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October 31, 2006

distribution problems with Queen of Swords

I've had a few emails and messages today from people who went out to buy Queen of Swords and were unable to find it, even in big chain stores in urban areas. Some stores just didn't have it yet, some had ordered very few copies. In two cases people went home and ordered from Amazon.

This is not good. I forward the information to my agent and my editor, and tomorrow I'm going to get some answers. Also, It seems to me that if brick and mortar bookstores want to compete with online vendors, they need to be more proactive.

If you've had a similar experience, could you please let me know in the comments?

Thanks.

October 31, and that means:

You're thinking Halloween. I'm thinking that today is the official publication date for Queen of Swords. Which is a relief, and also scary. A kid out there in the world, and there's nothing you can do to ease that passage. What if nobody wants to play with her? What if she stands forgotten in a corner?

What if the other kids gang up on her and make fun?

But no. We'll think positive. She's a good kid. She'll have more friends every day. Will she be popular enough to make that Dean's list? The one everybody is always looking at?

That's out of my hands.

Now for the big question: when will the next book be done? Answer: I plan to start writing next week.

edited to add this interesting bit of news: Queen of Swords has already gone back for a second printing. On the release day. This is very good.

October 30, 2006

IMPORTANT: re signed books

The easiest way to get a signed copy of one of my (in print) books is to order it through my local independent bookseller.

Village Books does have a website for ordering, but do not use it. The online automated shopping option will bypass the mortar and brick store, and I won't be able to sign it. You need to send an email to VB's orders department saying what you want and including your telephone number. They will call you to get your credit card information and exact instructions on how you want the book(s) signed and/or dedicated. Then I'll go into the shop and take care of that.

To be clear: If you use the automated on-line shopping option, the book will be mailed to you from a warehouse someplace, and it won't be signed by me. Or anybody, for that matter.

Got it? Don't use the automated system. Email instead.

October 29, 2006

If you've already read Queen of Swords

I set up a special topic area in the discussion forum to discuss Queen of Swords for those who have already read it. That means there will be spoilers, so please don't peek in there unless (1) you've finished the book; or (2) like spoilers. So here's the direct link to that discussion.

And the confession: it's for me as much as for anybody else. I'm starved for feedback.

October 26, 2006

Library Journal review

Jeanne alerted me to the Library Journal review for Queen of Swords, which had somehow slipped by unnoted. Here it is:

Library Journal

The latest volume in Donati's popular Bonner family series opens where Fire Along the Sky (2004) left off, with Luke Bonner's wife, Jennet, a captive of a renegade priest in the Caribbean. Luke and his half-sister, Hannah, rescue Jennet, but soon realize that she had to give up her newborn son, named Nathan after his grandfather, to keep him safe. The Bonners track Nathan to New Orleans, where he has been adopted by the matriarch of a prominent Creole family and her profligate grandson. Finding Nathan isn't difficult, but keeping him and avoiding the ire of the Poiterin family is, and the Bonners soon find themselves caught up in the wartime politics of 1814 New Orleans. As with the previous books in the series, Donati treats her characters with sensitivity and does not shy away from tackling thorny themes, such as racial relations between Native Americans and whites during the early 18th century. This fast-paced, engaging book is sure to draw in readers. Highly recommended. Nanette Donohue, Champaign P.L., IL

I'll take a 'highly recommended' any day -- and with a smile. However, I have to point out that there are a few factual innacuracies here. Anybody pick them out? If so, please post a comment.

Which means: WARNING. Possible spoilers in the comments.

I'm still here

I survived yesterday, thanks to the Mathematician and drugs. And enough about that.

Today I write like mad. I shall return, when I am Done.

October 24, 2006

open thread

in case you're getting frustrated by closed comments. However, here's the rule: no needle talk.

off topic, big topic

things you might want to know about various candidates in your state as the election draws closer (after the jump):


--AZ-Sen: Jon Kyl

--AZ-01: Rick Renzi

--AZ-05: J.D. Hayworth

--CA-04: John Doolittle

--CA-11: Richard Pombo

--CA-50: Brian Bilbray

--CO-04: Marilyn Musgrave

--CO-05: Doug Lamborn

--CO-07: Rick O'Donnell

--CT-04: Christopher Shays

--FL-13: Vernon Buchanan

--FL-16: Joe Negron

--FL-22: Clay Shaw

--ID-01: Bill Sali

--IL-06: Peter Roskam

--IL-10: Mark Kirk

--IL-14: Dennis Hastert

--IN-02: Chris Chocola

--IN-08: John Hostettler

--IA-01: Mike Whalen

--KS-02: Jim Ryun

--KY-03: Anne Northup

--KY-04: Geoff Davis

--MD-Sen: Michael Steele

--MN-01: Gil Gutknecht

--MN-06: Michele Bachmann

--MO-Sen: Jim Talent

--MT-Sen: Conrad Burns

--NV-03: Jon Porter

--NH-02: Charlie Bass

--NJ-07: Mike Ferguson

--NM-01: Heather Wilson

--NY-03: Peter King

--NY-20: John Sweeney

--NY-26: Tom Reynolds

--NY-29: Randy Kuhl

--NC-08: Robin Hayes

--NC-11: Charles Taylor

--OH-01: Steve Chabot

--OH-02: Jean Schmidt

--OH-15: Deborah Pryce

--OH-18: Joy Padgett

--PA-04: Melissa Hart

--PA-07: Curt Weldon

--PA-08: Mike Fitzpatrick

--PA-10: Don Sherwood

--RI-Sen: Lincoln Chafee

--TN-Sen: Bob Corker

--VA-Sen: George Allen

--VA-10: Frank Wolf

--WA-Sen: Mike McGavick

--WA-08: Dave Reichert

the dogs did not eat my homework

I did not finish Pajama Jones today, but I do have a real excuse.

I really would have finished, except I spent the whole day on the phone talking to the sheriff's office and the insurance people not just about the Girlchild's accident on Friday, but because last night somebody broke into the Mathematician's truck. Smashed windows, took stuff. Including his cell phone, which they then used for three hours nonstop, until we realized what had happened and called Verizon to stop service.

Verizon gave us the numbers that the dopey car smashers called, and we passed them along to the sheriff, and if they make an arrest (fat chance) they'll call to let us know. But I ask you: how stupid do you have to be to make a lot of local phone calls on a stolen cell phone?

Most likely this is the work of a gang of teenagers who specialize in vehicle smash and grab. I hope they do catch them and then you know what? I want them assigned to me for about a thousand hours of personal and community service.

