to cop-out on a story

A few years back I wrote a gritty futuristic called "To Stop A War." If the link's still up at Baens, it's probably over there on the sidebar - or a rough version of it, at least. It's about a fifteen-year-old soldier in an American civil war between thinly veiled Liberals and the Religious Right. This ignorant kid, who learned how to shoot at Boy Scout Camp and lost his family to early attacks in the war, is picked up as a sniper for a front line battalion. They're fighting near Wichita, smack dab in the middle of the continental US. Things heat up and something in him snaps. He decides to kill the other side's general to stop the war.

For an unpublished story, I sure have gotten a lot of mail about it over the years, even just from folks reading it off the sidebar. They like the story. That's a good thing, makes me happy. I like the story, consider it among my best work.

It got picked up at Baens, made it all the way to Eric, who abruptly wrote me a nice note saying that in the wake of the Virginia Tech shootings, he didn't feel he could publish it. Commence disappointment.

It's since been to fifteen or twenty other paying markets, been short-listed a couple of times, but no takers. It's sitting now at Big Pulp. It's kind of against my religion to submit to a magazine that's bought prior stuff of mine. Doesn't look great on the resume. But I thought it might be a fit. I quite like the folks over there (big shout out to them - they publish my kind of fiction).

Now some fucker shot a bunch of soldiers at Fort Hood.

I'm waiting for my rejection letter to arrive any day.

I'm trying to be responsible, think ahead, try to fake you out with a grown-up move. But I'm a bit at a loss as to what to do with this story. Shall I post it here, where it shall fade quickly into obscurity? Shall I try to sell it for 99C on Kindle? (I'd need to find cover art, I s'pose.) I could put it in my own magazine. There's a spot for that kind of thing. I think we feature some cool-ass fiction in our Editors Corner slot, personally. (And I've had some welcome compliments on this issue's article, which makes me happy.) But self-publishing seems... cop-out- ish, somehow. I could put it up here as a link with a donation/tip button. Or do I just keep surfing for more markets?

Advice for me on this one?

addendum: I don't want anyone to think I'm belittling what happened at Ft Hood. this problem is minuscule in comparison. There's a memorial today. Please spare a thought or prayer for our lost soldiers.

in defense of church

I had a good friend of mine direct me to an anti-God book, [addendum] called THE GOD DELUSION. I read the Wikipedia entry and found a bit of text online. I found it to be as equally offensive with those who evangelize Christianity or other religions. Evangelizing is evangelizing. Doesn't matter what the fuck the topic is.

But I get it. I mean, c'mon, religion? Isn't it fun to take pot-shots at it? I mean, with Muslims blowing folks up, Christians deciding who can marry who, the Dali Lama kicked out of Tibet... Even Wicca and Paganism, I'd respectfully submit, seems a bit wishy-washy. Can't they agree on one truth? Don't even get me started on Jihad or Crusades. With all that, faith has left itself wide-fuckin-open, right?

But, the good bit about him mentioning THE GOD DELUSION is that it made me think. Thinking = Good. Why am I faithful? Why am I tackling it in SCAR? Why do I go to church? For some reason, I was able to set emotion well aside and just think.

To be honest, I like the trappings of religion as much or more than I like God. It's part of my attraction to antiques and history. I like crossing myself and bowing to the Cross in procession. It appeals to my sense of anachronism. I can't really "defend" faith or God as existing or not, any more than a Buddhist can assure us of actual Enlightenment, but you have to admit (if you've been in there), my church is a very nice place to spend an hour a week. People smile and wish you peace. The music is outstanding. The kids have a blast at Sunday School. I freely admit I dial it in more often than not, the best part being that nobody cares or knows if I do so long as I go through the motions.

And, really, Jesus...do I need to defend Him? He's an actual man, a historical figure who stood by his ideals to the bloody, excruciating death. Damn good ideals, by the way. Be peaceful. Help the poor. Feed the needy. Love each other. He hung on the cross for a looong time because of those ideals. And if you still don't believe in His dedication, they were validated by 2000 years and millions of people.

At its simplest, going to church reminds me of those ideals. When I cross myself head, mouth, and heart during the reading of the Gospels, it reminds me to live to those ideals. When I kneel, it's telling the world that those ideals are way bigger than me. When the Church baptized 7 babies today, it's a promise from our community to support those families and those kids.

Srsly. It's tough to feel the need to defend it when it makes so much damn sense.

