Marcella's Top Three Reads for 2015

For reasons I can't recall, it hasn't been a banner reading year. That's 100% depressing and I mean to change it this year. Woman cannot live by writing alone. I seriously need some great binge reads in this coming year. Fortunately, I already have several to look forward to.

Of the books I did read this year, these are the ones that stayed with me - a couple of them actively haunt me. That's the mark of a great story. A few of these names will be familiar to you. :D

Dark Alchemy (and Mercury Rising) by Word-Whore alum Laura Bickle - this is a fun series that also seems determined to kick me in the heart, thanks so much. Not that I'll tell you why I'm being kicked in the heart, naturally. Suffice it to say this has plenty of creepy without extraneous gore. The heroine, Petra Dee is a geologist who goes looking for her missing father in the odd little town of Temperance, Wyoming, only to find it populated by a some guys who might not be entirely human and a dude called The Alchemist who's cooking up something much worse than meth.

Talon of the Hawk by current Word-Whore Jeffe Kennedy. I adore the Twelve Kingdoms series. But I love this one because Ursula is such an emotionally stunted (for good reason) and fun heroine - I use fun in the sense that she had lots of room to grow and lots of dreadful secret to uncover. Maybe she grew in leaps and bounds. Maybe she didn't. You'll have to read it yourself to find out. I don't intend to get all spoiler-y but it's possible I also love this story because it sets me up for another trilogy and that makes me happy.

Dead Mountain: The Untold True Story of the Dyatlov Pass Incident by Donnie Eichar. This book came out in 2013 but it only hit the top of my TBR pile this year. You may be familiar with the tragedy: a group of young hikers venture into the wilderness in the middle of a Russian winter. They are subsequently found dead - their tent ripped to shreds, the fabric cut *from the inside*. None of them are found wearing shoes or sensible clothing. Some of the injuries suggest great violence. Reports of elevated radiation readings in the bodies suggest something sinister. The government is accused of a cover up. Conspiracy theories are born. Up to and including ALIENS! This book recreates the trip, introduces you to the actual human beings who died on that mountain, and looks for a rational, scientific explanation for what happened to the group of promising university students. Compelling argument for what precisely drove these experienced outdoors people to their deaths.

Should You? When to Con

Do you have a completed manuscript? Go to an RWA sponsored convention. It need not be National, though if you're a member of the organization, you should do that at least once in your life. The point is to put yourself in the same room as the editors buying books and into the same room as the agents who might represent the type of book you wrote. Several RWA chapters put up conventions. Check to find out whether there might be one close by. Then avail yourself of every workshop and learning opportunity you can. Also, there may be costume parties.

It was at RWA conferences that I learned the difference between internal and external conflict. It's where I learned I wasn't a plotter and that there was no faster way to take the joy out of writing than to attempt to be a plotter. I found mentors. Above all, and best of all, I made great friends at conferences. My sharpest critique group is made up of women I met at conferences. The first request I ever had for a partial happened at a local conference. An editor asked for the first three chapters. And when she rejected them, she kindly gave me some insight as to why. The first person to request a full manuscript was an agent I'd met at a conference. (She rejected the book and also gave me some feedback - something she wasn't obligated at all to do and which I appreciated enormously.) So, yes. Cons. 100% worth the time, effort and introvert dread - IF when someone requests pages, you actually SEND them.

However, all that said, I didn't find an agent at a conference. I did that by spamming every agent on the RWA agent list who even intimated he or she might read science fiction. There were nine. One of them read my sample pages, requested the full, read it over Easter weekend, and called me Monday morning. When my first book sold, it sold to an editor I'd never met. (Though later I did get to meet her in person - at a con.) Point being that if you cannot get to a convention, don't stress it. Makes no difference to the people who'll rep and/or buy your book. Do I think I got my work into shape faster because of cons and the workshops? Yes. But if you're taking workshops, trying new things in your writing, getting feedback on your work, and doing your damnedest to incorporate the feedback that makes sense to you? You're in good shape, don't sweat the conference.

Is there a time I'll urge you to pull every stop and get your butt to a conference come hell or high water?

There is. Once you're published, if you final in the RITA, go to National. Don't care what it takes. When I was lucky enough to final, it was the summer my husband and I were sailing the Inside Passage for five months. We were headed north into unbroken wilderness. I say unbroken wilderness and I mean 'no airport for hundreds and hundreds of miles'. To get me to the conference that year, we turned around so I could fly to NYC. Where I won absolutely nothing. But where I had the time of my life. If you final in the major contest for your genre, you are a princess (or a prince) for the duration of the conference where the winners are announced. People will see your finalist pin and ribbon and whether they know you or not, will ask for the story of how the book got published and what happened when you found out it was a finalist. Your editor and your agent, if you have one, will likely be at that conference. You'll sit with them at the finalists table at the awards banquet. You get nifty little 'finalist' flags for your spot at the great big book signing. Just for the number of people I got to meet and talk to - I will never regret interrupting the trip of a lifetime for the conference of a lifetime. Maybe my husband, who was trapped in Victoria Harbor for Canada Day and fireworks regrets it a tiny little bit, but he was also three blocks from his favorite chocolate store in the whole wide world. He doesn't seem to hold much of a grudge. :D

Three Profound Impacts on My Writing in 2013

This week's topic is really quite interesting to contemplate. We ask each other, what are the Top Three Influences on Your Writing in 2013?

I have to say I'm answering this question differently this year than I might have in the past. My top three?

1) My CPs

I am blessed to be a part of an amazing group of writers who have been absolutely crucial to me this last year. Many thanks to Carolyn Crane, Marcella Burnard and Laura Bickle. Without their feedback, brainstorming and explaining my stories to me, I would have been lost. We meet weekly via Instant Messenger and maintain an accountability worksheet. Laura has had to back off to focus on her own work, but I cannot ignore the very important role she played in the books I wrote this year. I miss her greatly.