In all of this, I got very little writing done and I'm maybe twenty pages from finishing. And now I have to feed the troops and then I have to get ready for the reading... still don't know what the heck I'm going to actually read ... and then I go off and take care of that, and when I come home?

Too tired to do much but collapse in front of the television.

But tomorrow, come hell or high water or (dog forbid) even another car incident, I will finish this novel. And then I'll go dance in the street... but not barefoot, because there's still lots of glass in the road.

Except. I just remembered that tomorrow I have to get my blood drawn first thing in the morning.

Oh, shit.

Here are things I would prefer to having my blood drawn:

a root canal
a pelvic exam
a tax audit

My venipuncture phobia is alive and kicking, to the point that I have to stop writing about this now and in fact, I will close the comments for fear that somebody will talk about this topic in detail, which really: no. I can't. Can't have that. One time a year I take Valium, and that time has come.

Writing in a Valium haze is probably not going to work out so well, but I will do my best. After I've come home and collapsed into a quivering heap and let the Mathematician make me tea and tell me it's all over for another year, no more.. you know, then maybe I'll be able to write.

October 23, 2006

What good people

Alison from NZ writes to say:

BTW I went to one of my local bookstores last week to buy a copy of TTTT as a birthday present for a friend. It was at no. 6 on the bestseller list.

And my response: woooohoo! I love the folk downunder.

look, a ticket for you


here's an idea. maybe not workable, but an idea

I get email all the time from people in the UK and Australia/NZ (and other places, too) saying they can't find copies of the Wilderness books, and do I have any suggestions?

The problem is, I don't. It's as frustrating for me as it is for them. No, wait. It's almost certainly more frustrating for me.

Except I had an idea today, which may or may not work. Here's the question for you: If it were possible to purchase the first four Wilderness books in paperback and/or Queen of Swords in hardcover, all signed, and have them sent to you the slow way, would people be interested in that?

As you see here, I can order the four paperbacks from Amazon for a total of $23.41 (this is a special deal which won't last forever; when it's over the price for all four will go up to close to $30). If I place the order, the books appear at my door nicely packaged. I could then open the package and sign the books, tape it all back together, put a new mailing label on it, and drop it off at the post office.

I estimate the box would weigh five pounds, so mailing cost (parcel post, 4-6 weeks):

Great Britain $24.25
Australia $22.75
Greece $19.25
Ontario Canada $16.00
The Republic of Georgia $23.25

and so on.

Queen of Swords would be $19.32, plus shipping. If all five books were in one package, with an estimated weight of seven pounds, that would be $28.45 to England.

I wouldn't add any additional charges or handling fees, but it's still not cheap. If you live in England and you want the four signed paperback books, we're talking $47.66; for the paperbacks plus the new hardcover, a whopping $71.18. Australia would be a little less. And once the three for one deal is over at Amazon, you'd have to add on another $7.50. So the big question: is this worth talking about? And if there is enough interest, how in the heck would I handle the money end of it?

Thoughts?

Back to work.

October 22, 2006

I am not going to write this book.

I have no intention of writing a how-to book. No time, no interest. I do read them, however, and usually I'm irritated. I imagine the author sitting in front of the keyboard chuckling to himself. Knowing he's tying aspiring authors into knots. Good, he thinks. Too many damn books out there as it is.

Which really, who could argue? There are hundreds of books I'd like to read and haven't got to yet, and more every day.

But. If you're going to write a how-to book, your heart and your mind should be in the right place. Which is rarely the case, so most of those books aren't worth much, in my opinion. And of course there are exceptions: I do like Bird by Bird, for the author's sincerity and generosity of spirit and sense of humor. There are some nuggets of wisdom in there, but it's not a book that sets out to teach you anything concrete about how to write. It's more about how to approach the act of writing. The other is Janet Burroway's Writing Fiction, which is the best book I've ever run into for simply untangling the mechanics of storytelling. There are also some good books on very specific topics. While I find most how to write properly books (shall I say) full of crap, there are some great books that look at very specific and focused issues, such as how to write a good erotic sex scene or how to approach personal narrative.

I am wondering what you think about this. Especially if you are writing with the hope of being published at some point. Do you read how-to books? And if you read them, do they help, or hurt, or do nothing at all? Do you actually learn anything from them that you can use?

And here's a question: what would you like to see in a how-to book you've never seen before?

smacked, again

The last few days have felt a little like this (brought to you via YouTube). I'll spare you the gory details with one exception: The Girlchild had her second car accident. A small fender bender type of thing, but possible injuries to (and I am not making this up) the passenger in the other car, a 72 year old woman who was being driven home from the doctor, where she had gone to be examined because she had two cracked ribs. Now I'm asking you, how can you differentiate the possible before and after in this case? The seatbelt locked, which worried the other driver. So, police, police reports, the whole shebang. Much of tomorrow will be taken up with putting out fires.

Her last accident was a year ago, almost to the day. Tomorrow we'll find out if she keeps her license. I'm not sure what to hope for.

In other, happier news, a good friend sent me a whole bag of dark chocolate Kit Kats (along with lots of other goodies). Which I have hidden so I don't overdose. And finally, Paperback Writer made me snort gingerale with this post.

October 20, 2006

prepositional phrases

Here's one of the little tricks I use when I'm editing or critiquing fiction or creative non-fiction for a friend:

Judge each prepositional phrase with no mercy in your heart.

I have had students whose work bristled with excess prepositional phrases, veritable hedgehog paragraphs that gave even courageous readers the prickles. For some reason, the worst prepositional phrase excesses tend to congregate at the caboose of the sentence. It's as if the writer just can't separate himself from the newly hatched thought and must stick around and pet it for a while, dressing it up just a little more before he moves on to the next thought.

My guess is that you could pick up most novels, almost any novel you've got hanging around and find occasional paragraphs that are infested and need treatment. Now, I am not a minimalist. I can appreciate the occasional Raymond Carver story, but in general, I don't get the urge to reread them. So this isn't me telling you to cut cut cut every word you can possibly do without, and some you can't. I like prose, I like description but still: every word has to earn its place in the sentence.

October 18, 2006

In which I am pleased and shocked

There's an interview with Amy Bloom on Critical Mass (the blog of the national book critics circle board of directors). Amy Bloom, as in the person who wrote Love Invents Us and Come to Me and one of my all time favorite short stories "The Story" (The Best American Short Stories 2000, ed. E. L. Doctorow, Houghton Mifflin 2000) and many other things.

