Nekkid Wimmen

I'll get to the nekkid wimmen in a moment. But first, my equivalent of Twittering:

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Dad-blamed, gosh-durned spammers. Grumblegrumble. Hopefully they're gone now, but if not, I may have to change the commenting rules on my blog. Grumblegrump.

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So... It's been a while, hey? Yeah; I'm a bad blogger.

Truth is, I've been a bit of a naughty writer lately, and I think the dearth of blogging was due to my guilt. I finished a chapter on my WIP, wasn't totally happy with it, decided to take a break while I outlined the next chapter, and WHOOPS. That 'break' expanded into nearly a month of sloth and minimal writing.

Clearly, The Koala needs to blink her red eyes clear, lick the cotton candy off her claws, and do some Goblin-eviscerating.

Um. But I am back in the groove now, so flesh wounds only, please? Whimper.

~~~~~~~

As Sarf noted, spring can make you itchy to do something new (like going to VENICE, omgsojealous...) It has certainly taken me that way. I'm signed up to try yoga, and, two weeks ago, I started going to life drawing sessions again.

For anyone who doesn't know what "life drawing" is, that's a euphemism for drawing nekkid people. Yes, nudey wimmen. Nudey men. Hur, hur.

Except there's not much "hur, hur" about it. The models generally conform to Laman's Law of Public Nudity, which states: "Anytime you see a stranger naked, it is always someone you wish you hadn't seen naked."

The models might be grey-haired grannies, bald forty-year-old men, very overweight women, or creepy young guys with tattoos and pierced...bits.

However, that lack-of-teh-hawt is actually one of the coolest things about life drawing. Once you start sketching, you begin seeing the beauty in people you wouldn't look twice at. You notice the wonderful eyebrows and nose on the bald guy, the lovely flowing lines that define the plump woman's shape. You see the beautiful bone structure on the granny and realize she was gorgeous when she was young, and you spot the elegant musculature on the sketchy, skinny guy with the piercings.

It feels like a gift, every time. The world presents you with a very ordinary person, and you get to see them as a thing of beauty.

It's also weird, of course. I'm still not used to sitting with a bunch of strangers, waiting for a sixty-five-year-old man to whip off his sarong and sling his scrotum over a barstool. All the other artists act so cool. I do too, I guess, so I wonder if I'm the only one in the room who still gets that, "Eek, a penis," reaction.

The "eek" reaction goes away as soon as you start sketching, of course. You're concentrating too hard on what you're doing to feel odd about it. It reminds me of how I used to not be bothered by heights while I was rock climbing. If you're concentrating on your hand and toe placements, and the granite in front of your nose, then the expanse of empty air gaping under your feet doesn't bother you.

And it's kind of the opposite to how I feel about writing a first draft (at least these days.)

While I'm writing it, the story seems like complete drek. I'm pushing onward just to have something on the page, and hissing my mantra, "It's only a first draft," through gritted teeth. Only when I lean back and read it over do I think, "Hey, that's maybe kinda good..."

Is it weird to like editing your work more than actually writing it? You get to enjoy the good bits when you're editing; when you're writing, it seems like you're too busy to notice.

Does anyone else find this to be the case? I'd love to hear what you think.

Mallows, Sans Marsh

I made marshmallows today--from scratch! I am so proud of myself I could just blog.

Once upon a time (when I was teenager-ish aged), I realized I had no idea what marshmallows were. None. I'd been eating them my whole life, but I couldn't have told you any of the ingredients beyond sugar, or by what industrial alchemy they are wrought. To make things worse, I soon realized I also didn't know what mayonnaise was.

As it turns out, sugar is pretty much all there is to marshmallows. Here's the recipe:

Marshmallows

3 cups sugar
1/2 cup water

3 packets plain gelatin (that's about 20 grams, or 3 Tablespoons)
1/2 cup cold water

pinch of salt
1 Tablespoon vanilla extract

Instructions:
- Prepare an 8 x 11 inch pan by greasing it, then dusting it with icing sugar.
- Mix gelatin and 1/2 cup cold water and let it sit for 10 minutes to "bloom".
- Boil sugar and 1/2 cup water together until it reaches 250 degrees Fahrenheit (120 C). For those of you who know the lingo, this is the "hard ball" stage. You need a proper candy thermometer for this.
- Drizzle the hot sugar syrup into the gelatin mixture while beating at a slow speed.
- Once all the sugar syrup is in, add the salt and vanilla extract, then beat at high speed for 12 minutes. The marshmallows will become very thick and gluey by the end.
- Pour the marshmallow goo into the prepared pan and smooth its top with a silicone spatula or greased plastic wrap.
- Allow to cool and set (a few hours), then cut into cubes and dredge the sides with icing sugar until the marshmallows are no longer sticky to the touch.

Makes 20 large marshmallows.

Edit: If you place your mixing bowl on top of a potholder for insulation, it cuts down on the small crunchy sugar crystals mentioned below.

Husbandos and Goblins agree: these taste JUST LIKE STORE-BOUGHT (maybe slightly better.) The mouth-feel and texture are exactly the same also, although my marshmallows have a slight bit of crunch from the sugar that you feel between your teeth. El Husbando actually really likes that.

So...why would someone make marshmallows when it's so easy to just buy a bag? Well, because Goblin is gibbled. Store-bought marshmallows contain corn syrup, and I've got an allergy to corn. Although I can eat the pre-packaged ones with no noticeable consequence, I probably shouldn't. Hence, adventures in mallow-land.