Still, at the end of the day, I do believe in God, Higher Power, whatever. But whether or not it's true is irrelevant to any one else. It puzzles me why anyone would argue vocally against God (setting aside the violence perpetrated in His name, which is done as a lie anyway). What really matters is how I live, now, today. If following Christ's lead to be a decent person and focus on love is a delusion, then it's one I'm lucky to indulge in.

[addendum, Monday 9 November] I have not read the book in question. I wrote this post because I wanted to examine my thoughts provoked while reading some pages, the Wikipedia entry, and from sitting in church yesterday--one of my rare days I did not dial it in. I still stand by my earlier assertion: the book is likely as evangelist and self-aggrandizing as any obnoxious evangelical Christian. (And trust me, those are the subversive folks who I hate carrying the same label as me!)

To take this a little further, according to the Wiki entry, he chooses "Creationism" to further bolster his argument. For thinking Christians, that's like choosing the "39 Virgins" version of Islam to base an argument on. In other words, he chose the weakest link inside Christianity today. I would assert that MOST educated Christians do not believe in Intelligent Design or Creationism. Some idiots do. (I think we're all in agreement W Bush is the perfect example of the sort of idiot I'm referring to.) THIS Christian certainly does not, so it renders his argument against God baseless and moot. A lifetime in church and I've never heard it preached or asserted. In fact, I was in a youth group as a kid that discussed Evolution and Science frequently and reverently.

In one aspect, Dawkins and I are in agreement. People use religion as a tool to advance their own goals. But that's what people do. In lieu of religion, they'd find something else (like shaky science, for instance, or guns) to advance their own goals. Yesterday, I was trying to focus on the good aspects of religion, something that seems to have been set well aside in this faith-bashing era, though by far the vast majority of faithful people are decent folks. Kinda like how most Muslims aren't blowing themselves up on street-corners.

And by the way, if you ask random homophobes why they're against gays marrying or being together, and I have, though not scientifically, they don't spout off with religion, but other stupider reasons, like it's "gross" or something. (They clearly haven't seen the films I have.) One could argue that religion has influenced culture to the degree that it's become a subversive underbelly. I'd assert that the US has a bigger problem: we're a very young, teen-aged culture, which has yet to understand how the rest of the world lives.

dream

What's the first thing that pops into your mind when you see the word "Dream"?

I keep running across the word in its every connotation. Lots of talk about dreams lately, both the sleeping kind, and the waking kind. I like that because SCAR is about dreaming: nightmares, memories (aren't they an awful lot like some dreams?), lucid dreaming, how losing vs keeping memories affect dreams and self, and allowing dreams when all hope is lost.

It's tough, with all this talk about dreams, not to believe in some sort of cohesive Whole that binds us. I always think of It as the marshmallow in Rice Crispy Treats. It's easy to break apart when you need to, but it still sticks to everything.

I wonder if faith must be a sort of dream, too, something beyond waking and sleeping, or maybe it's the Dream that binds all the connotations together.

Maybe that's what the Silver World is in SCAR - faith. Hmmm, I think I just hit on something there.

Speaking of SCAR, not a lot of writing time today, so I'd better get to it. In the meantime, you can tell me your dreams, waking, sleeping, or otherwise.

embrace your inner different

That's what this was supposed to be about. Embrace your inner different. I guess that's a post for another day.

I've spent most of this week alone, hours in my office immersed in SCAR. OK, immersed is a strong word. But I'm on the job for about 5-6 hours a day - what I can manage amid posting here, FB, reading rejections, training, meetings, kid stuff, etc.

I don't even want to go out to dinner. I prefer to stay here, alone, digging deeper into my book and thinking over other projects. I'm being different than the other mommies who are going to school (mine's on Friday) , to the day job, making costumes for the school play, and so on. Thing is, I like my own company best. Other people are on my nerves at the moment. The real ones, that is.

The house is starting to deteriorate. Dirty counters and laundry stacked on the washing machine. There's a full-on Star Wars battle staged in my living room right now. The dog gets plenty of snacks, but her meals are constantly late.

This is me, creative. Oh, I take breaks. For other creative activities. Yesterday I cut up one t-shirt to decorate another. And my reward this weekend is going out to antique stores and scavenging some junk to make robots.