Also pinch hitting with answers, advice and last-minute reads were sister Word Whores Allison Pang and Kristine Krantz. Always there when I need them!

2) Reader Feedback

This was the year that I really started hearing from readers. From the blow-by-blow tweeted reactions to my books to long, detailed emails giving me their responses, these amazing people greatly influenced how I see my stories. Some very special ones: Carien Ubink - who also beta read for me twice when I needed it most - E and Has from The Bookpushers, who've been amazing with their insights into my stories, and Amy Remus from So Many Reads, who always asks interesting questions.

3) My agent

I signed with Pam in August 2012, so her influence started that fall. Still, my work in 2013 is largely in response to her. I wrote Master of the Opera (coming out January 2, eep!) at her suggestion. My Twelve Kingdoms trilogy will release starting this summer, because she sold it. While she has never directly edited my writing, her enthusiasm for my work and savvy guidance has had a profound impact on me. Much love going out to her.

I'll be interested to hear what my bordello mates say. Cheers all!

Five Tips for Being a Good Panel Moderator - and Why You Should Totally Do It

Fire season has started in New Mexico. Alas.

Makes for riveting sunsets, however!

This week's topic of conversation around the bordello is "Workshops & Panels: Learning, Leading, or Volunteering."

It's timely for me because I'm off this week to two sets of writerly endeavors. Monday through Thursday, I'll be joining Word Whore Marcella Burnard and former Word Whore Laura Bickle for an internet- and phone-free retreat to a cabin in the wilderness of Ohio. (I'm assured there really is such a thing.)

After that, I'll be at the Lori Foster Reader & Author Get Together. Since that event is mainly for readers, there won't be any workshops or panels. More like games, parties and other social events.

Workshops (where a specific tool is taught) or panels (where a number of authors are clustered around a common theme and dish on it) are really within-industry events.

They're also the most fun events a writer gets to do, in my opinion.

Signings are rarely fun. For the less well-known authors, signings are about lonely tables and people darting past, trying not to meet your eye. For better-known authors, it's a marathon of person after person with little meaningful conversation possible. There seems to be little ground between these two. I blame physics.

Workshops are a kick. The drawback is that you have to get OTHER people to agree that you have something to teach. I'm really excited to be doing a workshop at the Fiction Writing in the Digital Age Conference in Las Vegas in October.

More than Wham, Bam, Thank-You M’am – Wooing the Female Reader, presented by Jeffe Kennedy

• Over and over, statistics show that more women are reading fiction than men, particularly on e-Readers. With the overwhelming success of works like Fifty Shades of Grey and Twilight, it bears examining just what female readers are looking for – and what they’re buying. This workshop will examine how romance can be used to both attract readers and illuminate characterization. Sexual attraction can both entice and ratchet up the overall tension of any plot. Jeffe Kennedy, award-winning author of numerous series of erotic romance and fantasy, will walk participants through examples from literature and movies, to illustrate what women really want from a story.

Not only does the topic amuse me - very Word-Whore worthy, yes? - but I'm really looking forward to the conversation on this one. I'm anticipating the workshop will attract a lot of writers with interesting things to say - and ideas I haven't thought of. That's one of the great side-benefits of giving a workshop - all the stuff YOU learn from it.

Which brings me to: panels.

Oh. My. God. A good panel is like intellectual sex. It's like sex with a few carefully selected people who resonate on exactly your same levels. In public. With an audience offering suggestions and tossing sex toys up on the stage.

Or, at least - what I imagine that would be like. *cough*

Seriously, panels are amazing. It's an opportunity to have a structured conversation with like minds and involve and audience. Of course, much depends on the moderator. It's up to the moderator to keep the input from the various panelists even. Nothing ruins a panel faster than that One Person who simply WILL NOT SHUT UP. They can lurk in the audience, too. You know the one - the person who "asks a question" that simply a poorly disguised monologue on everything they would have said, had they been on a panel. A good moderator watches for this behavior and has to be gently ruthless in squelching it. Think iron fist in the velvet glove.

Often it's easier, as a newer writer, to get on panels as a moderator. This is a GREAT opportunity because the audience will see you up there with the fancier authors and associate you with them. Plus it's a perfect opportunity to stalk those authors and make them be your friends. They'll be a little nervous about the panel, and so off-guard, and they'll see you Someone Official. Use this to your advantage. Do it any chance you get. But be a good moderator.

Tips for Being a Good Moderator

1. Be assertive.

Everyone in that room is counting on YOU to stop the One Person Who Will Natter On. It's not about you. Do it for the People.

2. It's not about you.

As a moderator, you are there to serve the panelists. Don't talk about your books or your work. If they come up naturally in conversation, fine, but keep your focus on showcasing the panelists and their work. Don't worry - you'll get plenty of reflected glory.

3. Do your research

Read a little bit of each of the panelist's work. This is super easy to do these days via Amazon and their online samples. Make lists of common themes. Email the panelists ahead of time and ask for input on the panel theme. Have a set of questions ready, but not too many. You'll be amazed how fast the time goes.

4. Be aware

Watch the audience and spread out whose questions you take. Note who's been waiting a long time to ask their burning question. Pay attention to the panelists and ask direct questions of the quiet ones.

5. Enjoy the conversation

As a moderator, this is your chance to get these writers to open up and talk about interesting things. Take advantage of this opportunity and have fun!

How to Find the Scary in a Story

This week's topic is "Tips for Writing Horror/What Makes a Story Scary." And I thought to myself that it's too bad that Laura Bickle, former Word Whore who went over to the dark YA side, isn't here as this topic is right up her alley. She writes scary very well. Me? Not so much.

Then I looked over at my *two* copies of her new book THE HALLOWED ONES and inspiration struck! See, somehow in an overabundance of enthusiasm, I ended up ordering three copies of her book. One I knew was a duplicate and I redirected it to go to my sister and nephew. The other was a total surprise. But its fate was clear: Giveaway Book!