So that was my fun for the day. Has anyone other than Sarf done something quirky and adventurous lately? Tell us about it!

And by the way, mayonnaise is made by beating egg yolks and oil together for a really long time. Who woulda guessed that?

MemeMemeMeme...

A fun meme from Travis Erwin. Play along; you know you want to! (And if your memory's as bad as mine, just make up stuff that's approximately right.)

1. Your rock star name (first pet/current vehicle)
Goldfish Bus
2. Your Gangsta name (favourite ice cream flavour/fave type of shoe)
Vanilla Sneaker
3. Your Native American name (fave colour/favourite animal)
Blue Cat
4. Your soap opera name (middle name/city of birth)
Joan Edmundschuk (this one's fictitious for privacy reasons)
5. Your Star Wars name (first 3 letters of last name/first 2 letters of first name)
Debje
6. Your Superhero name (second fave colour/fave drink)
Red Tang
7. Your NASCAR name (first names of your grandfathers)
Bert Alexandir (Fictitious for privacy reasons; sorry)
8. Your dancer name (favourite scent/fave candy)
Lilac Caramilk
9. TV Weather Anchor name (5th grade teacher/city that starts with the same letter)
Gache Glenlivet (Sheesh--who remembers 5th grade?!)
10. Your spy name (fave season/flower)
Spring Iris
11. Your cartoon name (favourite fruit/article of clothing you are wearing)
Pomegranate Bathrobe
12. Your hippie name (what you had for breakfast/favourite tree)
Nothing Cedar
13. Your porn star name (first pet/first address)
Goldfish Lanky

Studentfail, Queryfail, Agentfail, Zamboni.

It's been Monday all week, I swear.

My apologies for the lack of blogging, but yeef. My students are succumbing to serious end-of-term flakiness. I have scheduled ten make-up labs in the past week, and I had two more students absent today who I haven't heard from yet.

It's my own fault. I am a ginormous softie, and they all know it.

My desk is a-flutter with dubious doctor's notes. Bambi-eyed woe-begones creep into my office to protest their innocent ignorance about the department's (well-advertised) policy of "You ditch a lab, you fail the course". Emails sluice into my inbox, detailing the horrors of abrupt, profound, far-too-icky-to-come-to-school-OMG ailments.

I roar and gnash my teeth and try to put the fear of God the meanie-head Lab Instructor into them, and then I let them do the make-up labs anyway. I am such a sucker.

But I also love my job and my students, even when they're making me nuts. I remember what university was like, and all the complex ways in which anxiety and common sense can tango when there's a project due and a midterm coming up. The kiddies do make me smile. Just not when they're actually in my office, claiming they "overslept" a lab that starts at 2 PM.

Besides, did I mention the meanie-head Lab Instructor can get a lot of writing done while she's over-seeing a make-up lab? I am glad I bought this laptop.

Which brings me, via a typically circuitous route, to #queryfail and Agentfail.

I'd like to comment on these two incidents--or more specifically, some of the comments made in them--from the perspective of someone who makes a living as an instructor.

Dear Writers:
Here's a secret: Teaching is fun. Marking sucks. They don't pay me to teach; they pay me to do the stinkin' marking.

Imagine me hunched at my desk, hemmed in by a box canyon built out of lab books, my fingers cramping around a red pen. I have to get through all those books, and I'm starting to go buggy. The only way I'm going to make it is by taking occasional brain-breaks. I pull back from the canyon, cast a wistful eye at the sunshine outside, and check my email or read a few blogs. Then I get back to work.

Now imagine yourself writing a problematic scene. You grind your teeth and sweat over the words, but it's just not flowing. Finally you stop and play a few games of Minesweeper or computer solitaire. Just a few--and then you get back to the grind.

We all do that, right? Sometimes you just need to clear your head.

So please don't begrudge agents their Twitter and Blogging habits; it's perfectly human to need to take brain-breaks. When you're mired in a task that is tedious as well as depressing or frustrating, sometimes the only thing that gives you the stamina to plough onward for another two hours are those brief, time-wasting breaks. This is true of marking, and writing a tough scene, and it's also true of wading through the slush pile.

PS - And please ease up on the response-time fury. Go re-read my second paragraph; when I get busy at work, I blow off non-crucial things that don't make me money. Agents are allowed to also. Reading the slush pile does not make them money.

Dear Agents:
Here's something you've probably had to explain to a few clients: A writer creates a work, and the public reacts to it. The writer controls the former thing; they do not control the latter. They can write the best damned story they are capable of, but they can't force anyone to like it.

Teaching is similar, in that the outcome is beyond your control. Some students--despite your most strenuous efforts--will never learn enough to pass the course. You have no control over that. You can only teach to the best of your abilities, just as the student can only learn to the best of their abilities.

And yes, it's frustrating when you try your damnedest and it still doesn't work. All teachers groan about and laugh over their students in the staff room. We need to decompress.

However, that's where such discussions have to stay. Ridiculing a student to their face never benefits them. You might de-moralize the student, or make them decide you're jerk not worth listening to, but you won't teach them anything. And your raison d'etre is to teach.

So here's the tough question: How much of #queryfail was an honest attempt to teach, and how much of it was a really fun staff room discussion?