Thing is, I'm not particularly inspired. I'm plugging away at things, thinking, absorbed, but still, Uninspired. My mind keeps fleeing to old stories, which tells me I'm in the thick of it now with SCAR with previous baubles beckoning. Sheesh. I suck. I like the essence of what I'm doing, but I'm hating the actual work, the actual typing, the little cricking noises my laptop makes, my slow progress, and my irritation that I can't speed a long and Get Shit Done. I love the process, but the fucking goal is in the way. Writing isn't drawing blood, it's sucking out my very soul. Just sitting my ass down is a chore.

I feel worn, stretched.

I feel like a failure.

You ever get like this? What do you do about it? Walk your dog? Put the book down for a few days (as if my inner-OCD would allow that)? Write a short story or something else?

Got any advice for a worn-out writer?

a travelogue in which i stay mostly near home

What can I say about my friend Stuart coming to visit except that...we're still friends. We've known each other for a few years now but just met in person for the first time when he came to visit. Weird, huh? Except it's like we've always known each other, teasing and kidding and staying up until the odd hours chatting. It was fun and natural and easy, the way friendship should be. We even have the same philosophy in drinking beer: until it's gone or they kick you out. And then you go up and drink more beer in the hotel room, of course. One issue, though, he's one of those Movie Buff People who are trying to ruin my last bastion of ignorant bliss when it comes to storied entertainment. I have a couple of them in my life. Shit, people. Written fiction is already ruined for me. Please let me enjoy my poorly-made, thinly-plotted films with hot weapon-wielding guys in peace.

We also went to The Stanley, where we had lunch accidentally. He was the photographer for the event but the pix I downloaded aren't working, so I'll have to have him email me some. I did arrange for about 30 head of elk to stroll by for a photo-op. He rather liked that. And we had brekkies with the lovely Aerin, who I'm sure I'll see again soon since we live near each other, before I sent him off to Chicago for the last bit of his tour.

Mile Hi Con was a blast. Good times in the bar, once I learned not to try to keep up with an Irishman. I love this little con, as I said before, and all the folks who attend. Of course, it's tough to know what was more fun, watching Stuart's mouth drop open at some of the costumes or attending all the fabulous panels. So many fun chats with writers, too. I saw Carrie Vaughn, Mario Acevedo, Jeanne Stein, Carol Berg, David Boop, artist John Picacio, David Dvorkin, Warren Hammond (whose KOP books I ADORE!!), my partners at Espec, the brotherly writing team of Dani & Eytan Kollin, Robin Owens and Laura Reeve, a critique group partner, and I met a ton of folks, too, people I'm sure I've forgotten here. I was not on the top of my game with my first panel, but I had good company to cover for me: Paulo Bacigalupi and Stuart and the others. (Go read Paulo's book THE WINDUP GIRL. It's next on my list. I've read about four pages of it and it looks freaking brilliant.) Next year I want to take my son for the weekend. He'd love every minute of it, especially the gaming.

Since then I've been writing writing writing. An article for Electric Spec ( Hell, go read the whole issue. It's probably our best yet) and plugging away at SCAR. Had a very productive crit group last night (thanks my fabulous critters!) I realized I'm starting to get rather possessive of my wee baby book, which I suppose is a good thing. Massive snowstorm and two days off school and life, as well. Oh and I did Halloweenering, which meant beer wagons and fun chats with neighbors and ghostly goblin visitors of Halloweenerings past.

I'm now in the "clean-living" phase of my year, in which I train hard every day and eat right and get boring. Got a few pounds to lose and muscles to build for the season.

Next up: SNOWBOARDING. It's a fortnight away.

good times, good times

Wow. Crazy times. I just woke up this morning (some people are sleeping for their extra hour - you know I'm going to write) and thought to myself, "Self, you're back to normal life." As normal as it gets around here. But I have no immediate talks planned, no conferences, no overseas guests, nothing but getting SCAR finished, occasionally cleansing the pallet with a couple of short stories and the other novella I'm contracted to write. Nothing of mine comes out until next year, so no promotion efforts going into full spring until after the hols. Sigh. Good times.

I was at a party Friday and an old friend said, "You lead the most exciting life." She also complimented my writing. (Sweet. I love that.)

This is not the first time this has happened. FaceBook is a big culprit, but I'm pretty new there and B.F. (Before Facebook) I had old friends say it to me--relatives, acquaintances at school. My life is exciting.

