What is that smell?

I've started my next novel. By which I mean, I've left the discovery writing, world building, outlining phase, and entered the Sit Down and Write the Dang Thing Already stage.

And oh dear lordy lord does it stink.

It's not the story -- I love the story. It's not the characters, either. We're becoming fast friends, those crazy kids and I. No, it's the writing. It's stiff. Like a day old corpse.

I had been hoping to avoid this part on this go-round. I thought maybe the discovery writing, of which I'd done precious little before writing my first MS, would help. I thought I'd skip that awkward getting-to-know-you phase because, well, I'd already done that, hadn't I? Apparently not.

Turns out, psychoanalyzing a person and actually walking around in their skin are two different things. Who knew? And that is what you have to do, too. You have to walk around in your characters' skins. It's not enough to know their motives, you have to internalize them. You can't simply know what makes them tick; you have to allow it to make you tick, too. Or, at least, I do. It's the only way for the characters to feel genuine to me and, I hope, to others.

It'll come. I'll fumble it around for a little while, typing and deleting, typing and deleting, as I feel them out. Then, one day, I'll notice that things are starting to flow.

I'm hoping that day comes soon. Because, doode -- this stuff stinks. But soon or not, this, too, shall pass. I just have to keep typing.

Memorial Day

In honor of my brothers, who served in the U.S. Army and U.S. Navy; my uncles, who served during WWII; and my Godson, who is currently serving as an M.P. in the U.S. Air Force, I was going to write a post for Memorial Day.

But then I read Josin McQuein's post and decided there was no way I could do better. So, I'm going to refer you there, because she has honored them all better than I ever could.

I hope you all enjoy your Memorial Day weekend. While you're enjoying your barbeques and family get-togethers, please remember what the day is all about.

Thank you to all the veterans who have served, who are serving, and who have given their lives so that I and my family may enjoy ours to the fullest. We won't forget.

What the heck is it?

For the past year or so, I've been trying to figure something out. I haven't been able to do it. It's not for lack of trying; I've scoured the interwebz from end to end and I haven't found a definitive answer.

So naturally I'm throwing it over to you.

The question is this: when it comes to fiction, what is the difference between fantasy and paranormal?

Now, technically speaking, paranormal fiction is a subset of fantasy fiction. However, it's been getting thrown around more and more and I can't seem to pin down a definition. Is it vampires? Ghosts? Psychics? What? Is it simply the new buzzword for urban/contemporary fantasy?

I'm stumped. I don't think it's for lack of intelligence on my part -- though, at this point, I can't say for certain.

What say you, good people? What the heck is paranormal?

My Brain Hurts

I had an entire post written for today, but I deleted it. (It was nothing but squawking and whining. You ain't missing much.) Here's a cheerier one.

Magnum and I have a tendency to speak in movie quotes and song lyrics. It's particularly annoying to our children. Which, of course, is why we do it so often.

These are some of our favorites:

1. "Gator fans."

2. "I feel better! You've done the right thing!"

3. "Ever fired your gun in the air and yelled, 'Aaahhhhh?'"

4. "It has raisins in it. You like raisins."

5. "Salsa shark."

They're all from movies (and fairly popular and/or classic ones at that). Fake bonus points if you can identify them without Google. Double if you get the post title. Ready, set, GO!

My Favorite Part

You remember that advice I got from that agent I met? Okay, probably not since I never told you what it was, but you remember that I got some, right? Well, I'm still chewing on it. It left me with two alternatives, and I'm torn. I can see the advantages of both and I don't know which to choose. So, I'm sitting on it.

In the meantime, I have not been idle. I'm outlining (very loosely, I'm a pantser at heart) my next story. I think this one is going to be fun to write. Until, y'know, it's not. That part's inevitable, though, so I won't worry about it. I still have all the other parts to worry about.

Except this one. This is my favorite part. Can you guess? If you said "Soundtrack," give yourself a chocolate bar and go ogle the Old Spice Guy. You've earned it.

I've probably explained this before, but I won't make you go digging. I soundtrack each story I write. I don't do it consciously, per se. It's more organic than that. The more the story and the characters develop and start hanging out at the convenience store on the corner of Broca's and Wernicke's drinking and smoking and whistling at the pretty girls that go by, the more I feel it when a song just fits. For the most part, I don't actively look. I simply listen to a lot of music, and when a song clicks, I make a note. That's it.

So, this is what I have for a soundtrack so far. I don't think it's done yet; some elements are missing. But it's more than enough to get started. There's a rather heavy Alter Bridge bent to it, because it's a rather heavy story. But again, that's just how it shakes out.

Also, some of these songs appeared on the soundtrack to my NaNoWriMo venture. This is mainly because I've decided the NaNo novel was a vast, blistering tract of suckatude with no plot to speak of, so I cannibalized it. It was the only logical thing to do.

Right. Now that I've babbled on forever, here's the list.