Because if it was the latter, it shouldn't have taken place in front of your "students", the writers. You are absolutely entitled to have as many #queryfail parties as you want and to enjoy the hell out of them. Just make them private--keep it in the staff room.

The Demon-Squirrel is Back

Last night, I come home, take a gander out our balcony window, and notice two mouse-traps on our deck.

Mouse-traps baited with paper towel.

Apparently the Demon Squirrel of Seville came back. Hence the mouse-traps.

She didn't chew up our plants this time, but she did rip the paper towels off the makeshift solarium El Husbando built around his hibernating Venus Flytrap (it's a long story.) Hence, mouse-traps baited with paper towels.

Have I mentioned El Husbando can be pretty obsessive about his plants? I mean, he's no match for me when it comes to weirdness, but still. Paper towels. As bait. For a squirrel.

What brought on this malevolence, you ask? What caused my mild-mannered, vegetarian husband to break out the weapons of mass destruction? Well, the perceived threat to his Venus Flytrap was certainly part of it, but the real military provocation came in the form of bioterrorism: he discovered not one, not two, but three (relatively) large piles of squirrel poo on our balcony. I admit, that's a fairly high poo-to-balcony ratio.

Groovin' peace-nik that I am, I squawked as soon as I saw the traps. El Husbando is of the opinion the mouse-traps would only scare the squirrel, not hurt it, while I think they could break her paw or wind up permanently attached to her tail, hampering the animal for life. So I poked his traps and promised to find a more humane way to drive off Our Furry Nemesis.

Having given the great god Google its favourite sacrifice (my free time), I am now equipped with my own weapon of mass destruction:

A spritzer bottle full of extra-spicy hot sauce. Apparently, demon squirrels don't like their nesting materials Cajun style.

OMG--Squee!

There. Are. No. Words.

Well, except for "Extreme Shepherding".

Our Furry Arch-Nemesis

It's interesting how perspectives can shift with the addition of one small piece of information. I just finished reading Jim Butcher's Princeps' Fury, and one of the series' principal villains just turned out to be not such a nasty character after all--or rather his motivations are abruptly more understandable, even if the reader doesn't approve of his actions. Mr. Butcher has been doing this intermittedly throughout the series.

As in fiction, so in life! Yesterday, the cutest little cuddle-bunny you ever saw abruptly turned into Our Furry Arch-Nemesis. The one tiny thing that changed my perception of aforementioned beastie? Lilac.

Let me explain. We're city dwellers right in the heart of downtown Concreteum-Urbania, and when you live in a weensy 12th floor apartment like we do, if a squirrel runs up the side of the building and hops onto your balcony, that's freakin' adorable, right?

And she was; she had a teddy bear body and bright shiny eyes. Her mouth had that grave, groundhog-earnestness to it. She was black and agile and her tail fluffed endearingly.

I'm a bit lazy about pruning my plants, and so there's a popcorn bucket full of dead clippings sitting on the deck. It's been there, in various degrees of brimmingness, for several years.

The cuddle bunny starts grabbing handfuls of this material, tucking it into her mouth, and dashing out of sight behind our juniper tree, presumably to scamper back down the building. Still adorable, right?

But wait--we discover she's not running down the building; she's building a nest behind the juniper tree.

El Husbando starts being a bit concerned at this point, but I start cheering. "Baby squirrels! We're going to have baby squirrels running around on our deck this summer!"

"They're going to poop all over it. It'll be worse than the pigeons."

"Baby squirrels! Yay!"

"Hey--there's a lot of green material in that nest..."

El Husbando steps outside. Squirrel runs away down the building. E. H. inspects the nest, then returns with his lips pressed thin. "She's completely chewed up the back of the juniper."

So what? thinks I. That's the back; we don't see that part anyway. And baby squirrels! How cute would that be?

"I'm going to poke her with a stick so she doesn't come up anymore," says El Husbando.

Now this comment shocks me. El Husbando is a vegetarian because he doesn't believe a living creature should have to die just so he can eat. However, he's also a bit of a fuss-pot regarding his plants, and apparently those two instincts were at war. I, of course, decided to help out the side I agreed with more.

"Don't do that! If she falls off the building, she'll die. Besides, she's just looking for a place to have her babies."

I would have said more, but at that point, El Husbando casually dropped the bomb."She's bitten a huge chunk off your tree, too."

My tree? Wait--you mean my lilac tree?

The squirrel might as well have grown horns and mandibles. I've loved the scent of lilacs since I was a child, and before Sepiru Chris, his wife Regina, and their feline overlord Pommes went galivanting off to Switzerland, they dug a lilac bush up from their backyard and gave it to me in a pot. Last year, it had recovered from the transplant enough to put out a single spray of flowers. I have high hopes for it this year.

And there was indeed a big chunk of it chewed off. Well, then. Time to show Our Furry Nemesis just who's got the opposable thumbs.

We broke up and threw away her nesting material. We propped some metal slats behind the juniper. We drizzled Pine Sol in the same area, just to make sure it didn't seem hospitable (although I'm not sure the scent of pine would bother a squirrel...) We lashed planks of wood to our balcony to make it difficult for her to get off the wall and onto our deck.

I think the commotion itself scared her away, more than our physical deterrents, since we didn't see her after that.