So, here is Laura to tell you what I can cannot: What makes a story scary. And I will giveaway this copy to a lucky commenter who responds by Midnight on Halloween! Sorry international folks, because this is a paper copy (~sniffs in disdain~) I can't send it to you without breaking the bank.

Take it away, Laura!

Scary stories have existed since humans first gathered around campfires and made shadows with their hands against the firelight. Flames outlined frightening figures and beasts, gnashing teeth and slashing tails. Listeners shrank close to each other and edged just a bit nearer to the warmth and the light of the fire.,

I think we know a scary story when we hear it or read it, when it quickens our breathing and causes us to leave the lights on after dark. But what really makes a story scary when we’re crafting it? Is there a way to consciously figure this out as we put it on the page?

I think so. I think the first step is dealing with a topic that scares you. If we don’t feel the fear, we can’t expect others to feel it or respond to it authentically. We gotta deal with topics that scare us in order to most effectively communicate that fear. What scares you? Is it being alone? Being trapped? Getting lost? Those clown slippers that your grandma gave you when you were four?

You think I’m kidding with that last one, but only sort of.

Find something that really disturbs you, and you’ve got a good start. Think about the stuff that keeps you awake at night. You’ve just got to be willing to really force yourself to examine it.

And I don’t mean something that shocks you. A shock is a shock and is good for what it is. It’s a jolt and it leaves your jaw hanging. It’s a great tool to open or close a chapter with a hook.

But fear is something different. Fear is deeper and it lingers. It gets inside your ear and crawls around your head like a spider. A shock is a trick, a device, a thunderclap. Fear is a theme. It’s a storm. It can be quiet or violent, but it lasts longer and is much more interesting to work with.  

The second part of creating a scary story is translating that individual fear to a universal fear. As humans, there are a lot of atavistic fears we’ve got, rattling around in our collective unconscious. We’ve all heard of the common fears, like snakes and spiders. They’re relics of our primitive attempts to survive, when such creatures could bite us and leave us twitching and drooling. Those critters appear pretty darn often on the creepy movies of the week, often in giant form. They’re also a really good reason why I make a lot of noise before opening up the shed to drag out the lawn mower.

But what about the really deep stuff that’s still relevant to modern life? There are a lot of fears that have been around a long time and aren’t going anywhere anytime soon. The dark. Imprisonment. Loss of youth. Abandonment. Powerlessness. Screaming and no one being around to hear us. Being buried alive. Contagion. Being separated from the herd and forced to survive on our own. Injury. Death with no happily ever afterlife.

We’re wired to fear these things. If you can relate your individual fear to something larger that we all share, then it can be worked into a theme, to something that will feel real to you.

•         Claustrophobic in elevators? Tell a story about being buried alive. Go watch the scene in KILL BILL when Beatrix punches her way out of a coffin.  Hey, what would it be like to be buried alive with all these people in this elevator with you? Especially that dude in the back with the bad b.o.? Would you fight that lady for her bag of Taco Bell?  Hm. What happens when the first one dies?

• Do germs squick you out? Read Camus’ THE PLAGUE. Now put down your hand sanitizer and think about germ warfare in the modern world. Also, use the word “bubo” in your first sentence.
• Scared of being alone? Maybe your protagonist needs to get lost in the woods for a very long time. Remember THE BLAIR WITCH PROJECT.  Go watch it and then go for a walk in the great outdoors. What else do you think is out there in the woods that could stalk your protagonist? And yes, your protagonist’s cell phone is absolutely dead. He is absolutely on his own and has to pull a Survivorman on this situation. No fair giving him superpowers or making him the Chosen One in this episode. Bonus points if he gets all Bear Grylls and drinks his own pee.
• Clown slippers? Yeah. The whole uncanny valley thing. Stephen King’s IT. Now go watch some stories from HAUNTED COLLECTOR about possessed dolls. Go out and buy yourself a creepy doll at a flea market and stare at it awhile. Betcha don’t sleep, but you might get some ideas about robotics.

Take your small fear, feel it, and blow it up big in the format of a story. Really touch it, taste it, and feel your pulse pounding in the back of your throat. Challenge yourself.

And if you are afraid, when you start making shadow puppets on the walls, your reader will be, too.

-

Laura Bickle’s professional background is in criminal justice and library science, and when she’s not patrolling the stacks at the public library she’s dreaming up stories about the monsters under the stairs (she also writes contemporary fantasy novels under the name Alayna Williams). Laura lives in Ohio with her husband and a herd of mostly-reformed feral cats. THE HALLOWED ONES is her first young adult novel. Get the latest updates on her work at www.laurabickle.comwww.laurabickle.com.

Being an Author - Two Things that Surprised Me and One that Didn't

A big shout-out today to former, much-missed Word Whore, Laura Bickle on her Tuesday release of THE HALLOWED ONES! This one is YA, which is why she left the slutty boudoir. It's also totally and completely awesome. So excited to see this hit the world.

This week's theme is: What Surprised You About Being an Author?

I've been mulling this over for the last few days. There's a couple of lenses to look through on this one, I think. One would be, what I've discovered that I didn't expect about devoting myself to writing, to becoming this person who is defined by my art, to being a Writer with a capital W. Of course, that part pretty much has to happen first. The second part being, what it's like being a professional Author, a person who gets paid to make up stories, with a capital A.

Writing is a funny profession that way - you have to BE the thing before you can have the career. I mean, for my other career, I'm an environmental consultant. I work primarily on drinking water and I'm one of a very few people who know a whole bunch about all the ins and outs of the Safe Drinking Water Act (SDWA). I'm kind of a national expert on the topic. Now, did I study SDWA and present myself for a job as a potential national expert and auditor? No freaking way!