Amy Bloom has a virtual bookshelf on her website. I did not know this. I also did not know that my Homestead is on that bookshelf, in very high falutin company.* In the interview she says about the books on her bookshelf (including Homestead): "These are all great writers, lovers of the word, lyrical even when stripped down, clean and tight, even when they are blossoming. Their sentences please me as a reader, and illuminate the craft for me as a writer."

So now I'm all aflutter.

I should say that I've met Amy, but then Amy has met lots of people and many of them writers, but Homestead is on her bookself.

Ha!

Now I should say in the spirit of complete disclosure that I'm pretty sure Amy is not a big fan of the Wilderness novels, and that she probably wouldn't much like Tied to the Tracks either. Not her kinda books. But you know what?

Homestead is on her bookshelf.

*Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice; Pat Barker, The Regeneration Trilogy; Rebecca Brown, The Gifts of the Body; Robertson Davies, The Deptford Trilogy; John Derbyshire, Seeing Calvin Coolidge in a Dream; Rosina Lippi, Homestead; Margot Livesey, Criminals; Colum McCann, Everything in This Country Must; Geoffrey Wolff, The Duke of Deception; Tillie Olsen, Tell Me a Riddle; Reynolds Price, Kate Vaiden

ghosts

edited to add the mp3 of John Doe #24; please let me know if it doesn't work, as this is the first time I've tried to embed an audio link.

I don't think it's any secret that I'm agnostic, and that I prefer science to religion when it comes to trying to sort out the big mysteries. Also, it's probably clear that I don't pray to any god or gods, and that I don't believe in life after death. Now, the idea of life after death is appealing, but I can't find a way to make myself believe in it. I love the whole world view that goes along with reincarnation, but in the same way I love the idea of Oz. A wonderful story, but no more than that.

On the other hand, I am cautious enough and maybe intellectually curious enough to admit that many things in the universe are beyond human understanding. Which is akin to saying: maybe there is some kind of greater intelligence out there, steering things. But if so, it's happening in a way that's completely beyond the confines of my brain.

And on the topic of the brain: it's a big mystery. So much we don't understand. So I'd have to say that I am open to the possibility of extra sensory perception, but to be really convinced I'd need some hard data.

What's all this about, you're wondering. I do have a point.

I don't believe in life after death, which means, logically, that I don't believe in ghosts. And I don't. Not in the sense of the spirits of the dead hanging around on earth, sometimes making themselves known. Waiting to move off to another level of being. Nope, none of that works for me. It strikes me as both sad and fitting that a human being lives out a life, gathering information and sensation and experience, and then all that dies with him or her and soaks back into the earth. I don't believe my father's ghost is still on this earth, though I would like it if it were. If he were nearby watching, and commenting, that would make me feel protected in the same way a small child feels safe, lying in bed at night hearing adults talking in the other room.

So I don't believe in ghosts, but here's the thing: my characters often do. Ghosts pop into my stories on a fairly regular basis. They are as talkative dead as they were alive. Hannah has experienced this. In Homestead there was one particularly stubborn ghost, he just couldn't stay out of things. He was absolutely real, in that story, for those characters and within that context, he was and is real to me too. He surprised me and made me oddly happy. As if a wild animal approached without warning to offer a paw in friendship. The point is, in telling stories characters take on life, and the things they believe and know take on a kind of life as well. It's vaguely schizophrenic, believing/not believing self/other all in one, but that's part of the draw of writing. That ability to experience things through your characters that are less available to you in the mundane day-to-day.

Write this whole odd post off to (1) weariness; (2) general worries; (3) way too much Mary Chapin Carpenter. John Doe No. 24 always puts me in one of these moods. I think about him often. From the book about his life, this summary:

Police found John Doe No. 24 in the early morning hours of October 11, 1945, in Jacksonville, Illinois. Unable to communicate, the deaf and mute teenager was labeled "feeble minded" and sentenced by a judge to the nightmarish jumble of the Lincoln State School and Colony in Jacksonville. He remained in the Illinois mental health care system for over thirty years and died at the Sharon Oaks Nursing Home in Peoria on November 28, 1993.

Deaf, mute, and later blind, the young black man survived institutionalized hell: beatings, hunger, overcrowding, and the dehumanizing treatment that characterized state institutions through the 1950s. In spite of his environment, he made friends, took on responsibilities, and developed a sense of humor. People who knew him found him remarkable.

Award-winning journalist Dave Bakke reconstructs the life of John Doe No. 24 through research into a half-century of the state mental health system, personal interviews with people who knew him at various points during his life, and sixteen black-and-white illustrations. After reading a story about John Doe in the New York Times, acclaimed singer-songwriter Mary Chapin Carpenter wrote and recorded "John Doe No. 24" and purchased a headstone for his unmarked grave. She contributes a foreword to this book.

As death approached for the man known only as John Doe No. 24, his one-time nurse Donna Romine reflected sadly on his mystery. "Ah, well," she said, "God knows his name."

October 17, 2006

the ultimate first person narrator

I'm not a huge fan of first person narration. In fact, I will admit that I often pick up a book and put it down immediately upon discovering that it is in first person.

A few exceptions: first, novels that are written in alternating first person narration often work quite well. The most recent novel I can remember reading that really pulled this off was Picoult's My Sister's Keeper. Each person in a family terribly disrupted by the serious illness of one of the kids takes a turn, and with every turn the reader's understanding of the story evolves.

There's one approach to first person that I truly like, and that's the unreliable narrator.

The way to think about this, or at least a way that worked for me when I was teaching this stuff, is to imagine that the story you're reading, the narrator whose words you are reading are not being addressed to you, but to a police officer or judge or some other authority figure. You're listening to somebody spin a story. A narrator who has got more than the usual stake in getting their side of the story across. We're not talking the grandma narrator, the one who just wants to amuse you with funny stories of her girlhood. We're talking grandma in the pokey, and the first time she sits down with her lawyer.

The first grandma might start:

We were poor, but I didn't know that until I first went to school and found out that other little girls wore dresses that weren't made out of flour sacks.

Grandma in the pokey might start:

It took you long enough to get here. Surely you must realize there's been a mistake. If I shoot a man between the eyes -- and I'm not denying that I did just that -- you had best believe I was acting in self defense. To let that man live even another minute would have been the death of me.

The first grandma may have a great story to tell, and she may write it down and sell it and find a niche audience and do very well. This Mitford-type approach is not so much my cuppa tea. I'm far more interested in the second grandma, grandma with a gun. She's got a story to tell, but it's only going to be one layer of a very complicated story, and I'll have to pay close attention because now and then she'll let her guard down and I'll get a glimpse of what was really happening, how she came to shoot her neighbor, the one who grew prize winning dahlias, between the eyes.