One small revelation, and everything changes. This is part of why backstory in a book can be a bad thing, and it's also why we give our characters secrets--every secret can become a turning point for your story.

Or every lilac branch.

Lame Goblin: The Haiku

Italian rum cake
With whipped cream, chocolate, nuts
Sherry custard and

A mocha filling
Is very filling indeed.
Especially if

You team it with a
Triple batch of lemon loaf
And Nouli's dip. Yum.

Let us not forget
The chicken broiled for lunches.
A storm: it was cooked.

Today, Goblin was
Queen of the kitchen, full of
Zip and energy.

Tonight, Goblin is
A sad lump of lethargy
Tired and over-full.

Please forgive Goblin's
Lack of blog post; her belly
Doth block the keyboard.

The Bashful Exhibitionist

I wrote a book. I sent it to an agent who read it and offered to represent it. She sent it to a variety of editors who have read it.

No problems, there.

My husband has asked to read this book. My brother has asked to read it. A good friend has asked to read it.

*Kermit-flail of terror*

The thing is, I'm terribly bashful about letting anyone I know read my work. Publishing professionals? Sure. Fellow writers willing to critique? You bet. But loved ones? Eek!

I even squawk and flail at El Husbando when he wanders by the computer while I'm writing. I have this horror of him reading something over my shoulder and laughing (which could totally happen, despite him being a supportive sweetheart. He only reads non-fiction, and jokingly demeans my reading tastes as "dragon books" or even "snakes-with-wings books".)

I know this is weird. On one leg o' the chicken, I want to see my book on store shelves; I want everyone to read it. On the other, I'm leery of letting anyone I care about see it until publishing professionals have deemed it Worthy™. I think I crave the mental safety net of being able to keep it all secret if it turns out I'm not talented enough to be a published writer.

A friend once asked me why I wanted to publish my writing, and I gave an answer that must have sounded mercenary. I said I wanted to get paid. It sounds distasteful, but I think that answer actually represents progress for me.

Why? Because there are three common reasons why a person decides to seek publication:

1) They're unimpressed with the level of adulation they receive from the world and have recognized writing as a way to exhibit their awesomeness, thus facilitating the populace's worship of them.

2) They believe their accomplishments don't count unless other people deem them worthy, i.e. they are not talented until someone else says so.

3) They would like to make a living at writing.

That last option is the only healthy one on the list; the other two stem from self-esteem issues.

I started out in category 2; I think I've (mostly) moved into category 3 now. Being neurotic about anyone I know reading my work is just a vestige of the bad ol' days.

Note those reasons for wanting to be published have nothing to do with wanting to write--you should write because it purges your poisons and animates your fantasies, because it lets you stretch and enjoy your natural talents. You can even write chiefly to please others, but the best reason to write is because you love it.

The best reason to seek publication, however, is because you want to be paid. It isn't a good thing for your ego to be involved.

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If you're a writer (or creator of content of any sort other than pure exhibitionism blogging), what category do you fall into, 1, 2, or 3? Why are you trying to be published?

And why do you create at all? Why are you a writer?

I'd love to hear your motivations.

Three Word Wednesday

(The following stanzas should be read as one poem. Caveat: If you don't know anything about quantum mechanics, this will probably be impenetrable. Sorry!)


Quantum particle
The universe's smart-ass
Always both, not one

Callous scatterbrain
Don't interfere with yourself!
Stop waving so much

A persistent ditz
Famous for uncertainty
And reality

A Rambly Sorta Post

My WIP is closing in on 38,000 words, and I'm horrified.

You see, the story's barely begun, and yet that word count is creeping toward half a novel already. No wonder it feels like this book is taking forever to write; it's taking forever to get started. Wow, I hope I find things to cut later.

Part of the problem is my internal editor has been sternly sent to her room so I can get the first draft done. I'm a devil for polishing things instead of ploughing onward, so I'm refraining from reading what I've written except for fact-checking. I plan to stick to that, even though my word count is ballooning to little effect.

Corpulent beastie
I fear your creeping bloat-ass
Stop stuffing your face

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Yesterday, El Husbando and I bought our third countertop dishwasher of the past seven years. You see, I'm kinda allergic to washing dishes and El Husbando is kinda allergic to never having a clean dish when he needs one, so when a dishwasher suitable for lazy people living in teeny apartments small households came on the market, we snapped one up.

Three years later, it broke and began leaking everywhere, so we bought a new one.

Three years after that, the replacement's pump died. We kept the machine going for a while with ingenuity, a length of surgical tubing, and a complete lack of shame when it comes to avoiding work. When the machine started emitting smoke on Friday, however, I called Time of Death and we buried it.

Yeah. These aren't the most robust critters, these countertop dishwashers.

Still, with a three year lifecycle, it works out to costing less than $10 per month to have something other than us doing the dishes, which is great. I just wish the cost to the environment was less grievous.

If we bought Maytag
instead of mayfly, we'd have
time to know you well

Farewell, dishwasher
May you reincarnate as
a Hummer next time