Ties That Bind ~ Alter Bridge
Metalingus ~ Alter Bridge
White Knuckles ~ Alter Bridge
Watch Over You ~ Alter Bridge
Shed My Skin ~ Alter Bridge
One Day Remains ~ Alter Bridge  (Hey, Alter Bridge. I'm a fan.)
Superhuman Touch ~ Athlete
Iris ~ Live
Colorful ~ Rocco DeLuca & The Burden  (And you too, Rocco.)
How Fast ~ Rocco DeLuca & The Burden
The Enemy Within ~ Rush  (Cheesy '80s videos are the shiznit.)
Hunt You Down ~ Saliva
And It Rained All Night ~ Thom Yorke
Bullet the Blue Sky ~ U2
A Place to Hide ~ White Lies

If you're a writer, do you use soundtracks? If not, isn't that kid from White Lies a cutie-pie?

Long Weekend

We're back! Sorry for the unscheduled hiatus. I'm sure you all know by now that Blogger bit the dust (shat the bed, became living-challenged, went into the fertilizer business, took a dirt nap, insert your euphemism for death here) last Thursday. Happily, it was only temporary. Blogger resurrected. It's zombie Blogger. Keep an eye on your brains.

Where was I? Oh yeah, I didn't post. I thought about it, but there's a reason my posts are scheduled for Tuesday and Friday. Weekends = Busy. Also, I'm sure everyone's worlds are still turning securely on their respective axes despite my absence.

This weekend was spent entertaining three jealous boys while the girl went on an overnight Girl Scout camp out. We opted to be voluntarily raped take them to a movie where we paid an inordinate amount of money for semi-stale popcorn.

When we got back, Magnum and I received a rather validating surprise in the form of an answering machine message.

It seems that my daughter's fifth grade class had been hosting a sixth grade boy all week. Now, my daughter is not at all like me. She is outgoing, friends with everyone. I mean everyone. Until, apparently, this kid came along.

You see, this boy made the grave mistake of picking on one the boys in class, who, not surprisingly, is one of my daughter's friends.

So on Saturday evening, as Magnum and I ushered three tired, grease-laden boys through the door and prepared to get them ready for bed, we were treated to a message from the mother of the bullied boy. She wanted to thank my daughter for sticking up for her son and getting the bully off his case.

Apparently my daughter told monsieur bully, in no uncertain terms, that he was to leave her friend alone. And he did. My eldest son (who is my daughter's twin, but is her exact opposite in personality and would never be caught confronting a bully of any kind for any reason) confirmed the whole thing.

Folks, I can't even begin to express how proud I was. Me, the queen of unnecessary verbosity -- I lack the words. She's awesome, and I'm proud to be her Mom.

When was the last time your kid did something awesome? Feel free to brag in the comments.

And we're back to Salem

Salem. If you haven't gone, why the heck not? All right, I know, airplane tickets, vacation time, fine, whatever. But really, if you live nearby, and you have the means, go. It's lovely.

There are little shops of every kind to poke through. If you happen to be of the Wiccan or Pagan persuasion, a visit is pretty much mandatory, but there are other things as well.

Things like, boats on the waterfront,

Friendship, as seen from Pickering Wharf

beautiful old buildings (yes, I know it's blurry; there was drizzle involved),

St. Peter Episcopal Church (there are better pics out there)

the occasional New York Times Best Seller,

NYT Bestsellers, Anne Stuart and Lani Diane Rich

and if you're really lucky, a whole bunch of Betties.

Betties! From left to right:
 (front) Megan, Deborah, Lani, Katy, (back) Me and Kate

There's also a whole slew of museums, tours, whale watching cruises, blah, blah, blah. I mean, it's quaint and all, but why would you need that with all the awesome people?

Special Edition - The Verdict

Previously on The Blog: Delia discussed how sickly nervous she was over having her mother read The Damn Novel. And, based on your comments, I feel the subject deserves a little clarification. Besides, it's been a while since I used that Paralyzingly Boring Introspection tag.

Here's the thing, my mom and I are very much alike. We have similar tastes in activities, books, etc. The typical generation gap exists (she skims or skips racy scenes and bad language). It may even be more pronounced with us, given that she is thirty-six years older than me. But, generally, if I like a book, it's a pretty good indicator that she'll like it as well.

Also, my mom is not a mean person. She is quiet and reserved. Nonetheless, when asked her opinion on things, she responds frankly and honestly.

It was her belief that I wanted her opinion on The Damn Novel. I never said I did, she assumed. However, she assumed because I've asked her opinion on my other scribblings in the past. It simply never occurred to her that I might not be ready for her judgment on the work I've spent over a year getting done. And, truly, I did. Eventually. Someday. Just, y'know...not now.

In the comments, one of you suggested that I colluded in my manuscript's kidnapping. This is probably true insofar as I could have stopped her from taking it, but didn't. There are myriad reasons (or rationalizations) for this, but ultimately, I'll just say, it would've walked out the door regardless.