You can think of a lot of scenarios where the narrator is going to be unreliable. Joan's car is sitting in the garage with one fender smashed in, a ticket on the windshield, and the unmistakable smell of a common Illegal Substance wafting out a broken window. And the gas tank, which was full yesterday afternoon at three, is on empty.

Joan walks upstairs to the bedroom her twin daughters share and wakes them less than gently. They peek at her from underneath the covers.

Speak, says Joan. And it better be good.

And the speak. Oh boy, do they.

All first person narrators are unreliable to some extent. They are limited by their own observations and memories, by necessity. But a true unreliable narrator is exciting. That narrator is a cat in a sack. Maybe a really mad cat with very long claws and a score to settle. Maybe a desperate little cat whose been lying so long to protect herself that she's forgot how to tell the truth. Or maybe an evil cat, one who likes to mess with your mind. Purr and slash, just for the hell of it.

Two unreliable narrators come to mind first. Eudora Welty's "Why I live at the P.O." is a wonderful short story with a narrator who will stick around in your head for a long time. And then there's Stephen King's Dolores Claiborne. Dolores is a fantastic unreliable narrator, because she herself isn't completely sure what happened, and what she wants to happen. She's got strong opinions and she's not afraid to tell you exactly what's on her mind. Or at least, the parts she can bear to speak out loud.

Any unreliable narrators you're especially fond of?

missing hat, but never mind: we have a winner

The hat with the numbers has gone missing. I suspect Lily. I imagine she is sleeping in it somewhere, waking up every now and then to nibble on a slip of paper with a number on it.

Rather that (1) find another suitable hat and (2) write out all the number slips again, I asked the guy who just delivered a package to pick up a number between one and seventy-six.

Number One. You're it. That would be Beth R.

Congrats, Beth. Please email me your postal mailing address.

And for the rest of you: I will be giving away more books. Just as soon as I get my full shipment in the mail.

October 16, 2006

DRAWING CLOSED: Queen of Swords

A little late, but never mind.

If you'd like to be included in the random draw for a signed first edition of Queen of Swords, please leave a comment here. You have to use a valid email address, but I don't need a last name.

Also (and this is not a requirement): if you have a favorite post that comes to mind without a lot of thought, could you please let me know what it is? Because I'm trying to sort some things out, archive wise. You don't have to give me a link. The one about Aunt Bea and the pickles would be enough. And just to be clear: that's an example. No Aunt Bea, no pickles anywhere here.

So go to it. Queen of Swords awaits.

October 15, 2006

authorial confessions

My guess is that many authors (especially those who write series) will find lots familiar in this list.

1. If you ask me a question about some particular plot point in the Wilderness stories, half the time I won't know which book it happened in. So if you say -- 'you know that time Hannah amputated a leg? -- I'll remember the amputation itself, but not the book it's in.

2. Hundreds of minor characters, the majority of which only show up once or twice -- I forget their names, too.

3. If I pick up one of the early books and open it to a random page, I often have absolutely no memory of writing what I read there. I often am surprised at a turn of phrase. I have asked myself: where did you get that from? And not been able to answer.

4. There are scenes in various novels which I really dislike, and would cut, if I could. In a similar way, I sometimes listen to one of the books on tape and cringe (although not too often) at a word choice.

5. Sometimes an author gets tired of a character. In these cases, a heart attack or carriage accident comes in very handy.

6. Sometimes authors vent their frustrations on characters by giving them a really unpleasant case of hives or a head cold. A character who won't shut up is easily dealt with by means of a bad case of laryngitis, or simply by getting lost in the woods for a day or so.

7. An author who is sure of his or her audience can explore some of his or her darker impulses and get away with it. Stephen King, for example, has a fascination with nose picking and the products thereof. There are whole paragraphs about this in some of the Dark Tower novels that go to such extremes that I got distinctly nauseated. My personal promise to myself: if I ever get to the point where I am compelled to put stuff like this in a novel simply because I can get away with it, I will quit writing, or see about having my meds changed.

8. When you write a long series of books, you run out of names you like to use for your characters. Sometimes in a fit of desperation you decide to name a new main character Harvey or Harold or Geraldine. This is something like what happens (or used to happen) in big Catholic families, where the first kids were named Mary, Ann, Jean, Carol, Betty, Susan, etc etc and then the parents just gave up and let the older kids name the youngest ones. I personally know somebody whose name is Coco, for this very reason.

9. It's really hard to keep relative ages and dates straight in a big novel or series of novels. The Mathematician makes charts for me but sometimes even that isn't enough. So if you think there's some weirdness about somebody's age or a date, you may well be right.

10. Anybody who writes for a living reads a lot, and most likely started reading intensively at a fairly young age. Hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of books. Thousands of stories, characters, conflicts, resolutions. Every author sits in front of the blank piece of paper and reaches for the right words to describe what's happening. How Connie feels when she finds a page ripped out of her high school year book, how Mark reacts when a telemarketer interrupts dinner. Every author reaches for something unique, but simple arithmetic indicates that a lot of what ends up on paper has been there before. A truly original way to describe a sunset? I doubt it. You can work toward a way that's particular to your character at that moment.

But here's the thing: Sometimes I worry (and I would guess this is true of most authors) that the really solid image I just put down, or the bit of dialog or description isn't really mine. My subconscious grabbed it out of the distant past, from a book I read twenty three years ago at age twenty, riding the Clark Street bus on the way to work, a book that I might see tomorrow in the library but not recognize.

October 13, 2006

The Mathematician has spoken

Sheesh. I ask the Mathematician to pick the winner because (1) my head is still quite mushy and this is hard; (2) he'll be efficient and have a solid rationale.

But no. He wants to discuss the entries, at length. He wants to know exactly what directions were given, what examples, what hints. After all that, he has chosen a winner because it feels right:

Rosely: Similar souls seek solace in solidarity.

So Rosely, please email with your postal address, and I'll get this copy of Queen of Swords out to you. Let me know if you want it personalized and how (for Rosely, for Fernando, for Dog's Sake) or if you just want the signature and date.

And: congrats.

To the rest of you: you done good. And you worked hard. So next time, no work at all. I'll open a contest thread on Sunday morning, leave it open until Monday morning and then pick a name at random for another signed copy. Both Rosely's book and the winner of that drawing's book will go out on Monday.

amazing

Edited to say: some gremlin type trouble with this entry, I had to delete and repost it which means comments were lost. I apologize.