~~~~~~~

In related news, El Husbando and I are seriously considering buying a place instead of continuing to rent--which means we could get a dishwasher whose quality doesn't suck like a starving lamprey on a rhino's butt.

We would have liked to buy several years ago, but real estate in our city was nuts. You know things are overpriced when two professionals with no kids can't afford to buy a place.

Now, however? I hate to say there's an up-side to having the economy bobbing in the toilet bowl, but it looks like we might get to take another step on the road to being a reasonable facsimile of respectable--and about two more steps, on average, before walking into the wall of the house. Yay for the prospect of having more living space!

Feed upon the flesh
of subprime mortgage corpses
We're proud to be ghouls

Pimping S.B. Sarah Wendell

Excellent writing advice from Sarah Wendell of Smart Bitches Who Read Trashy Books, as reported on Deadline Dames:

"Write every day: keep your pimp hand strong."


And if you need help keeping your Pimp Hand™ strong? Try joining McKoala's Public Humiliation Challenge and/or Aerin's Random Complexity Writing Challenge.

Three Word Wednesday!

Three Word Wednesday's prompts are: candid, impulse, risk


The fear was too strong
Candid moments were a risk
Planned, not on impulse

'Ware the Facebook

If you use Facebook, please never post anything there which you care about owning (like writing samples, or especially nice photos.)

The Consumerist reports Facebook has changed their Terms of Service so that ALL RIGHTS to EVERYTHING you post there belongs to them FOREVER, even if you quit their site.

That means if you post a photo of your kid, Facebook can use or resell that photo, and there's nothing you can do about it. If you post a poem, they own all rights to it; you don't anymore. Et cetera.

Be careful of the big baddie.