They hired me because I had an MS in biology and good writing skills. I went on my first audit knowing thing zero about drinking water, except that it comes out of the tap, and having barely skimmed the Code of Federal Regulations that applies to SDWA. (If you've ever tried to read a federal reg, you'll understand why - it's not something you sit down and read.) They assured me I'd learn on the job, which I did. Which is also what I've done on most every job I've ever had - and I imagine what most of you have done, too.

I guess you could say that my graduate degree was equivalent to the time I spent learning what it took to become a Writer. But a lot of people out there have masters degrees in writing and they still have to effect this personal transformation. It's not enough just to write stories, and certainly not enough just to talk about writing stories. And it has nothing to do with whether you manage to sell your work, although if that's not the goal, then the writing loses half of its meaning - the being read part.

Becoming a Writer means a fundamental shift in world view and priorities. It suffuses everything you do and turns you into a different person than you would have been otherwise.

This surprised me.

I kind of figured that I was grown up and knew who I was. I had no idea that I might become someone else altogether.

I would also say that this change has only happened in the last three years. Which might surprise some of you, because I started writing in 1996, had my first book published in 2004. This came home to me the other day when I emailed with my former editor at the university press that published that 2004 book. She said "I think you're the only real writer I know." I didn't understand what she meant because, hello, she's a professional and freelance editor, surrounded by writers. She said I was the only one she knows who's actually writing all the time and producing work.

This surprised me, too.

After all, I want writing to be my career. I want to make that mountainous transition to making a living from my writing, instead of the environmental consulting. Therefore, I treat writing as a job. I used to call it my second job, now I call it my second career. As I wrote this, I wondered what my distinction was between "job" and "career." Dictionary.com says a career is:

1. an occupation or profession, especially one requiring special training, followed as one's lifework: He sought a career as a lawyer.

2. a person's progress or general course of action through life or through a phase of life, as in some profession or undertaking: His career as a soldier ended with the armistice.

 

 I love that idea of lifework. I've been doing the environmental consulting gig for 15 years - my anniversary is next month - and, though I refer to it as career, it's never been my lifework. Definitely a big phase of my life, however.

It's funny - before you're published, you think that passing that line is what will transform you from Writer to Author. From aspirant to professional. And sure - it makes a hella difference, don't get me wrong. Still, that's like finally scoring the entry level position. You still have a career to build, one book after another, establishing your reputation, gradually making more money, avoiding the colleagues from hell and networking with the really great people. 

In the end, being an Author (and I hope you all understand these are Jeffe's Arbitrary Distinctions, between Writer and Author - your mileage may vary) is not this glamorous or fancy elevation in status. It's a career like any other. You have to work hard and 40 hours a week probably won't get you to the top. You have to navigate the alligator pits. Being an idealist about your work is all well and good, but being a realist about the industry will serve you better. 

More and more, I find myself handling my writing career with the same skills I use in my environmental consulting one. I chart out deadlines and plan my work. I delegate what tasks I can. I take both of jobs seriously and commit to them with my utmost ability, as I always expected to treat any career I took on.

And this part? Hasn't surprised me one bit.

Lines Between Friends and Colleagues

I've been running a series over on my own blog about lessons I've learned from my day job that have trained me for my writing career. There have been a lot of interesting discussions, so I thought I'd challenge the Word Whores this week for their own working life lessons.

This weekend my friends and sister Word Whores Laura Bickle and Marcella Burnard have been visiting me. They are also my critique partners. It's a multi-layered relationship. We talk about writing a lot. We know each other's books nearly as well as our own, so it's easy to wind into conversation at random over some plot point we're mulling. They're also good friends, so we talk about our lives. We can invoke the Cone of Silence and save all our writer rantiness for those conversations with each other, that we trust will go nowhere else.

They are both my friends and colleagues. They, along with a few other writers, form my first circle.

Now, I am also friendly with both of my editors, and one of the executive editors. We have easy relationships where we exchange emails and and tweets. There are several agents I'm also friendly with and I enjoy those relationships.

However, I never forget that these are professional relationships.

At my day job, my immediate boss is someone I've been working with for over ten years. Laurie has been with the company a few years longer than I have, she's a few years older than I am. We have a close and rewarding working relationship. Because we travel extensively together and because we naturally mesh well personality-wise, we have become good friends. One of my closest friends, in fact.

However, I never forget that she is also my boss. I can make jokes about various things, gripe from time to time. But would never discuss with her something that would put her on the spot. Like if I was surfing the internet instead of working, for example. (Laurie - if you're reading this, I would totally NEVER do that. :D ) I know where the line is and I'm careful to observe it.

My presses have authors' loops that the editors also participate in, to greater or lesser extents. They're meant to be discussion forums for us to help and support each other. The editors wade in on questions from time to time, or to banter on various topics. But sometimes authors get ranty and the editors are forced to put on their corporate hats and explain the rules. Those things are based on business - that's their job. Still, sometimes the writers get offended.

This is blurring the lines.

The upshot is, the relationships between writers and those in the publishing industry are professional ones, first and foremost. Being friendly with and enjoying the people you work with is one of the great bonuses of a good professional life. But the line should always be clear.

And the Cone of Silence is the place for venting. No exceptions to that.

Plenty and Blessings

by Laura Bickle

This has been a bountiful season, and I've been the recipient of a lot of good fortune in the last year.  I’m content in a wonderful new day job. I’ve had the chance to travel to New York for the 2011 RWA conference. And my husband and I adopted a new fur person, who is the apple of my eye. She chirps and sings like a bird, and it’s lovely to have that kind of energy in the house.

Most recently, I’ve had the opportunity to announce a new project. Here’s the Publisher’s Marketplace announcement:

“Laura Bickle's THE HALLOWED ONES, pitched as "Witness" meets "28 Days Later" in which an Amish girl must protect her family from a violent contagion, even as fear and denial threaten to erode her community from within, to Julie Tibbott at Graphia, for publication in fall 2012 and a sequel in spring 2013, by Becca Stumpf at Prospect Agency (NA).”

