Wednesday, July 2, 2008

JulNoWriMo

Zokutou word meterZokutou word meter
5,802 / 50,000
(11.6%)


A sample:
Marion brushed her hair, thinking on the oddities of the day. Bess had already retired. She heard a bird call from the balcony, but surely no chickadee was abroad at this late hour.

She set the hairbrush aside and hurried out. A cloaked figure hovered at the edge of the balcony. She withdrew in fright. The handsome young butcher pulled back his hood and clung to the rail, entangled in the ivy that grew on the tower.

“Mad and merry butcher, you take an unwarranted chance with your neck.” She looked down, knowing it was many feet to the ground.

He smiled at her, his teeth white within his yellow beard. “A worthy risk to finally see my lady this close.” He took one hand of hers and kissed it.

Marion gasped. “Caution! Both hands on the rail or the vine. I would not see you fall.” She stepped closer and did not try taking his hand from hers. “'Twould be a shame to lose you before I know your name.”

He swung up, throwing his long legs in their green hose over the rail, and landing on his feet before her. He favored her with a proper bow. His voice was sweet as the birds in the morning as he said, “Robin, my lady. I am Robin.”

She inclined her head in acknowledgment. “My lord Locksley,” she said, using his proper title. She offered her hand again. “Lady Marion FitzRoy.”

He took it and kissed it again, pausing to breathe over her wrist. “So soft. I knew you would be.”

“My lord Nottingham does not allow me out. Or I'd have been down for a kiss from a good tight butcher.”

“I didn't coax you well enough to sneak out then. I tried my best.” Robin looked entirely crestfallen.

Marion took his other hand with her free one. “Please, my lord, understand, I am locked in. Bess is allowed out, but my uncle, the king, says naught should happen to me. The war goes poorly. Alas, Bess is a poor messenger.”

Robin laughed. “Shall I remedy that?” He drew her closer and wrapped his arms around her waist.
She gave him a saucy look and a wicked smile. “Have you still three pennyworths of meat about you? For it was fine beef.”

Robin sighed. “Only a bit of kidney, too squashed to sell. I was going to pass it to a beggar as I left town.”
“Then allow me to pay you for it.” She slid her arms around his neck. “And in full.”

News and a contest

Ellora's Cave just announced their Summer print sched.

"Raising the Dead" is going to be part of Trick or Treats 3.
A real book in a real bookstore! *bounce!*



AND!

If you want to win a copy of "Five Time Loser"
send in a made-up CB handle for yourself
or just go to http://www.angelsparrow.com/contest.html

This is a sexy little paranormal. Elisa Rolle reviewed it here

Tuesday, July 1, 2008

I'm doing JulNoWriMo, and nicely

Zokutou word meterZokutou word meter
3,800 / 50,000
(7.6%)


Excerpt:

Robin hurried out of the gates of Nottingham town, his purchases slung on his back. Will Scarlet tucked the lump of bread and cheese he was nibbling back into his wallet and fell into step with his long-legged leader, who whistled a snatch of a bawdy tune he'd heard that day.

"You show your face too boldly in the town,” Will chided. “You'll not whistle half so jauntily when the hangman cuts your air with his hempen necklace.”

Robin slung an arm over Will's shoulders. “The morn is fair, the air is sweet, and yet you are fretting again?”

Will sighed. “How can I not? Your capers leave with without a moment's peace. Has not the Sheriff who lives in the castle you passed not a stone's throw from sworn to hang all seven score of us and you higher than the rest?”

"He doesn't scare me,” declared bold Robin.

"He scares me enough for both of us,” Will replied. He took a long drink from the skin of good sack he carried. He offered the wine to Robin who had a drink and passed it back.

"I've proven myself more clever, time and again,” Robin boasted and laughed, sending it ringing among the trees.

Will shook his head, a grim look on his face. “Hard to laugh hanging, my merry master.”

Robin grinned and caught him around the waist. “Will, Will, my dour conscience, I don't see a noose around my neck yet.”

"Not yet, but you take too many chances.”

"If we are not bold, how will we be taken seriously?” Robin demanded.

"Yet if we step too boldly, we will saunter into their hands. And you should not walk through the town with your naked face”

Robin embraced Will, holding him tightly. “Never stop being my conscience, dearest Will. I need you.”

Will smiled up at him. “Come, let's see what awaits us back in the wood. What did you learn today, bold Robin?”

"I think I did see that lovely maid.”

Will feigned shock, pressing a hand to his chest and staggering backward a step. “A maid? Our fair Robin's eye has been caught by a maid? Will wonders never cease!”