Feb 18, 2009 Update: Due to widespread outrage, Facebook has back down and reverted to their original TOS. However, I would still refrain from trusting them to have your best interests in mind. I would also suggest you never post anything you care about owning (original writing, professional-quality photos) on the internet. It's hard to sell something that's available for free! :-)

High Concept and High Voltage

Say you have a nifty invention. It's useful; it's elegantly-designed; there's a need for it. You put it on the market and of course it sells well.

However, you start getting complaints about poor quality; your customers find the product breaks after an unfairly short period of time.

A little research shows you the problem isn't the device's construction; it's how people are using it. Something about human nature is causing your customers to handle the device in a way that damages it.

Here's an example: Consider a standard electrical plug. You know yanking a plug out of the wall by its cord will damage the wires, and yet it's easier to do that than to pinch the plug and waggle it out the way you're supposed to. Human nature prompts us to do what's easiest, which in this case damages wires.

So when human nature is the problem, how do you solve that problem?

I think everyone's default solution is to try to educate people on how to behave. That's certainly how the matter of electrical plugs was handled; we got taught as wee sprouts not to yank them out of the wall by the cord.

There's a second way to solve these kinds of problems, however. It costs more, but it works better. Instead of trying to change human nature, you can change the product.

Here's the electrical plug attached to El Husbando's Margarita Pimp blender.



I think this is brilliant! They made it easier to pull the plug out the correct way than to yank on its cord. Human nature now works in the appliance's favour.

It's been said that genius is being able to look at something everyone has seen, and see that which no one has seen. I think somebody showed a bit of genius in coming up with this plug design.

McKoala (what's that clicking noise...?) recently said the idea for my WIP was "high concept", which is probably much higher praise than it deserves, especially in its current condition. (No really, do you hear claws?) To me, high concept novels are ones where the author looked at stories that were already popular, then came up with a perfect, brilliant twist to make their book fresh without making it inaccessible.

In other words, "high concept" means building a better mousetrap (or plug). It's the thing that prompts people to say, "Why didn't I think of that?" because it's so obvious in hindsight.

The person who designed that plug probably didn't need to work very hard at it. Once the question was framed ("How do I change things so the wires don't break?"), the solution was obvious.

For writers, the question is, "How do I write a story that resonates with people?"

Before you can answer that, I think you need to look at a category of stories that are enduringly popular and really analyze why they are appealing. Once you understand that, coming up with a fresh twist on what already works becomes a heck of a lot easier.

And who says being a genius is all that tough, anyway?

Lame Goblin is Lame

My weekly blog post is going to be a leeeeetle bit later than usual this week. I was up at 5 AM this morning getting some productive writing done (yay!), which means I'm far too st00pid to write anything coherent tonight. I shall try to have something up sometime Monday. Cheers and good night!

Dammerung vs. The King

There is a (rare) misconception among would-like-to-be-published writers that you don't need to sweat spelling, grammar and punctuation because that's what editors are for. These days, it just isn't true. Copy-editors catch the typos, but you don't get one of those unless your work has already impressed an agent and at least one (acquiring) editor. If you want to be a professional writer, you're expected to be in control of your craft. That means your manuscript should be relatively clean of errors.

This week provided a fun illustration of why presentation matters, and why you're unlikely to be taken seriously if you don't show a grasp of your craft.

First, an explanation: The weird symbols you see in the following post are meant to befuddle Google's dreaded web spiders so my hit counter doesn't go berserk again.

Second, I admit I'm endlessly amused by the Tw!l!ght books by St*ephenie Meyer. They seem so over-the-top (vegetarian vampires who sparkle in the sun? Yay!), and the fans of the books--mostly teenage girls--are so wrenchingly passionate about the story.

St*ephen King caused an internet stir this week by saying St*ephenie Meyer "can’t write worth a darn." If you read the whole article, you'll note that's the harshest thing he says about her abilities, and the context of that phrase softens its criticism considerably. He also has some balanced and complimentary things to say about Meyer's books, and he dings the writing of heavy hitters like Dean K00ntz and James Patters0n also, so Meyer is in good company.

Now. Remember I said the fans were passionate? Here's a sampling of some amusingly-extreme reactions.

From LionAndLambLove.org

TNMEBDmelony17&lovless wrote:

OH MY GOOD LORD RO*WLING NEEDS TO SHUT THAT OVER GAPING HOLE IN HIS FACE ANYONE WHO HATES ON STE*PHENIE ME*YERS & BAD MOUTHS HER MOST AMAZING BOOKS ON THE PLANET IS MY MORTAL ENEMY THAT WAS JUST PLAIN PETULANTLY RUDE OF RO*WLING SOMEONE SHOULD KNOCK HIM OFF HIS HIGH HORSE HOW RUTHLESS AND SAD THAT YOU HAVE TO TRY TO FIND SOMTHING WRONG WITH THE MOST BRILLANT BOOKS EVER WRITTEN (IM PISSED)

(Note: Yes, the commenter is unclear both on who insulted Ms. Me*yer (Ste*phen King, not J. K. Ro*wling) as well as J. K. Ro*wling's gender.)