I was surprised and delighted with the range of rewrites I got on Birds of a Feather Flock Together. And no, I don't have the winner yet. Later today, I promise. In the meantime, many honorary titles must be awarded:

Most succinct
Sarandipity: Kindred critters congregate

Most poetic
Kelly: Fowl fly in flocks familiar.

Most philosophically provocative:
Nicole T: Mediocre minds meditate on modernistic manure while faithful followers find fortitude and freedom in their faith.

Most philosophically provocative (runner up):
Carolyn S: Bush supporters being similar to salamanders often slither together.

Best reinterpretation
Rosely: Similar souls seek solace in solidarity.

Best use of one of my favorite words
Leslie: Likeminded larks lollygag locally.

Most inventive
Erin: Gaggles of geese gad in gangs.

Most eruditiously puzzling
Miguel: Similis Pennatus Scelestus Pennipotenti Socius

Most strenuous
Jessica: Analagous avian amigos assemble adjunctly, ascending above all alarms and anxieties.

Most analytic
Robyn: Similar societies stay in sync.

Most caffeinated
asdfg: The quail quintet quaffed at the quincunx of quaiches. The quartet of quadrupeds were quite querulous toward the quails. “K’witt, k’woo?” queried a quail. The quadrupeds quelled their quarry: “Quiet!” Quailed, the quivering quails quietly quit their quest of quaffing, becoming quiescent.

Most goal oriented:
Soup: Copy coveting contestants concoct confined compositions commonly.

October 12, 2006

She *did* make the stuff up

Here's another bit about counterfeiting, specifically about a woman who was really good at it. Also via Wikipedia, a short history of Mary Butterworth who, as far as I know, has not yet been the subject of any historical fiction treatment... in case anybody out there is looking for an idea:

Born to Joseph and Elizabeth (Smith) Peck in Rehoboth, Massachusetts, she married John Butterworth, son of a British captain in 1710. Mary Butterworth allegedly started her counterfeiting operation around 1716. According to those who would later testify against her, Butterworth used starched cotton cloths to produce counterfeit bills, rather than the metal plates used more commonly in counterfeiting. With a hot iron, she transferred a pattern from the cloth to a blank paper bill, then inked the pattern by hand with quill pens. The original cotton cloth was easily disposed of through burning, leaving no hard evidence of a crime. Butterworth allegedly organized her counterfeiting operation into a cottage industry, sternly overseeing the work of the entire family. At the height of her operation, she was reportedly selling counterfeit bills at half their face value.

Colonial authorities knew of an extensive counterfeiting ring operating somewhere in the Rhode Island area throughout the later half of the 1710s, and felt it was beginning to have a damaging impact on the entire colonial economy. In 1722 colonial authorities became suspicious of Mary Butterworth after her husband John purchased a large, expensive new home for the family.

On August 14, 1723 a trial was held in Newport, Rhode Island. One Nicholas Campe testified he passed two counterfeit Rhode Island bills he obtained through Butterworth. Two of Butterworth's associates (her brother and his wife) turned state's evidence and also testified against her. Ultimately though, the court dismissed all charges against her for lack of hard evidence.

After the trial, Butterworth reportedly gave up counterfeiting. She died in 1775 in Bristol County, Massachusetts.

You can't make this stuff up.

You want to write historical fiction, all you have to do is read history. I was doing a bit of research on counterfeiting and I came across this tidbit on Wikipedia:

In 1926 a high-profile counterfeit scandal came to light in Hungary, when several people were arrested in the Netherlands while attempting to procure 10 million francs worth of fake French 1000-franc bills which had been produced in Hungary; after 3 years, the state-sponsored industrial scale counterfeit operation had finally collapsed. The League of Nations' investigation found Hungary's motives were to avenge its post-WWI territorial losses (blamed on Georges Clemenceau) and to use profits from the counterfeiting business to boost a militarist, border-revisionist ideology. Germany and Austria had an active role in the conspiracy, which required special machinery. The quality of fake bills was still substandard however, due to France's use of exotic raw paper material imported from its colonies.

I find this intriguing. Substitute names of kids for names of countries and it sounds like a squabble on the playground. Hungary (Jimmy) is mad at Peter (France) because Peter beat him up and took a lot of his stuff. Marty (Germany) and Moe (Austria) hate Peter too, so when Jimmy tells them about this plan he's got to get even, they volunteer to help. See, they're going to fool Peter into thinking he's got like, more money in his pocket than anybody else by putting pebbles in his there when he's not looking. While Peter is busy bragging about all his money Jimmy's going to sneak in and steal back the stuff Peter took from him. And maybe some stuff for Marty and Moe, too. But then Jimmy gets cocky and he overdoes it, puts too many pebbles in Peter's pocket so his pants fall down, the pocket rips and everything falls out, and then the jig is up.

Maybe all wars could be recast this way. Maybe it's all about pulling the other guy's pants down and running off with his stuff. And of course, killing people.

There was another case history which really, if you used it in a historical novel you'd have some trouble because the average person would declare it unlikely. I'll post that later.

PS I am feeling a lot better, than you for your kind words. And also about the beauteous Girlchild who indeed doesn't believe she's anything to look at all, and hates her glorious hair.

Oh and: tomorrow, the announcement of the winner of the rewrite this! contest.

an early peek (listen): Queen of Swords

For anybody who is within striking distance of Bellingham Washington on beautiful Bellingham Bay overlooking the San Juan Islands and the glaciers on Mount Baker (yes, it really is that good)...

I'm reading from Queen of Swords (and signing copies) at Village Books on Tuesday, October 24, at 7:30 pm. Which is, I must point out, before the official release date.

And: about four more hours to get your rewrite this! entry in to win a signed copy.

And: apropos of nothing, but here's the Girlchild at three....

And here's the Girlchild's senior portrait:

quote of the day

What is the Internet, if not the world's most efficient way to say something bad about someone -- and post pictures of cats?

from Whatever.

October 11, 2006

an idea out of the blue

First: some great entries on the rewrite this! contest. Keep 'em coming. I'll close the comments tomorrow afternoon, and then I may ask the Mathematician to pick the winner. Or maybe the Girlchild. Certainly my mind is not in proper working order for such an important decision.

Okay so, when I'm sick I tend to be more obsessive than normal. Maybe that's true of everybody, I don't know, but it seems unlikely that there are many people in the world who, when they have a fever, find themselves utterly wrapped up in the idea of, say, Cherry Garcia ice cream. So wrapped up that it's the primary thing on the mind, in the dreams, everywhere.

I know that doesn't sound very odd. Lots of people adore Cherry Garcia. What could be more natural? Those huge chunks of cherry, the way the the dark chocolate sets the sweetness of the fruit off... a perfect ice cream.