I also mentioned that I was not afraid of my mother's judgment, per se, but rather of disappointing her. Now, I know this is foolish. My mother has never once in my life stated that I had disappointed her (well, except with the occasional report card). It's only my perception.

As I said, our personalities are similar. So, if she were to read it and, in my perception, be disappointed, my immediate and lasting reaction would be that there is something to be disappointed about. Something big. It's not that she'd ever say it or even imply it; it's that I would assume it. The onus here is completely on me.

It's strange, really. She's never given me reason to feel this way. I'm actually incredibly lucky to have had smart, loving, supportive parents. In this case, I think, I'm mirroring my own worst fears. She just happens to be the closest mirror handy.

Yes, I know this is screwed up. But really, it's about as screwed up as I get, so I'll count myself lucky and move on.

The Verdict (as issued by Mom): She said, and I quote, "If this book doesn't get published, I'm gonna scream."

She liked it. She really, really liked it. Which isn't to say she didn't have a few problems (e.g. not enough descriptive scenery, ever the bane of my writerly existence), but she liked it. She took it on Thursday afternoon and finished it Saturday. She deemed it unputdownable (<=not really a word). This makes me happy.

She also said that the problem the Anonymous Awesome Agent spotted did in fact exist (I agree), but only in the first twenty pages or so (I'm not so sure). Which doesn't surprise me too much, because I've rewritten the beginning five or six times. However, I might need to get some new eyes on it to see if they think the same, or if they think it's pervasive. We'll see how it goes.

In the meantime, I've gone on forever and not posted a picture for Magoo. So, here. Enjoy. (Julie, you might want to look away.)

My cat, Captain Lou Albino, looks down from her favorite perch.

I hope everyone had a happy Mother's Day; I know I did. See you all tomorrow.

My poor fingernails.

Okay, I know I said we'd discuss Salem today, but more important things have happened. Scarier things. Well, to be fair, one scary thing.

My mom came over.

All right, so maybe that requires some explanation. My mom and I have very similar personalities. Which is to say, we're both very reserved people. We don't call each other on the phone to chat. Honestly, I don't call much of anyone to chat. I'm not chatty. I nervously babble from time to time, but that's not the same. Anyway, the point is, we hadn't caught up in a while.

This would also probably be a good time to explain that no one I know reads this blog. Yes, I've met a couple of the people, but the ones I've met in person were met online before that happened. My family kind of knows I've written a book, but they all still like to refer to it as a hobby and none of them reads this blog.

Reason? I'm a giant scardy-cat.

Listen, I have absolutely no problem putting my work out there for all the world to judge. I don't even have a problem with receiving negative reactions face to face. But having my family read it? Frightens the Levis right the hell off of me.

So, like I said, my mom came over and, over the course of the conversation, we discussed the conference. I told her what the agent said. I told her I agreed with the agent. She made a face. A skeptical, scrunched-up, who's-cooking-cabbage face. It seems she disagreed.

She told me she wanted to read the manuscript, because, she said, she'd be able to tell what was wrong with it. She probably wouldn't even need to read the whole thing. I said, you're supposed to want to read the whole thing. To which she replied, oh, I hope so.

In short, my mom has kidnapped my manuscript because she feels she'll know better than an industry professional (and me) what I should do. And, let me tell you, she doesn't pull punches.

Someone hold me.

I kid. I kid. But any positive vibes you want to send my way would be appreciated. I'll be over here gnawing my fingernails.

Conference Redux

The NEC-RWA Conference took place this past weekend in Salem, Massachusetts. (You know, the one with the witches who were not witches.) I was lucky enough to be in attendance.

That's my really formal way of saying, "Dude. It was so much fun!"

Seriously. I mean, I knew there would be writers and workshops and agents and all that happy stuff, and I knew that I'd have an awesome roommate (really, people, you've got to meet Megan). But I had no idea the writers would be so friendly and open and supportive. Truly, that is one wonderful group of people.

I also didn't know they would give you books every time you sat down. Check it out:

No kidding. And ohmydearlord, they never stop feeding you. It's worse than a cruise.

What I did know was that I'd be sitting down with an agent. Yup. An agent. In the weeks preceding the event, I was...shall we say, nervous. In the half-hour preceding the appointment, I think my stomach ate itself.

Now, I'm not going to name names or go into a whole lot of detail. Suffice it to say, I remain agentless. However, she was kind, intelligent, and insightful, and had equally kind, intelligent, and insightful things to say. Her observations, while creating a great deal more work for me, were nonetheless spot on. I am extremely glad I signed up.  Because, while I'd like to start sending out the finished product, I'd like that product to be as good as it can be. And it wasn't.

So, back to it. I'd rather take a long time and get it right, than rush it and destroy my own chances. And when I'm not writing, I'll have plenty to read. (For a month or so. Maybe two, May can be busy.)

We'll discuss Salem on Friday.