Speechless, I sputtered and muttered something self-effacing, I'm sure (note to self: Thank you is always sufficient. Learn it. Do it. Live it.) and walked away sort of in a daze. Don't get me wrong. I love my life, and I love that other people think it's exciting.

Snort.

Oh, I know how it sounds, how it must look, a bunch of us writers "networking" in the bar and giving talks and doing panels and stuff. I know outsiders don't realize most of our conversations revolve around beer and when the next one is coming, making fun of each others' music tastes, yummy meals we've had in the past six months, unmerciful teasing over hotel barflies hitting on us, and, if we're feeling particularly literary, how disappointed we are by the latest TV adaption of a favorite book, all the time skirting Real Issues because we all know; we all know how it is, even if others don't.

And it made me wonder.

Do other people really know what I do? Do they know what writing is? Do they realize it's me, sitting in my recliner in slippers and sweats, badly in need of a shower, staring at my laptop for hours, at the dust gathering under my desk and sometimes out the window, trying not to claw my eyes out or run to the kitchen for a snack or worry over how big my ass is getting rather than write another word, fighting with all my might--with Facebook as my greatest weapon--whatever ethereal chain binds me to the page?

Do they know that writing, for all of us but James Patterson, is more clinging to the edge of a cliff, fingernails cracking one by one, than talks at cons and signing books and readings?

Somebody said success is 90% perspiration and 10% inspiration or something like.

Writing is 99% frustration.

Writing is an allergic reaction to life.

Writing is hives of the brain.

It's an itch on the inside of my skin, and the only thing that gives me temporary relief is another page full of my own, crappy, angsty, irritable, melodramatic words, more often than not highlighted and deleted. I hate them as I write each one, how they're strung, and stupid fucking Word thesaurus (No! That's not what I meant at all!) and the Dictionary and keeping tenses straight. I loathe when I try to cram three ideas into a sentence, a scene, or a character, and I fail. Do people realize how much structuring a scene resembles stuffing a marshmallow through the eye of a needle?

I hate when I have stories to submit and I resent the hell out of the little bit of satisfaction from having them all out making rounds and all the rejections and the fleeting high from very occasional sales, and the list of agents I need to submit to, and Publisher's Marketplace Deals Emails that come every fucking day. I hate that I'm secretly jealous of all the successful writers whom I openly adore as friends and colleagues.

I hate how I feel when people (actual readers, not writers) come up to me at conferences because I wonder if they realize I'm a fraud, not only in my smallish, undeserved success but that I'm also a fraud in the actual act of writing. I hate that I'm snobbish about kids' sports in lieu of the importance of the arts, my own art in particular. I'm annoyed at how schools teach writing, as if it's something everyone must do, because it makes the population at large think they can write when schools barely skim the iceberg of what writing is.

I hate how I hold back in relationships and conversations, and yeah, even here. Sure, I talk a good game, but know this. I'm a liar and a cheat, right to your face, sometimes to spare your feelings but mostly to spare it for the page, even though I know chances are good everyone will hate it there, too. Because That's What Writing Is.

And you know what I hate even worse? When I like a sentence, fall in love with it, because it's the fix that keeps my trick-selling, street-corner drug-dealing muse in business.

too busy living

Still no time to write up all that's been going down in Sexville. Sadly, I do seem to have time to post to Facebook, which is embarrassing.

So I'm passing the buck to Erica, who's running a World Series styled writing/pitching camp. It's worth going over just for a looksie even.

Yesterday was character descriptions. I used this:

Fostered by a priest and trained by a godless soldier, Trinidad learned the brutal art of balancing faith and war in a walled parish launching a crusade against the godless. But when an old Wiccan friend claims he's started the Apocalypse, Trinidad is torn between finding forgiveness in martyrdom and saving people he never swore to protect.

And was thrilled to see Erica liked it. She's savvy and anti-bullshit, so you'll get a fix if you need one.

I'm getting lots of pings and emails on doing NaNo. I'm not doing NaNo. I never do. I write almost enough as it is, and I'm not in a position to add 50K words to anything as I'm in revisions/adding POV scenes to SCAR. It's slow, thoughtful work, not the headlong rush that NaNo requires. I do think NaNo is valuable for some writers, especially those who have trouble finishing or need to shut down internal editors. So far (knock on fake wood) I don't have those problems.

New issue of Electric Spec out tomorrow, with an article by yours truly called "The New Age of Writing." Come read and find out the new genre of the Digital Age. Plus we have a story from a Nebula award winner.