I’m over the moon. And with the new project comes new responsibilities…and deadlines! As a result, I'm stepping down from Word Whores to refocus on work.

I've really enjoyed my time with the Word Whores, and have learned a lot from each and every one of you. Keep in touch, and keep on writing!

The Guy Who Runs the Cheezburger Masheen

by Laura Bickle

My beloved husband goes by many titles at our house. I credit him as my Chief Muse. He does an outstanding job of supporting my writing endeavors, above and beyond the call of duty. And far beyond what I deserve.

He listens to me when I wake up in the middle of the night with a harebrained idea. At least, he'll mumble something reasonably cogent before he rolls over and goes back to sleep. He’s the first reader for any of my work and carefully marks it up before it goes to crit partners or my agent. He can be pressured to edit a book in four days before a deadline. He tells me when things are working and when they are not. He’s more broadly-read than I am in a variety of genres, so I trust his opinion. One of his strongest editorial skills is looking for WTF moments:

 “Dude, your main character would have bled out fifteen minutes ago with that kind of head trauma. Don’t beat her up so much if you don't want her brains leaking out of her ear.”

“That guy is kind of a douche. I mean, I know that he’s supposed to be some kind of hero or some such stuff, but he’s a douche. I want to take away his man card.”

“This frankly violates the space-time continuum.”

“WTF is this platypus doing here?”

And he provides ego petting whenever I need it. When I’m in the throes of “I suck,” he’s able to give pretty rational-sounding reasons why I don’t. Sometimes, I believe him. 

A successful muse, all the way around.

But he’s not only that. He’s the Guy Who Runs the Cheezburger Masheen.

This is from the cats’ perspective. And, make no mistake, they rule the roost. They adored him from the moment they laid their eerily-reflective eyes on him. I knew he was The One because they didn’t barf in his shoes.

They sensed that he had supernatural powers.

He brought fish into the house. I’m not a seafood fan, but my husband will bring in all manner of things that I don’t like and which the cats adore. Salmon. Tuna. Scallops. And he shares. They look upon him with adoration for this simple fact alone.

But what’s more…he came with a Cheezburger Masheen. A propane-powered barbecue grill, which is something I lacked before he came into my life. He’ll grill a salmon filet specifically for the cat whenever he tosses one on the grill. I’ll turn up my nose and go scorch a cheeseburger. But he’ll grill them a tuna steak to the perfect temperature, allow it to cool so that they don’t burn their little tongues, and flake it into their separate dishes. He knows which cats prefer salmon over tuna, which ones like a little cheese on their burgers, and which one dislikes “well done” anything.

I think we all came out of this arrangement pretty well. I’m proud to have married the Guy Who Runs the Cheeseburger Masheen.

Perfect Man

by Laura Bickle

I don't think that there is A Perfect Man out there, no Adonis-like avatar or archetype of manliness. Just like there is no Perfect Woman, no Aphrodite arising from the sea foam. That's a whole lotta pressure - in being with a Perfect Man, I must be the Perfect Woman, right? I don't want to be that, and I don't want to expect that. I'm not much into outwardly-imposed ideas of perfection. It's sorta dehumanizing.

It also implies that one person can be our everything. That one's identity should be subsumed by another, that one person can meet all our needs and solve all our problems. And that's a very sad, widespread myth. I have a husband who I love and adore. But I'm not going to be able to share his love for his college football team, sushi, or his latest video game. And he doesn't know what my thing with shoes is, what's awesome about kielbasa-cabbage soup, or why Peter Gabriel is a genius. We have other people in our lives who fill other roles - friends and coworkers and family - who understand us in a slightly different milieu.


Khalil Gibran says it best in THE PROPHET:

On Marriage
Kahlil Gibran

You were born together, and together you shall be forevermore.
You shall be together when the white wings of death scatter your days.
Ay, you shall be together even in the silent memory of God.
But let there be spaces in your togetherness,
And let the winds of the heavens dance between you.

Love one another, but make not a bond of love:
Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls.
Fill each other's cup but drink not from one cup.
Give one another of your bread but eat not from the same loaf
Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each one of you be alone,
Even as the strings of a lute are alone though they quiver with the same music.

Give your hearts, but not into each other's keeping.
For only the hand of Life can contain your hearts.
And stand together yet not too near together:
For the pillars of the temple stand apart,
And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other's shadow.

Mining Old Fears

-by Laura Bickle, a.k.a. Alayna Williams


I traded with the lovely Jeffe today. She'll be regaling you with tales of fears on Monday.


But I'll talk about my own today. I've said it before, but I think that writers have a responsibility to challenge both readers and our own fears. What scares us? Why? I feel as if I'm doing my own best work when I dig deep into what scares me. If a story wakes me up breathless in the middle of the night, if it makes me cry, if it gives me nightmares - I've hit a nerve. Something dark that needs to be dragged into light and examined. And, yes, researched. I want to know why I'm fearful, beyond the initial emotional reaction. 


This piece first ran in February on Stella's wonderful Ex Libris blog. It ran the week that ROGUE ORACLE was released, two weeks before the Japan Tohuku earthquake, tsunami, and subsequent nuclear crisis. Like so many other people around the world, I watched. Wondered. Waited.


And yes, I was afraid.



Mining Old Fears in Fiction
by Alayna Williams

Every once in awhile, I think it's good to go rooting around in the dirt of my fears for story fodder. We all have things that scare us and tend to linger. Maybe it's a childhood terror, a phobia, a bit of something inexplicable that boils up once in blue moon in a recurring dream. Every so often, I take my shovel to the forgotten stuff in the back of my brain and see what I can unearth.