Where was I.

Okay, so here's the really weird thing. Yesterday I ran across a food weblog (and yes, there are tons of those) and a post on that weblog from last year discussing a European sweet swap. I read that entry about six times. It seems these clever Europeans got together and set this up. You put together a box of delicacies. The one the blogger got was from somebody in Sweden, and had two kinds of homemade cookies (each described lovingly, with photos), and lots of local chocolate and candy.

Can you see this? Homemade cookies from Sweden. In the mail. With chocolate on the side.

Immediately I started looking. Someplace there must be somebody arranging this kind of swap on a larger scale. An International Sweet Swap. Once a month, as I imagined it, you send out a box of stuff, and you get one back. From Japan, from Scotland, from Hungary, France, Portugal, India. This sounds to me like an excellent idea. The reason the internet was invented was to introduce me to more ways to ingest interesting combinations of carbohydrates and fats, after all.

And then the reality: no such website, weblog, notice board. No place on the planet (as far as various search engines could tell me) were such things being planned.

You'd think it would end there, but no. In my fevered mind, an idea: I could start the thing going. The Internationsl Sweet Swap. All I would need is another weblog installation, easy peasy. Yes! Yes! Soon all your cookies are belong to me.

Luckily the Mathematician is familiar with my fevered preoccupation mode. His first question: so, these are all strangers, right? Sending you food through the mail? Um, have you thought about... food poisoning? A box of cookies in transit for a week, butter and sugar and nuts, excess heat... you do remember that last time you had food poisoning.

To which I said: you merciless pooper on parties. Fine. No International Sweet Swap, but let's have a talk about Cherry Garcia.

There is (sometimes) a method in my madness.

RIGHT HERE: CONTEST FOR Queen of Swords: CLOSED. No more new entries.

Here's a proverb: Birds of a feather flock together

And here's the deal:

1. Rewrite it.
2. Be alliterative.*
3. On Wednesday afternoon I'll open the comments to this post.
4. The comments will stay open for one day and will close on Thursday afternoon.
5. While the comments are open, you can post your rewrite.
6. You have to use a valid email address when you post your comment.
7. One entry per person.
8. You can't edit your entry once you've posted it.
9. I'll pick one winner. That person will get a free, signed first edition of Queen of Swords.

*Alliteration is not a repetition of letters, it is a repetition of sounds. These phrases are all alliterative:

reason to write
fan of photos
score the school
Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers
suffering succotash

These phrases are not alliterative even though they start with the same written letter:

see the shell
thwart the twin

Final note: this is actually supposed to be fun. Give it a try, you'll like it.

one little perk

My current state of misery has at least provided me with some time to catch up on weblogs I like. I have missed out on a number of bruhahas, small and large (no big deal). But I also missed out on some really good stuff. Such as this post by Alison Kent which made me laugh. Especially wonderful today.

An excerpt:

1. A bicycle can’t stand alone; it is two tired.
2. A will is a dead giveaway.
3. Time flies like an arrow; fruit flies like a banana.
4. A backward poet writes inverse.
5. In a democracy it’s your vote that counts; in feudalism, it’s your Count that votes.
6. A chicken crossing the road: poultry in motion.
7. If you don’t pay your exorcist you can get repossessed.

This is the kind of humor I appreciate at the moment. Word play that makes me giggle without starting a hugh coughing fit. Thanks, Aliaon.

October 10, 2006

Gunk v. Good Stuff

I have symptoms which are truly awful, and I will not tell you about them because, well, I have some of the Catholic school girl veneer left. I do. The doctor said: oh yeah, you've got that galluping crud thing, nothing to do but ride it out. You know the drill.

And there's nothing I want to watch on television tonight. I ask you, is that fair?

A few words about The Nine, which I mentioned yesterday. Here's the setup:

Two brothers go into a bank to rob it. It all goes wrong, and they take hostages. One hostage is released early. Fifty-two hours later the police storm the place. Nine hostages survive.

What we are given:
a brief introduction to the main characters (those who will be hostages);
a few of the people in their lives;
a brief sketch of the two robbers;
the very beginning of the crisis.

Then the story jumps forward to the police rescue, and the hostages coming out. It moves on from there.

What you've got here is an interesting approach to plot. Thing of a group of people going into a big box. Fifty two hours later they come out the other side, and everything has changed. They have changed as individuals, their relationships with each other, their world views.

What happened in there?

That's the tag line, and it's a great one. Over the course of the season the story will be revealed both forward (and they each cope with the aftermath) and backward (what actually happened).

Lost does something like this, but there's no mysterious mumbo jumpo in The Nine. No inexplicable polar bears or smoke monsters. It's all about how humans deal with stress, or fail to deal with it. Which ones rose to the occasion, and which ones faltered. Survivor guilt and anger.

Interesting stuff. I'm looking forward to the rest of the season.

The downside: ten main characters, five male, five female. Three of the men are good looking and youngish; two are middle aged, one heavy, one just plain odd, as you see here.

Five women, and not one middle aged or less than gorgeous. Don't look for a Kathy Bates type, because they couldn't make room for that. Five good looking women, aged 16-35 was all they could come up with.

I really like the premise of this story and how they're approaching it, but for dog's sake. Will somebody please get a clue? If you're worried about making your advertisers happy, it would seem to me it would make sense to at least make a gesture to women older than forty. We've got money, and we know how to spend it.

Very cranky, here. I'm going to go try to sleep.


October 9, 2006

plot v. story: the things you can do

This is a reworking of a post from more than two years ago. I pulled that post up to read because I was thinking about a television pilot I saw last week and rewatched today in my bed-bound misery (thank you, iTunes).

The pilot was for The Nine, which you can watch for free if you've got a fast internet connection. Here's the link to the ABC webpage if you want to have a look. And of course, that link won't stay around forever. By the way, I think it's a brilliant move on ABCs part to make all the season's pilots available to watch for free on the internet after they've aired.

I'm going to write about The Nine in the next post, because first I want to revisit the difference between plot and story.

There is a simple way to think about the relationship of story to plot. Here it is:

story is what happened; plot is the artful rearrangement of what happened

You can make a chronological list of the things that happened to somebody in the course of a normal life, and make it sound no more interesting than the community events page in the newpaper:

  • Marge Lawson is born to a middle class family in Toledo in the spring of 1954.

  • By the time she is ten, she's the oldest of seven kids. Her mother depends on her help.

  • She doesn't do well in school but she's highly praised by the parish priest and all the other mothers in the neighborhood for her dedication to her family, her housekeeping and childrearing skills.