Sarahh. :) wrote:

personally, i think everyone is entitled to there own opinions…
but i do not agree with Ste*phen King.
it takes a lot for me to like a book, and i havent quite liked the books he wrote(at least the ones that i have read), but he is a good writer.
J.K. Ro*wling is also a good writer, im not a fan of harry potter at all, but she writes well.
I think Ste*phenie is a pretty amazing writer if i do say so myself, but thats just my opnion. but i sorta think Ste*phen King is crazy…
come on, have you read his books?

kerri wrote:

wow, has he got it wrong. Im 32 years old and the whole thing about twil*ight is that edwards cersion of intimact is so sexual it’s heart pounding. Thats what makes it hot for us females. Not all of us have to jump in the sack, get it over with, and bam…their done. No, i perfer edwards intimacy…and ste*phen king, im a mom of three boys, so im plenty practiced in the sexual stuff.

kezzerz wrote:

i LOVE Twi*light and i think the guy was jst a bit jealous. i think that the scenes with the touching and more were really cute!! i think Edward and Bella r cute full stop!! im such a fan of Harry Po*tter bt now its like Twi*light all the way!!! ive read all the books twice. as soon as i was finished the last one i began the first again!!thats how much i love it!! i agree with Juliee that because twi*light is a big part of our lives, it hurts when somebody who does NOT understand this feeling comes here to tell that stuff. we protect what is ours, and twi*light its part of us. and its almost as if people are insulting us for saying crap things about the books.

As an aside, I think all this is adorable. I would love to be able to write books that trigger so much fervour with readers! I also think the reaction is hilariously misguided, but that's another story.

Now about presentation...

When someone with almost no ability to spell, punctuate, use the shift key or proper grammar tries to convince you they know better than St*ephen King what constitutes a well-written book, how seriously do you take them?

Exactly. So it's not surprising an agent or editor who sees a manuscript riddled with errors reaches for the form rejection letter. Just as there may be a valid point buried in a misspelled internet post, there may be a great story buried in the typo-dripping manuscript, but the agent/editor assumes if you're not able to write a competent sentence, you're not able to write a competent story.

That isn't fair to people who speak English as a second language or have a reading disability, but I would hope such people are already aware they need to work extra hard to produce a clean manuscript and query letter.

Piracy and Fair Play

Humans are illogical creatures. We seem to have an in-built urge to enforce behaviour that creates a healthy society.

Researchers invented a game that demonstrates this: Person A is given a dollar, and they must offer some portion of it to Person B. Person B can accept the offer or decline it. If Person B accepts, both people come out of the deal with money. If Person B declines, the dollar is taken away and neither person gets any money.

Logically, Person B should always accept what is offered; some money is better than no money.

But humans are not logical. The researchers found if Person A demonstrated greed by offering too small a portion of the dollar to Person B, then Person B usually got offended and refused the offer. Punishing Person A became more important to them than the money.

This is society-preserving behaviour. We exert peer pressure on each other to encourage fair play.

I believe part of the reason why music piracy got out of hand was because people knew the music industry was ripping them off. Blank CDs cost 10 cents each if you buy them in bulk, and once you have the hardware, you can burn a lot of them easily and cheaply. So why did CDs cost twice as much as cassette tapes of the same music?

When people see obvious greed and injustice, they get the urge to punish the perpetrator. Thus, people didn't feel guilty breaking the law by pirating music because they believed they were punishing the truly guilty party. Humans are not logical.

The Consumerist recently had an article noting that ebooks for the Kindle are creeping up over $10 a book. In some cases, this is more than the cost of a hardcopy of the same book.

The Smart Bitches Who Read Trashy Books are living up to their name with a great discussion of that article in the comments of this post, where they consider the real costs of producing an ebook.

It's an important consideration; the publishing house employs the same number of editors, artists and publicity staff to create an ebook. The only element missing is paper, and people's time generally costs much more than even large quantities of paper.

However, the publishing industry also keeps crying that the returns system is killing them, and ebooks aren't subject to returns. Ebooks don't have shipping costs, or storage costs, or pulping costs. There is no such thing as printing too many ebooks.