One of my childhood fears was Chernobyl. I was in middle school when the news reports began to filter in that something terrible had happened in Europe...that a Soviet reactor had melted down, breached containment in fire and invisible poison. The Ukraine seemed a thousand worlds away. And I was less than a bystander, an ordinary kid on an ordinary street in the U.S.

But something about the story captivated and frightened me. Partially, I think it was because I grew up in a very industrial area, in the shadow of many chemical plants. Everyone's father had, at one time or another, returned home in the middle of the night in a plastic moon suit, scrubbed red, without the boots, wallet, and lunchbox he'd left with. It was scary. We couldn't see or smell or taste anything different when we threw our arms around our dads. But our mothers worried about the invisible. About cancer.

I remember seeing some pictures of Chernobyl on the news, of an industrial plant not quite so different than those plants that surrounded us. And seeing fire. And the rumors about plumes of poison moving over Europe, unstoppably.

It made me shudder. My mother turned off the television when we were in the room.

But the story of Chernobyl - of the people who died immediately in the fire, those who died after of horrible cancers, of secrets and something invisible that could kill more effectively than an army - it seemed to seep into the minds of the adults. I remember that my class was shown a film about radiation in the school library. I don't remember what it was called, but I remember that it was pretty graphic. It talked a lot about Hiroshima. Poisoned radioactive organs in jars. A man in a perfectly pristine white T-shirt who was covered in radiation burns. Almost a supernatural horror - more terrifying than the books about the making of classic Dracula and Frankenstein movies that we were reading.

It did give me nightmares. And I think many of the other kids.

But, like most other things in childhood, the memory of that fear faded. We grew up, didn't think about the half-life of cesium or whether potatoes could be cultivated in earth a half a world away. We forgot, went to work in the same plants our fathers did, whether for a summer or years after.

I forgot, too. The vicarious memory of it was buried somewhere in my subconscious, and I had no cause to go anywhere near it. It was not part of my everyday life. I went to work every day and preoccupied myself with more proximate fears, like crime and work, and bills and the well being of the stray cat on my doorstep.

But I think a bit of that fear remained to dig around in. I was working on the ORACLE series, and using Tarot cards as story prompts. I was developing the idea for ROGUE ORACLE, plucking cards at random. I kept picking the Tower over and over...the Tower depicts a tall, dark structure against the night sky. Lightning strikes it and destroys it, sending two figures falling to earth. The symbolism of the card is about the end of things - a paradigm shift, the destruction of all that came before.

Something about that flash of light, the fire in the darkness, and the monolithic structure reminded me of that long-buried fear of Chernobyl. It never impacted the physicality of my life, so far away, but it did lodge in my consciousness. I began to research what had happened since then, to that long-forgotten place.

I saw pictures of beautiful land that had been overtaken by nature, by wolves and grass. Photos of rusted cars and helicopters. Articles about the children in hospitals affected by rare cancers, years and years beyond the event. Birds making nests in open seams in the Sarcophagus, the containment structure over the reactor. That, in my mind, was the Tower. In my bystander's head, it became a deeply powerful supernatural entity - something that had the power to reach through time and continue to affect generations of people.

And, because it scared me, I had to write about it.

Fairies, Pixies, and Wee Folk

Fairies, Pixies, and Wee Folk
by Laura Bickle

Fairies, pixies, and wee folk are said to be accompanied by mushrooms. We've recently had a surfeit of mushrooms. Here are some pictures of the lovely Jack O' Lantern mushrooms I found in my back yard. They're approximately the size of a pumpkin, and a lovely orange. I imagine that they are fairy blessings.

And yes, those are wild strawberries growing among the grass blades. The land our house is on was once a strawberry farm, many decades ago. Ours is the only yard that still has them. In the summer, the yard is dotted with little red strawberries - which the birds adore.

The fairies were not so lucky at my neighbors' house. My next door neighbor mows his lawn on the diagonal and freaks out if a dandelion should sprout. A couple of weeks ago, a smattering of white mushrooms sprouted where a tree had been cut down. It looked like a little smurf village. Very cute.

My neighbor freaked out and mowed 'em down.

They came back, in force.

After mowing every other day for a week, he finally had a chemical truck come and blast his lawn. The mushrooms are dead and gone.

But mine are still spreading. I'm whispering to them, telling them that they have to stay in my yard or the troll will get 'em.

The Art of the Sidekick

by Laura Bickle

Sidekicks serve some very useful functions in constructing a story. a sidekick can provide comic relief, prod a reluctant hero along the journey, and serve as an important element of world-building.

I think that a sidekick's chief value is to humanize the protagonist. The sidekick knows things about the protagonist that no one else does, and the protagonist can hold the sidekick in a great deal of affection that he or she is unable to express otherwise. It's an emotionally intimate landscape, one in which protagonist and sidekick have each others' back.

Think about Anakin Skywalker lovingly building C3PO from scrap metal because he didn't have any friends. This shows the boy's genius, and also his capacity for love. As a sidekick to Batman, the many Robins have been privy to all the secrets of Wayne Manor. And we get to see the cold Dark Knight in the role of a father. Samwise Gamgee kept reminding Frodo of his humanity (and second breakfast) in Lord of the Rings. The Lone Gunman showed us that Mulder and Scully were not the most tragic nerds on the block. And we can well imagine that Kitt hauled Michael Knight home safely after too many bullets, babes, or beers.

What about you? Do you have a favorite sidekick from a favorite book, movie, or television program? Why?

Heroines - Madonnas and Whores

by Laura Bickle

I've always loved reading about powerful heroines, women who are in charge of their own story. I grew up reading stories about women who slew their own dragons. I was even sympathetic to the legend of Medusa - in my eyes, she was a tragic figure who turned all her lovers to stone. Myths are rich in stories of women who have attempted to balance power and passionate love, who reject the idea that naivete is a virtue.