  • She lives at home taking care of the family after graduation, and is still there when all the other kids are in homes of their own, many in the neighborhood. Her mother dies and she takes care of her invalid father until she's thirty-five, when he dies.

  • Her priest introduces her to the new principal of the high school, and after a courtship Gordon Johnson proposes. Marge accepts because it seems like the thing to do.

  • For the next twenty five years she raises two kids and takes care of the house. She is widely admired for her housekeeping skills and the care she gives her husband, kids and garden. She cooks every meal from scratch, launders and irons every piece of clothing. She has little time for activities outside the house, and doesn't mind. Her family is everything.

  • Her kids grow up more than a little spoiled, and once they go off to college they are gone for good. She doesn't hear from them very often.

  • One day she goes shopping and learns that the brand of spray starch she has always used to iron her husband's shirts is no longer being produced. She spends the next week trying out every other brand she can find, and settles finally but unhappily on an alternative.

  • Her husband, in a bad mood because his beloved baseball team has lost two games in a row, snaps at her when she bemoans the state of the shirts she's just ironed. He tells her he doesn't give a damn about the shirts, and would she just shut up finally about spray starch? Get a life, he tells her.

  • Late that night, Marge gets up because she can't sleep. She gets the iron, plugs it in, turns it on the highest setting, and then buries it under the blankets at the foot of the bed. Then she goes downstairs and makes coffee while she waits.

  • When she is taken in to be questioned in the matter of her husband's suspcious death, all she can talk about is spray starch, and how things will never be the same since they took away the only kind she could depend on.

So this is a chronological accounting of Marge's life. It could go on, of course. How she adjusts to prison or a facility for the criminally insane, for example. The letters she writes to her kids would be pretty interesting, I think. But to tell this story in order like this would be a mistake.

Moving back and forth in time, across perspectives and points of view lends a certain kind of dramatic tension that keeps the reader engaged and turning the page. The reader is looking for a reason to keep reading, you know. The reader wants to be swept away, enchanted, engrossed, absolutely mezmerized, but most readers don't have the patience for long build ups. They want some hint, pretty darn quick, about what kind of story this is, what kind of conflicts are going to be moving things along, and what the payoff will be.

Maybe I'd start when Marge's story when she is twelve and angry that she can't go out with her friends, so she's careless and burns herself with the iron as her mother is praising her for her dedication. Maybe I would start on the day her father dies, the conversation she has with him. I imagine he tells her some truths she doesn't want to hear. She would spend the first years of her marriage convincing herself that he was wrong, that she was happy taking care of her family. Then I might jump forward to her in prison, age seventy, writing a letter to her granddaughter. She could tell stories about her life, either in complete denial (in which case you've got an unreliable narrator to work with, where you tell two stories at once) or with some insight that comes with distance. Maybe she's perfectly happy, working in the prison laundry, and she needs to explain why that's reasonable. The scene where she gets up and gets the iron to put it in the bed -- you could start with that, but then you've got to handle the pacing very carefully.

Plotting is the arrangement of elements of a story into a dramatically effective whole. This is not the only definition of plot, of course, but it's most generally what people mean when they are talking about the writing process.

coupla things

1. I have a cold. The kind of cold that you can't ignore. Sore throat, voice gone, constant sneezing, small green very heavy gremlin sitting on my chest snickering at me, blah blah blah. But to focus on the positive: neither the Mathematician nor the Girlchild have this cold. Which is very good, because otherwise I'd have to jump out of a window. My suggestion: we need universal health care, yes, absolutely. But in the meantime could we maybe get universal grandmas? When you're sick one of them comes to your house to make you tea and cluck sympathetically and sit by your bedside reading bits from the paper out loud and ask how things came to such a sorry pass and here, dear, a clean handkerchief scented with lavender. And when you're better, when you get up finally, the house is spotlessly clean, nothing out of order, every dish put away. A meal on the stove. Cherry Garcia in the freezer.

I vote for universal grandmas.


2. Somehow I messed up my email. I was just trying to organize it. Because really, why clog up the harddrive with three year old emails reminding me that I'm supposed to bring a salad to somebody's birthday party, or that the book I wanted was out of stock, or look, a cute picture of a dog. Okay, so the cute picture I held on to, but really. So I'm going about my business sorting through, deleting, and next thing you know, everything is screwy. This does not help my headache. When I finally have things working again (I think) I notice that a lot of email that shouldn't have been deleted has fled the computer. General panic in the face of possible extinction? Who knows. But those emails I actually needed and they are gone.

You know if I had a universal grandma here, I wouldn't have tried to fix the email settings. I'd have been very busy being taken care of.

3. Dogs are good. Because while they can't make tea or clean up the kitchen and in fact given the chance they will steal your Cherry Garcia (if you had any) they also cuddle up to you when you're feeling bad and never once worry that they're going to catch what you've got. Because doggy love is unconditional.

4. I am so so so so close to finishing this novel. And now I have a headache and that gremlin thing and I can't concentrate.

5. Aaaaargh.

October 8, 2006

Queen of Swords: signed, sealed, delivered

See the post dated October 11, that's where you can enter the drawing.

October 6, 2006

party game, and the first chance to win QoS

There's a game called Probable Proverbs which is actually quite fun. The website where I first learned about this game (quite some time ago, now) provides lots of examples. You take a proverb:

You can't judge a book by its cover.

And arrive at an alternate that is alliterative. Examples, credited to their authors:


  • Rating a reading by its wrapping is rather reckless. --William Flis
  • Base book by binding? Blockhead. --J. L. Mandelson
  • Articulate authors aren't always appealing in appearance. --Kathy Shipley
  • Vying to validate a volume's verity via it's visage is a voided voyage. --Rex Stocklin

Note that it's the sound at the beginning of the word that's important rather than the way it's written, and there's lots of room for creative reinterpretation.

So on Monday I'm going to post a proverb, and anybody who is interested can play the game. I won't open comments until Wednesday, so you can go away and think about it for a while. As of Wednesday you'll be able to post your alternate in a comment.

Who decides on the winner? You guessed it: I'm the decider. That person will get a signed first edition first printing of Queen of Swords. I'll send it anywhere in the world, airmail, so it should arrive well before the official pub date.

Now, if you've got a proverb you think would lend itself to this game, drop me an email. Do NOT post it here.* You never know, I might use it. In which case, you'd get a signed copy, too.

*if you post proverbs in a comment to this thread, they are automatically disqualified and will be deleted.

short short

Rumaging around on my hard drive looking for something I always run into the oddest stuff. Such as this short short story I wrote what, maybe ten years ago, experimenting with form. It's called "Photo Reduced" and while it hasn't appeared in print anywhere, it's still all rights reserved, all wrongs avenged, blah blah blah.

