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