That's a concrete savings for the company, just as CDs were a concrete savings for the music industry. So why do ebooks cost the same as hardcopies? If the company provides me with less product (I can't resell an ebook to a second-hand shop), then it isn't fair for them to charge me the same price.

We're only human--which means we're capable of breath-taking malevolence when we decide someone's acting like a scumbag. If the publishing industry doesn't play fair with its customers, I think that can only come back to hurt them. I would argue the music industry already demonstrated this.

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What do you think? Should ebooks be cheaper than hardcopy books because a file has less value than an object?

Should they be the same price because the content of the book is what really has value, not the paper?

Or is it fine for ebooks to cost more than hardcopy books, because people who can afford a Kindle are affluent enough to afford more expensive books, and a company should charge what the market will bear?

I'd love to hear your thoughts.

One Weird Thing For Chris!

My good friend, Sepiru Chris, often found in his charming internet abode, e-Cuneiform Scratchings, has nominated me for an award!

I have an unconventional way to thank him, however, and I was hoping some of you could help me with it.

Might I encourage those of you who are willing to please pop by Chris' blog and tell him ONE WEIRD AND INTERESTING THING.

About anything! The science of heroin addiction, the emotional cost of pro wrestling, how best to cook testicles--anything at all. Chris is an exuberant person who loves life and the whole world, but he seems to love learning more than anything, so please go tell him something he doesn't know, and he'll probably be thrilled to hear about it!

Thank you so much to all of you who are kind enough to do this; hit the link below to head over there, and feel free to say I sent you.

"BAMF! on over to Chris' place"

PHC Meta-Update | Agents, Allergies, and the Awesomeness of Experts

Thanks to McKoala's cleverness, the Public Humiliation Challenge updates are now sequestered to the sidebar. Huzzah! Your Google Reader shall be spammed no more! Of course, the B. S. Haiku will also be rarer. Yes, I'm sure you're all crushed.

I have also included links to the PHC badges, since I made them and am geekily proud of them. Feel free to snarfle these if you wish to join the challenge. (And come on; lookit dat oochy-coochy koala--don't you want to join just to have her on your sidebar?)

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I had my first drink in fifteen years on Wednesday. That makes it sound like I'm an alcoholic who has just fallen off the wagon, but the truth is a margin weirder and not at all alarming. I stopped drinking alcohol because it made me feel sick--but a lot of things were making me sick at the time.

In my mid-twenties, I started having health issues with my gut (the less said, the better), and a series of invasive and uncomfortable medical tests left me,
1) still not knowing what was wrong, and
2) disinclined to go see any more doctors.

About ten years later, it was getting to the point I didn't see how I could continue living normally, i.e. hold down a job, etc., if I didn't get this sorted out. I wasn't in good shape.

A gentle and understanding GP sent me to a very smart GE specialist, who didn't put me through the painful tests again, but instead examined all the evidence and then gave me the most helpful "I can't help you" statement I've ever heard. He said, "I don't know what this is. Try an allergist."

Even now, I'm shocked at how quickly my years-long trouble wrapped itself up. The allergist listened to my woes, prescribed a medication and--with a few caveats--I've been fine ever since. I am so damned grateful for this.

Now to swing it all around to writing: When Nathan Bransford was on the Book Roast this past week, it gave me another opportunity to think kind thoughts at the man. As you might know, if Nathan rejects your query, you can email him and give him permission to critique it on his blog, and he might decide to do so.

He did this for me, and that experience had a lot in common with, "I don't know what this is. Try an allergist." At the time, hearing what Nathan had to say made me pretty unhappy, but it also sorted out my problems fast. I rewrote the opening scene of my novel and had an offer from my agent, Eleanor Wood of Spectrum Literary Agency, as soon as she finished reading the full. I had racked up about 25 rejections, with only one request for a partial, prior to that. Nathan? I am so damned grateful for that critique.

Publishing can move pretty slowly. It's been almost a year since I signed on with my agent, so although I don't believe in posting details unless there's real news, I thought I'd give you an update on the book. Last I heard, there are two editors interested, but they both have to get an okay from higher up in the company before they can make an offer. Given the state of the publishing industry in today's economy, nothing is certain, but keep your fingers crossed for me!

Having my first belt of rum in fifteen years was not, in fact, correlated with the above; I just wanted to see if I could do it. It's taken me a while to get braver about trying things I know used to cause me pain, but I am getting there.

Hard liquor still tastes really bad, however. Pity I'm still allergic to wine and beer. If and when my book sells, I shall toast that fact with chocolate!