One of the myths I've been drawn to was the myth of Ishtar. Ishtar is the Babylonian goddess of love, war, and sex. Her love was known to be fatal - there's no blushing innocence, here. In the Epic of Gilgamesh, Gilgamesh tells her:

“Listen to me while I tell the tale of your lovers. There was Tammuz, the lover of your youth, for him you decreed wailing, year after year. You loved the many-coloured roller, but still you struck and broke his wing… You have loved the lion tremendous in strength: seven pits you dug for him, and seven. You have loved the stallion magnificent in battle, and for him you decreed the whip and spur and a thong... You have loved the shepherd of the flock; he made meal-cake for you day after day, he killed kids for your sake. You struck and turned him into a wolf; now his own herd-boys chase him away, his own hounds worry his flanks."

One of the most famous myths about Ishtar involves her descent to the Underworld, in pursuit of the soul a lost lover. She descends through the gates of hell, shedding her weapons and clothing as offerings, until she reaches Ereshkigel, Queen of the Underworld. Ereshkigel poisons Ishtar, dooming her to the Underworld. She can only be freed if someone will take her place.

Ishtar returns to the surface of the earth, in the company of demons, to find someone to take her place. She finds that her husband, Tammuz, has not mourned her. In a fit of rage, she sends him back to the underworld in her place, with the demons.

The myth fascinated me, the idea of a mythic heroine who was a love goddess, who could also be so ruthless. She wasn't like any of the other tender love goddesses I'd studied. Ishtar didn't recline prettily on a fainting couch, twirling her hair, and awaiting her destiny; she picked up her sword and fought for who and what she wanted.

I've gotta respect that. And I respect that in a way that I don't respect naive and innocent heroines.

The first image is from Doreen Virtue's Goddess Guidance Oracle, and the artist is Jonathan Earl Bowser. The second image is by Nuktya. 

Loving and Hating the Process of Writing

by Laura Bickle

Writing a novel is like falling in and out of love. It's a relationship with stages. There's bliss, angst, reconciliation, and letting go. There are beginnings, middles and ends. And also sometimes shouting and tears.

Beginnings are tough for me. Nothing intimidates me more than staring at a blank page. There's absolutely nothing there but a sea of white. I chew on my lip and doubt myself. Can I conjure something from nothing? What if it never comes together?

I reluctantly tap out a first line. A hook. I squint at it, chew on my lip some more.

Is this concept worth pursuing? Is it attractive enough to chase through the next several months, through research and dreams and the flu? Is it going to be one of those easy relationships, with effortless flow? Or will this one be like pulling my own teeth?

There's no way to know. I futz and mumble to myself and stare at the first five pages, dawdle around the first chapter. I fret aloud and talk to the cat about the new relationship. This is one of the parts I dislike: the uncertain beginning.

The cat usually ignores me. I screw up the courage to take the plunge. I decide that I like the idea. I flirt with it a bit, chase it around like a butterfly. I court it. Sometimes, I can be trusted to even put on a clean T-shirt while typing. I'm trying to impress it. I even make an outline.

And it flirts back with me...with snatches of phrases. Images. I type and scribble notes, fearful of losing anything. Typing, typing...

And then I'm suddenly at the middle. I'm all of a sudden in a committed relationship with the book. I can feel it taking shape, developing a life of its own. It starts to have its own moods.  Sometimes, it's cloying. Sometimes distant.

But we fall into a rhythm, greet each other at the same time every day. A standing date.

We talk. We do more than that. The book and I have discussions. In the middle, there are multiple ways for things to go. I try some things that work. I try some that don't. I pull out the note cards, fuss with my outline. I spread cards out on the floor all around me, trying to analyze and dissect what's working, what's not.

Sometimes, it's a test of endurance, pushing through. But I can see to the end. When I have the ending firmly structured, the last ten thousand words fly. It's bliss. I see where all the tendrils of thought and plot threads I had developed in the beginning curve back around. I think I understand the story, now: the hidden symbols, the growth of the character. I understand what it is about the story that attracted me to it. I understand what I'm afraid of about it.

The end is the best part. It gathers momentum, takes wing.

And flies right out of my hands. I type THE END on the last page.

And I feel a pang of sadness. It's gone. It's moved out of my life, out of my mind and my heart. There's still some tweaking to be done. Editing. Smoothing. But that part feels like the post-mortem of the relationship.

The story's gone. I did what I needed to: I gave the story a voice. And it left me. The nest's empty. Lonely. I hate that feeling.

And the only solution is to fill it again, with another egg of a story. Another beginning.

Deal-Breakers: Negotiating with a Foodie

by Laura Bickle

My husband is a foodie. I am not. It results in some interesting negotiation around food. A lot of good-natured arguments about who's right and who's wrong about food.

I mean...I'm one of those people who's entirely cool with having cereal for dinner or eating leftover pizza for breakfast. Food was always sorta a peripheral thing. I've eaten a whole lotta Hot Pockets, Froot Loops,  frozen burritos, and Velveeta. I have dabbled in Spam. I was always one of those people who ate sorta because I'm supposed to, without taking much joy in the process.

Then came the husband, who introduced me to a vast array of food and shoved me kicking-and-screaming into actual dinner every night. On plates. With silverware and stuff. I actually began to enjoy stuff. Bulgogi. Pasta a la caprese. Homemade gnocci.

Yeah, I know. It's a terrible thing to be loved.

But we still disagree on some important issues about food. They're not dealbreakers for the relationship. But they do occasionally result in us sitting across from a table from each other, with one of us wrinkling our nose and saying: "I can't believe you're eating that." They can be a dealbreaker for who will eat what.

On the short list of food dealbreakers:

-Mayonnaise. I love it. Hubs says: "Mayonnaise is France's greatest crime against humanity." So...no potato salad, deviled eggs, or mayo on club sandwiches for him.