Robin cuffed him lightly about the head, grinning. “She's lovely, Will. But under our dear sheriff's protection.”

"Oh indeed?” Will raised his eyebrows. “Tell me of this maid you saw? For I thought that sort was much more my hunting preserve than yours.”

"I have hunted your course before, Will Scarlet, and I may hunt it yet again. Oh her lips...” He trailed away thoughtfully. “Her lips are lovely. As lovely as yours, my dear Will, although you keep them from me.” Robin ran one finger over Will's very full mouth, the one that sang so sweetly he charmed merchants out of their best wares and maidens out of their virtue.

Will rolled his eyes. “Robin, you know I love you and you know as well we lie together poorly.”

Robin took his hand from the soft lips. “Of course. I know. Still...” He touched Will's mouth again and stroked his face. “I still want. I don't expect anything of you.”

Will stretched up and pecked Robin on the cheek. “As if you have not seventy score others to slake yourself upon.”

Robin pulled him close. “But my Will is always my most trusted.”

“Aye, your own sweet Will. Which you have whether we lie together or not!” Will laughed at his own joke, and Robin joined in, for as chief of the outlaws in Sherwood, his will was the law of the forest.

Sunday, June 8, 2008

Characters of Color

I am white. Let's be very up front about that. I'm not "Anglo," and I resent being called that. I'm Celtic, with the extreme pallor that suggests. I'm somewhere around the shade of tapioca pudding. I grew up in a Sundown Town and had minimal exposure to anyone darker than my Pakistani doctor. I went to a university with a 2% black, 40% Asian student body. So, I'm probably the worst person in the world to write this article.

But, I write characters of color, anyway. While I hesitate to call it "liberal guilt," I do worry about how I write them. People--especially authors and fans--of color say it is insulting that I worry more about how to make a Barbados sugar plantation owner accurately black than I do over how to make three-armed green aliens convincing.

The difference is that with the latter, I can use the time-honored method of "Making shit up." As long as it sounds good and holds up to being poked a little (where does that third arm go and why is it there from an evolutionary standpoint?), the readers will suspend disbelief.

With the former, I have the base layer: male plantation owner, and an extra layer atop it: half-black in a white society, half-white among the black society. I have critical readers who know more than I do examining it as closely as a piece of cross-stitch under the eye of a county fair judge, looking for knots and strings and such.


The very fact that I can choose not to write about PoCs is privilege. I know this. In many cases, I exercise this. There are many stories where the cast is limited to the two men, and there is no reason to make them CoCs. Then again, there is no reason not to, except for that extra layer of work to "get it right."

Too, I am constantly surprised by the way people define CoCs.
Someone posted an icon of Alexander Siddig, Dr. Bashir of DS9. It took me aback. I never considered him anything but white. Ditto a rather long discussion over whether a deliberately racist society would allow someone who looks like Oded Fehr to move through it freely. Middle-Eastern and Jewish never registered as CoC. Maybe it's a result of having half-Lebanese stepsisters and Pakistani doctors. They look white, except for the deeper tan. Given how deeply some of my white classmates tanned, even that was no obstacle.

To me "of color" means black. It's hard enough to write "People of Color" because my mind keeps making it "colored people," which is racist. Even PoC has its problems because I keep reading it as "pox" which implies a pox on society. But these are the preferred terms of the community and my discomfort is on par with straights who hate using the word "gay."

But onward.

Every time I write a story with a cast of more than two, I wonder if I'm being racist by not including a CoC. (sometimes I wonder about stories with two)

Every time I add a CoC, I wonder if I'm succumbing to tokenism.
I wondered about adding CoCs to my current project and realized there would be four places for them--stevedores, housekeeping, porters, transported criminals in steerage--none of which will set well with modern audiences. Period racism doesn't play.

I wonder if I'm being lazy and working from stereotypes, which are mental shorthand. Is saying "Yes, he is well-hung, and so is every other male of every shade in this particular outfit, by design. Eight inches is a minimum hiring requirement." acceptable? Or is it perpetuating sexual myths?
A quarter of the cabal that rules the world is Jewish (a married couple). Is this straight out of The Protocols and paranoia? (the other six are Catholic, Hindu, Shinto, animist, Russian Orthodox and atheist)

***

Much of my problem with all of this is that for some years I was actively racist. I did not consume media with people of color in it. I would turn the radio channel. My fanfiction and fanvids deliberately excluded CoCs. I was attempting to avoid the reality of my life in the south as much as possible. I worked in largely black jobs, lived in a mostly-black neighborhood and tried to escape by making my off-hours as white as possible.

