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For the People Out There Who Equate Fantasy With Drug Abuse

"All advances are [fantasies in origin] until someone makes them into reality. Airplanes have existed in fantasy ever since the story of Daedalus; Arthur C. Clarke invented communication satellites as part of a fantasy; a thermos flask figures in several Celtic tales as one of the miraculous Treasures of Britain. And so on. The ability to fantasize is the most precious one we know. Because it solves problems, it has tremendous survival value. And--fortunately--it is built into us so that, unless mistaken adults inhibit us, we all have to do it. "Children, of course, do it all the time, but even the most adult of businessmen in the most boring meeting will say "Let's play with a few figures here" or "Let's play around with this idea for a bit"--and this is the right way to talk about it because it helps if your imagination is exercised with a lot of pleasure and in a great deal of hope. Then your "What ifs" go with a verve and you're

From William Faulkner

“I would say to get the character in your mind. Once he is in your mind, and he is right, and he’s true, then he does the work himself. All you need to do then is to trot along behind him and put down what he does and what he says. It’s the ingestion and then the gestation. You’ve got to know the character. You’ve got to believe in him. You’ve got to feel that he is alive, and then, of course, you will have to do a certain amount of picking and choosing among the possibilities of his action, so that his actions fit the character which you believe in. After that, the business of putting him down on paper is mechanical.”

Thanks, Patricia.

I just read this blog post by Patricia Wrede on research and imagination and thought I'd share. This is something I've been thinking about for awhile, since I often wonder if I'm over-reaching myself. It sometimes seems outrageous to be writing what I'm writing, about a culture that not only isn't mine, but was mistreated by mine. I'm sure I've mentioned this before. Not long ago, a friend whose culture it is (sort of, though you could argue nobody quite knows precisely what culture that is, as the city which inspired my story disintegrated almost 900 years ago and everybody argues over where the descendants went and where the ancestors came from); anyway, this friend warned me that bad things happen to people who over-reach themselves when dealing with such stuff. She casually threw out an ominous warning or two about skin-walkers and other ghostly wreakers of vengeance. And about strange, coincidental accidents. To those who like to send such curs

When Writing Turns into Map-making

This week I realized something while working on my novel: Until I chart out my city and its outlying regions in detail, I can't write my final battle scene. Got the climax basically wrapped up (that final showdown between the two brothers), but what's going on down below them in the city is fairly important, too, and that's just a little hazy in my head, because I haven't figured out where everything goes. Not exactly. I need a map. This would not be a problem if I were an artiste.  Or if I hadn't played around so much with my setting, which is only loosely based on reality. I had to play. The real setting didn't fit my story well enough. And anyway, it was fun. Apparently, this sort of thing happens to writers a lot. I came across this entertaining article on the subject while I was looking for ways to procrastinate drawing my own map. I laughed a little. Those crazy writers! And sighed. Because I'm one of them. And yes, I know I do need that

Neil Gaiman Cometh. Also, Grapes.

I did two productive things today instead of writing. Might have gotten ahead of myself on both, just a little. Thing 1: Harvested and turned my grapes into juice, even though we haven't had a decent frost yet, and everyone knows you have to have a couple of good frosts to set the sugar in grapes, right? Juice was good, but a little on the tart side. Don't care. I like tart. Thing 2: Bought tickets to An Evening with Neil Gaiman in Park City. Yes, Neil's coming. Here. Soon. All right, not that soon. April 2015. There were plenty of seats. Everything was available, in fact. Perhaps I was a little overanxious. But I'm not about to miss Gaiman when he comes within 35 minutes of my house. In case you're interested, you can click on the link above for info. But you might want to hurry. It's only six months away. Meanwhile, you can watch Neil expound on koumpounophobia, below.  

Even the great ones had to work hard...

"Despite attending lectures by J. R. R. Tolkien and C. S. Lewis [at University], I did not expect to be writing fantasy. But that was what I started to write when I was married and had children of my own. It was what they liked best. But small children do not allow you the use of your brain. They used to jump on my feet to stop me thinking. And I had not realized how much I needed to teach myself about writing. I took years to learn, and it was not until my youngest child began school that I was able to produce a book which a publisher did not send straight back."                                                                  --Diana Wynne Jones It's nice to know even Diana Wynne Jones's stories didn't just fly off her pen from the beginning. Yes, we all have to put in our hours. And learn as we go along. Though whether we end up as good as Diana in the end...Hmmm, yes. Well, it's something to reach for, isn't it?