-The Great Hot Dog Debate. My tastes in dawgs is pretty proletarian. I like 'em with ketchup, mustard, onion and relish. He says that's sacrilege. He believes in mustard like it's a religion and thinks ketchup is "an abomination unto the Lord."

-Ketchup. I love me some ketchup. On pretty much everything: hash browns, fries, burgers. Bring it. See husband's take on ketchup, above.

-Steak sauce. I love steak sauce. Probably because my relatives cooked meat to the consistency of shoe leather, growing up. It makes everything more edible. Hubs says it disguises the fabulous spice rub he's used on the meat: "You can't taste the steak!"

-Nuts and beans. I adore legumes of all kinds. Hubs will not touch 'em. I've thusly learned to make beanless chili and bogart the peanut butter for myself.

-Sushi. I put my foot down on that one. He says: "You have no idea what you're missing." I say: "I don't eat anything  with tentacles. I've seen too much hentai."

What are your culinary dealbreakers?

Not Really Listening

by Laura Bickle

I go back and forth on the soundtracks thing. Sometimes, music soothes the restless left brain and lets the right side write. Other times, it's a distraction, and I crave silence.

I'm mostly into the silence thing, these days. A lot of it is coming from the joy of writing outdoors. The best music for me lately has been frogs, crickets, locusts, and birdsong. I've spent most of the summer baking in an inflatable pool in my backyard. It's very Zen. For obvious reasons, I don't bring the laptop near the water. Silence would be replaced by my anguished shrieking  and splashing after it fell in.

I tend to ignore a lot of sounds. I listen to what I think is the important stuff. I hear cats barfing at three in the morning. I hear the washing machine in the basement clunking because it's unbalanced in the spin cycle. I listen to my cat's heart to see if I can hear the murmur I'm told is there. I listen to my husband's grumbling about his day.

And I ignore stuff that's not important to me, like my cell phone. I just don't bother to turn it on, anymore. I know that baffles the heck out of some folks, but...people who really need to get ahold of me in any kind of emergency know how to do it. And that just ain't it.  A lot of  my distaste for the tool comes from accumulated resentment about being on call 24x7 for a job I had for ten years. Now, I'm off the electronic leash and enjoying every minute of it.

I am also one of those odd ducks who doesn't listen to the radio in the car. It annoys and distracts me. I like listening to the air from an open window. And I miss too much stuff with the radio on. Like a couple of days ago...I heard rustling in the shrubbery, stopped the car, and deer bounded out. Six deer, one after another. Mamas with nearly-grown fawns. I wouldn't have heard them if I had the radio on.

Oh, yeah. I'm supposed to be talking about music and writing...

There are some songs that I think of, that become anthems for stories. "I Burn for You," by Sting, is one of those that was in my head for EMBERS. "We Work the Black Seam," also by Sting, was ringing between my ears for ROGUE ORACLE.

I've been listening to Sting's SOUL CAGES album for the current WIP. The WIP has nothing whatsoever to do with the ocean. But I feel like the mood's the same.

There's a theme, here, isn't it?

Yes, I listen to things other than Sting and the Police. Pink Floyd's MOMENTARY LAPSE OF REASON. Peter Gabriel's music for THE LAST TEMPTATION OF CHRIST. My Chemical Romance. Brian Eno. The Killers. A lot of Vitamin String Quartet versions of my favorites. Things wander in and out of my CD player. And I'm uncool enough to occasionally tune in to the ambient music channel on TV and let it sit there for the afternoon.

I'm becoming more interested in ambient music when I write. Nothing too distracting, but it helps me lose track of time. I've puttered with a few tracks with subliminal stuff that's supposed to enhance my creativity. Dunno if it works, but listening to ocean waves is nice.

I think I like having a little bit of sound in the background. I feel that way about summer. I love listening to the crickets and frogs at night, and it always makes me sad when fall comes and they begin to fade, bit by bit, until one day...it's silent at nine p.m.

Right now, I can hear the crickets past midnight. But I know that the days will shorten, and I'm gonna have to rustle through my old boxes of music for a new song to not-really-listen to.

The Path of Solitude

by Laura Bickle

I think that solitude is one of those things that people instinctively crave or avoid. I'm a craver, an avowed introvert. I can happily spend days without speaking to another human, focusing on this project or that project and letting the hours run together from dawn to dusk. I'm more productive when I have solitude, and more at peace.

It's funny. I intermittently attend a meditation class. I always find it more difficult to meditate in a group than in my own backyard, with the grass squished between my toes. Grass doesn't sigh, twitch, cough, or demand attention. Despite my teacher's discussions about energy and the interconnectedness of all things, I always find myself coming back to my own set point in solitude.

One of my favorite Tarot cards is the Hermit. It classically depicts an old man leaning on a walking stick, holding a lantern of illumination. The traditional meaning is about solitude, introspection, and keeping one's own counsel. The Hermit is also a man who searches for truth and wisdom, guided by the light of his lantern. He's on a journey by himself. He carries only what he needs with him, and he knows that he moves forward alone.

Maybe the Hermit's path to wisdom and enlightenment is the long, roundabout way. It's easier, I think, to ask questions and have someone give guidance. Put in the quarter and get what you want out of the vending machine of mysteries. But it does rob us of the work of walking the journey ourselves, with all the bumps and turns in the road.

Oh, the places I've been...

by Laura Bickle

I've gotten the chance to go some fun places. Washington, D.C. New York. St. Lucia. Chicago. Portland. The Dakotas. San Francisco. I am, however, very bad at organizing photos and transferring them from one computer to another. This is what I've got handy, without going full-scale Indiana Jones excavation on old hard drives...

Lakeside, Ohio. My mom and I usually go once a year before tourist season starts. It's quiet and peaceful. Always restful:

The Ohio Renaissance Festival. A must-do every year:

Hocking Hills, Ohio. My husband and I got married here, and we go back a couple of times a year:

Looking forward to visiting old favorites and new places this year!