The photo:1 Two little girls astride a stuffed bear in the middle of Lincoln Park Zoo.2 Ice cream rings3 around their mouths; smears of chocolate on matching short sets.4 The bigger one laughs5,6 at the photographer.7,8 The little one, puzzled, stares off in the other direction.9


-------------------------


1. Chicago, 1961. When Lincoln Avenue was the whole world, and animals all lived in cages.


2. Where did this poor bear come from, and where did it go? It smelled of mildew and dust, and the glass eyes were clouded. The upper lip curled over yellow teeth. A back like a board, the fur like splinters.


3. Mondays and the restaurant closed: my father spent his free time feeding us. Ice cream and cotton candy and long paper strips with candy dots in precise rows. At home there was more food waiting: pasta fazul, minestrone, short ribs, fried bread, sausage and peppers, bruised bananas.


4. Imagine my mother at Sears, Montgomery Ward, Goldblatts, sorting through piles of little girl pinks and pale greens, polyester sticky to the touch. Imagine her there at the zoo in a sundress and sandals, cigarette between her fingers, nails painted the same blood red as her mouth. Imagine her someplace else entirely, dim and cool, smelling of beer.


5. See me: the smarter one, the clever one. The one who knew when to laugh.


6. See me: the one who will survive.


7. It is real laughter; I can see that much about my child self. But what was I laughing at? Surely not my pacing father. I see him in a short sleeved shirt and bow tie, his hands crossed behind his back. Surely not.


8. The photographer is not memory and declines to be imagined. His camera: a box that stood on three legs. In 1961, fathers and uncles and sons and strangers held the cameras, wound the film, flashed. Mothers and daughters and sisters learned how to hold their heads up, how to smile, when to laugh.


9. A baby still. Her cheeks round, her fine hair drifting around her face. Scowling, unsure, on the verge of tears. She rocks in place, at odds with the world, already and always.

------------------


the girlchild's mother

Jessica had a question:

I have sort of a random question... Given that her mother is a Big Famous Author, what do your daughter's tastes in books run toward? (I know that that sentence is so badly worded, but I'm severely undercaffeinated this morning and can't think of an alternative.)

The girlchild doesn't read my books, which really, I understand. She most likely doesn't really want to know all the stuff I've got in my head. As far as having a novelist mother is concerned, I think she is alternately proud and mortified, but mostly mortified. Of course everything I do embarrasses her. I told her long ago about the conference phone call at three a.m. where all us mothers put our heads together to think up new ways to mortify teenagers. I've explained that I'm under a contractual obligation to cause her to wince every day at least ten times. Oddly, she isn't mollified by the knowledge that she's not the only one.

When I was a teenager I wouldn't cook when my father was around because well, he was a Cook. Arturo, the Cook, is how everybody thought of him. I baked instead, because he didn't bake and he was appreciative of baked goods. I did learn to cook from him, you understand, but not by cooking in front of him.

The girlchild is currently reading about five books at once, most of them about as different from my books as you can get. She loves Gregory Maguire's books (Wicked was one of her early book crushes), and she reads a lot of memoirs about people who have dealt with addiction. This topic is of interest because there's a history of alcoholism in my family that I've always talked to her about very openly, in the hope that she would think not twice, but twenty times before she started drinking. And then, because she's seventeen, she'll turn on a dime and go re-read the whole Little House series. She loves Harry Potter. Once in a while I suggest a book I think she'll like. My biggest success was Patchett's The Magician's Assistant, which she adored and we talked about for a long time.

In short, she's got her own aesthetic and interests which in large part down overlap with mine. Maybe as she gets older. I hope. I like talking to her about books.

October 5, 2006

Queen of Swords on unabridged cd

They've got it up for preorder at Books on Tape. Not that I expect a stampede of people to go order it; it's not cheap. I'm still pushing the idea of getting the books up at audible.com.

marnalee jumps out of a hat

Marnalee is the winner of the Pile o' Books. Marnalee, please email me with your shipping address, okay?

And for those of you who didn't win, guess what just arrived. Yes. The first copy is here, which means more copies aren't far behind.

As soon as the Box o' Books arrives, I'll be giving away three signed copies -- but not all at once. And everybody is eligible, whether you've won stuff in the past, or not.

Now please forgive me for being so absent, but I'm close on finishing Pajama Jones and I've got to stick with it.

October 3, 2006

frenzied writing

The last couple of chapters of a book usually pour out in a frenzy, which is exhausting. Things come together, and they push. The comparison to labor is overdone, but that's because like all cliches, it's apt. I'm thinking that I'll have this book (finally finally) done by the end of the week. (Not that you should highlight or anything, because that would be tempting maluch.)

Today I sent off many books to the winners of the last drawing. Tomorrow I will draw the name of the person who gets the second pile o' books. Friday I will collapse.

October 2, 2006

Unabridged audio: Fire Along the Sky

On eBay. A good deal, looks to me.

October 1, 2006

bow down before the beta reader

A beta reader is somebody who volunteers to read work at an early stage, when the ride is going to be rocky. Like those daredevil types who test new airplanes, a beta reader survives on curiosity and faith.

Some people have the interest and generosity of heart to be beta readers, but are otherwise not experienced enough to be of much help. And a beta reader has to have some knowledge of your genre to be really helpful.

If you're writing a book about a place and/or time that is not within the sphere of your personal experience, a beta reader who is familiar with those things is really necessary. You may manage with a huge amount of research, but you will miss things that a good beta reader will pick up. Even if you've already sold the novel you're working on and have a great editor at your publishing house, it's unlikely that your editor will know enough about (say) New Orleans in 1814 or the things Baptist church ladies in the Deep South are most likely to argue about.

Writing a second book set in the Deep South, I am a little more comfortable than I was last time -- in some ways. But then again, Tied to the Tracks was centered around a small liberal arts college, and that is an environment I know very well. In some ways Pajama Jones is much more of a stretch. So beta readers? Absolutely necessary.

My Pajama Jones beta readers are friends, a married couple who live in the south. Between the two of them they can identify pretty much every misstep, but better still: they send me links to local newspaper stories and classified ads that provide excellent and genuine detail. And they don't laugh at my Yankee mistakes. They are firm, but kind. No, I may not have these men playing touch football. Absolutely not, not in that town at that time. No, that is not how you address a preacher from that church. And so on.

Thus I am very aware of the debt I owe to my beta readers. I don't know what I'd do without them.