I had an awakening a few years back and began working to behave properly and get my ideas in line with my beliefs. I do worry though, that old thought patterns wander back in, that old behavior patterns still dominate.

I'm lousy at detecting privilege, stereotypes, etc. I lived in that for so long, that I know a lot of it creeps in.

This is not a call to assuage my conscience.
This is not an effort to justify myself.

I'm just trying to get my ducks in a row and do better, one day at a time. I don't always succeed.
Sometimes I get it right. Sometimes I fall on my face.
The important thing is to keep working.

Saturday, June 7, 2008

Not September, but Talk Like A Pirate Day is here




David and Robin have been together for a long while, and they're off on one of their mini-vacations at the lake house. It’s Talk Like a Pirate Day, and the guys dress up a little to play, taking the boat out for the day and playing pirate and captive. Nothing it perfect, not even their vacation, because Robin's health problems keep David on his toes.

(click cover to order)

Tuesday, May 20, 2008

Isn't she gorgeous?


Except for the fact all the text has to go, since the title is being changed and they misspelled my name, that's the cover for my EC Exotica release.

Any suggestions for a sexy Hanukkah related title eagerly accepted.

Sunday, May 18, 2008

A Good Rejection

Got word on "Showdown at Yellowstone River."
It's too much like another birthstone that's already in edits.

So, Bree said to sit on it for six months and resub.
Which sucks, but not too badly

Wednesday, April 30, 2008

General housekeeping

My writing goal this year is 300,000 words.
I'm at 113,000.

May is Finishing Month here at the Den of Debauchery.
Lord Withycombe and the Curse of the Pharaoh's Manicurists will be done by next Wed at the latest.
Then it's on to Shell Shocked.

There are a few short stories we want to write, and the freak-show novel needs edits and rewrites.


On the editing front, we're at the awkward waiting stage
Glad Hands has been through one round
"Burning for Eight Days" is starting its sequence
and "Showdown at the Yellowstone River" just got submitted.
Niko-Chan is submitted.
"Seconds" is in for the Toybox:Sounds

It's all up to Bree and Sabrina and Shawn.

Sunday, April 27, 2008

Sunday Dribs and Drabs

So, I totted it all up this weekend. I've made over $750 writing this year.
In other words, I've made about an extra week's pay.

"Showdown at the Yellowstone River" is finished and edited to death.
We finished the synopsis this morning and the blurb is killing us.

"Frosted Hearts" has a July release.

And I've been thinking of writing without stereotypes.

Stereotypes are shorthand. We use them because they simplify the information we have to deal with on a day to day basis. Some are true, some are less so.

For instance, people who see me on my day job see a very tall, very heavy white woman with short hair, battered work boots, and well-worn grubby jeans. No makeup, no jewelry, and I'm climbing out of a semi.

There will always be several automatic assumptions
1) I'm a lesbian (appearance)
2) I'm probably conservative (truck)
3) I'm not too bright (truck and size)

Only the first of these is even half-way true. But because of prior experience and media images, people never get as far as the cognitive dissonance between the first and second.

The problem comes when trying to write without stereotyping.
How do you handle characters of color, without making them cartoons, or too white?
How do you avoid making women into insane shrieking harpies, if they're villains, or good and pure angels, if they're good, or devouring sluts if it's erotica?

I think the answer is in motivation and characterization.
Every character needs to have enough personality that they have real wants and desires.
They pursue these desires.
This drives the plot and their interactions with other characters, who have desires of their own.

Right now, I'm working on a piece with a female villain.
Sarah Brown presents herself as Lady Sarah, although she has no right to the title. She's Lord Edward's jilted fiance and wants him back. She has money. She wants him for his title and his sexy body. She knows he doesn't love her, she doesn't care. She wants to marry him anyway.

To this end, she knows she has to tease him back to her, so she tries besting him at everything, in order to intrigue him. She knows Lord Edward has no use vanity or silliness, so she tries for ruthless competence instead.

The problem is conveying this in the little we see of her, all of it through the biased eyes of Charlie (Lord Edward's secretary). She has him kidnapped, to ensure Edward's pursuit and good behavior. She seduces him for her own amusement. She bests Lord Edward at the scene of the prize, and slanders him in the London papers as payback for a wild-goose chase. (is it a slander if it's true?)

Charlie, obviously, thinks of her as a spider. But I want the readers to think of her as a real, strong-willed woman, with desires of her own, even seeing her through Charlie's warped lens.