A Letter From John Steinbeck

Dear Writer: 
    Although it must be a thousand years ago that I sat in a class in story writing at Stanford, I remember the experience very clearly. I was bright-eyes and bushy-brained and prepared to absorb the secret formula for writing good short stories, even great short stories. This illusion was canceled very quickly. The only way to write a good short story, we were told, is to write a good short story. Only after it is written can it be taken apart to see how it was done. It is a most difficult form, as we were told, and the proof lies in how very few great short stories there are in the world.       The basic rule given us was simple and heartbreaking. A story to be effective had to convey something from the writer to the reader, and the power of its offering was the measure of its excellence. Outside of that, there were no rules. A story could be about anything and could use any means and any technique at all – so long as it was effective. As a subhead to th

How do you know when you're done with your book?

I wrote a post on this a few years ago, when I was finishing up my last book. I think the main thing I have learned since then is this: if you think you're done, you're probably not. You probably need to send it off to another few good critique friends and get more feedback, then ponder the advice you get, and overhaul the damn thing. Again. I guarantee it needs it. And then do it again. And maybe again. As many times as it needs. It's not as good as you think it is. Sorry if you thought so. And when you get your novel all perfect and polished into oblivion, and an editor loves it, that's when the real editing begins. Because it won't be perfect then, either. But that's ok, because it's the rewriting that makes a book good. It will never be perfect, but it can be wonderful. Enchanting. Exciting. Brilliant. Magical. Writing is like that. Excruciating and wonderful. Exhausting and invigorating. And if you love it, like I do, it's totally worth

No wonder we're all messed up...

Confessions of a (Sort of) Hobbit

I have decided I am a hobbit. I'd really rather stay home by the fire with my books and my laptop and garden (even though it happens to be dead because it's February) than go anywhere at all.  Even to the grocery store. Even for an adventure. Not that I have many adventures at the grocery store, but that isn't the point. The point is: I don't like to walk out the door. Unless Gandalf shows up and pushes me out. Er, not necessarily Gandalf. Maybe just a crazy wish to publish my crazy books. And the cat randomly biting me. Hiss! Grrr! Go to New York!  I took it as an omen. Or, something. So last Wednesday, yes, I did leave my poor children in the care of my poor husband and also a severely disturbed cat, and I walked out the door and got on a plane to a children's book-writing conference in New York. No, Gandalf didn't come. My daughter did, which was almost as good, except she doesn't carry a magical staff--only her phone with a subway a

Book Finished; Heading to NY

Finished the book today, after a minor panic attack because it wasn't done and two ultra-marathon writing days living on trail mix, clementines, and Dove's dark. Still needs polishing. And a better name. And, yeah, reducing. Fattest book yet. Oops. But 'tis done. A draft that I like. And now, oh, yeah, time to pack. And buy face-wash. And dental floss. Leaving for SCBWI NY in two days. I'll tell all y'all about that soon. See you later!

The February Post

It's February again, the Unspeakable Month, and time for the annual Trash-on-February post. January brown air Because February, Month of Love, is also the season of toxic air, no sun, brown icicles hanging off cars, and cold that goes on and on and on. January: no new snow, and dog Tis the time of left-over, tired-out snow, and pollution-induced bronchitis; also pneumonia, sinus infections, flu, and any other lung disease you've ever heard of. There's nothing to sing about but inversion-magnified pollution, the tedium of cold ugliness everywhere, and did I mention the really bad air? Fa la la, and so forth.  I barely need mention the decking of halls with pukey-colored Valentines' decor, fuchsia underwear ads, Pepto-Bismol candy, trashy movie-trailers for films that think sex is romance...and yeah, of course, the really, really bad air. We keep topping the charts for worst in the nation. Me, trying not to breathe brown January air And then t

Who needs November? January is the Real Novel-Writing Marathon Month

January is marathon month. I'm not talking about running. I have no motivation to run lately: four miles max for long runs, if you're being generous. Probably you shouldn't be that generous. I'm not sure I ever run that far. On my off days I watch Merlin reruns while I ride the bike trainer. Sometimes I have more off-days than on-days. Sometime I think all days should be off-days. Running Shoes    Vs.       Biking Shoes Clearly running isn't one of my New Year's resolutions. I run when I feel like it. That keeps it fun. And I believe in doing what the season calls for. In December it calls for good food and family get-togethers, and, of course, gaining weight. Christmas wouldn't be Christmas without the extra five. Family get-together  2014  And right now the season seems to be calling for a marathon write. So I write. All morning long. All afternoon. All evening. Because it's dark and cold outside. The air looks like poop. Mos