REASONS I AM QUIET

1. The next wave: IT APPROACHES.
2. The next wave: it includes (1) paper on masculinity, (1) paper on Jewishness and Christianity in medieval theater, (1) short story to be offered up to the altar that is workshop, and (1) seminar piece. All due within days of each other.
3. JON STEWART IS COMING TO DC THIS SATURDAY. Yeah. I'll be there for that. 
4. Insomnia: it is my friend.
5. I'm trying to build a curriculum for independent study next semester. It's really exciting.

I will be back soon. Good luck to all those amazing people who are managing NaNo this year. My envy of you knows no bounds. 

IM NOT CALLING YOU A LIAR

Happy Friday, everyone! Aren't you glad it's Friday? I'm ecstatic. I don't have to go back to work until Wednesday and my niece is coming over and my synopsis is finally done. Which means that I can actually start writing the actual manuscript. But it will be kept under wraps until it and I are thoroughly acquainted and deep into the honey moon stage. Deep into the honey moon stage. Maybe this stage will last forever? Yes? We'll see.

So. Today. I will talk about this thing that I ran into and made me really upset and feel violated and cheated as a reader and a fan. MISMARKETING. Known to normal people as lying.

I love pretty much anything in speculative fiction. Fantasy. Science fiction. Urban fantasy. Dystopian. Even paranormal romance when the story is really, really good. If it's got something out of this world (literally) then I'll at least give it a shot. What I absolutely hate though is being lied to.

Fact: I'm not stupid. Not at all. I know my genre probably better than I know the back of my hand. I know what fantasy looks like, I know what paranormal romance looks like. Another fact: they are not the same thing. Imagine my sister and I's surprise when, after getting two copies of a young adult fantasy with a gorgeous cover and superb praise, our surprise when it wasn't fantasy, but paranormal romance. For those that don't know: fantasy relies heavily on world building and it is the world building that drives the plot forward. I'm not saying that characters, romance,etc can't further the plot, but the world, and the issue with this world that the author is presenting is the catalyst for a lot. Paranormal romance is exactly what it sounds like - it's a romance with paranormal elements. The driving force behind it is the romance between the main characters - the world is secondary.

I have nothing against paranormal romance - I just don't read it as much as other genres in speculative fiction. But I feel cheated when the author or publisher or both advertise a book as something other than it is. Paranormal is a booming genre - why shouldn't advertise it for what it is? Do you really expect the people who love fantasy and pick up this book not to pick up on the fact that, one, the romance is the main element, and two, that this isn't fantasy, but urban fantasy?

I felt cheated. So yeah. Publishers. Writers. Peeps who are published. I'm not calling you a liar. Just don't lie to me.

THINGS TO KNOW

I've been meaning to post something to the blog since Sunday, but recovery has taken longer than I thought. In fact, I don't think I've quite recovered from ALA 2010. The pain from my shoulders from lugging around galleys has descended to my hips. I am doing nothing this weekend aside from languishing in bed all day and typing on my laptop (in bed). NO ONE WILL FORCE ME TO WORK.

But. I have a post for you. On things you should know (that I learned) when going to conferences where there are galleys to snag. And it begins thus:

THE FIVE THINGS I LEARNED AT ALA

1) Come with many bags. Even if you're only going to fill two bag fulls, come with four. This way, you can evenly distribute the weight and your shoulders won't torture you for the next week. Also. One of those bags must be a backpack. Again, this goes to evenly distributing the weight. (I didn't learn this until day two.)

2) Are you a blogger? Tell people that. (Only if it's true. They're going to ask for your web address.) Seriously, young adult publishers love us. They love that we keep up with them, that we advocate for their books, that we're coming to conferences for books that we're excited about. Also. It helps not to look at their name tags. Words like 'editor', 'marketing executive' and 'publicist' are liable to terrify you. (Or me. Maybe just me.)

3) Carry around business cards. I cannot stress this enough. If you start up a conversation with someone and they're more interested in you, they will ask for a business card. Humiliation abounds when you have to say 'No. But I have a post-it note.' v.v

4) Booths usually only display a certain amount of galleys at a time, but if you ask about a certain book, nine times out of ten, they'll be happy to give it to you (assuming they have many galleys and aren't reserving them for something, like an author signing). Don't be shy. They didn't bring the galleys to take up space under tables.

5) Be prepared to be constantly blown away by the amazing, kind, refreshing and talented people you will meet. Also. Don't forget to take pictures with your favorite authors (I can't believe I didn't get a picture with Melissa Marr). It will haunt you forever.

LATE NIGHT DECISIONS

So it's 2:00 am and I should actually be in bed. Because I have work tomorrow. And have to be up around 9ish so that I can get there on time. But I'm having a string of epiphanies that I wanted to blog about and knowing me, it'll be gone completely by morning time. So I should say it now (as incoherent as I may be) at this strange and late hour of the night.

I - and I think to a certain extent, every writer - am terrified of being a writer who spends years on a book. I'm terrified that the one idea I have is going to be the best that it's going to get as far as my creativity is concerned and that I'll end up being a one hit wonder (assuming I'm a wonder at all). I don't want agents or publishers or anyone to think that I'm a writer who obsesses over one manuscript and doesn't know how to let go or move on. Thoughts that I am that writer plague me at night, when I'm writing and when I'm trying to outline.

I've been struggling with Eidolon, my current work in progress. Struggling so much, it feels like I'm walking through tar to get to the heart of the story. I'm in love with the concept, with the characters and with what the story could be. But the words aren't coming. And while I struggle with it, my rewrite of The Scion begs to be written and reviewed and outlined and played with. When I daydream, I'm not thinking about Umeko or Jackson (the main characters of my work in progress) but of Behzad and Mihangel and Zainab. I'm not thinking of cyberspace and programming and the digital world but of castles and dark mountains and heavy mist.

And tonight (at two o'clock in the morning) I realized that maybe my mind is trying to tell me something. And maybe I should stop worrying so much. I've only been working on The Scion since November. November. And in my head, subconsciously, I've been racing everyone. I've been setting up deadlines and trying to measure up when my barometer should be me, not the world. When I should be writing what I love not what I want to love.

Don't get me wrong. I love Eidolon. I love it so much. But it isn't what I want to write right now. And even though everyone says this is a business, I think too many people forget that it's also a labor of love. You have to love it to do it. It's why we do it. And wanting to bang my head against my keyboard because I haven't found that place with Eidolon and knowing for every minute that I've found it with The Scion isn't how it should be.

I'm not saying that I should love it every second. But, from my experiences with the first two novels that I've written and the novel I'm writing now, I know how writing should feel for me.

What I'm saying when it comes down to it is I'm putting Eidolon on hold for now. And it pains me, because a part of me, the part that's racing to query and get an agent and get published, feels like I'm giving up. But I'm not. I'm doing what I feel is right and best. And most of me, all of me, feels like a huge weight  has been lifted off my shoulders. Like I'm free. And for me, that's what writing has always been about. Freeing myself. And that makes me happy.

ON SHELLS & SKELETONS

So. SO. I have been scrounging and digging for something decent to post up because it seems that all my regularity in posting comes from the FRENZY OF MADNESS that ensues when I can't stop writing. And this FRENZY OF MADNESS happens when I have every single detail fleshed out. Which I don't. With Eidolon. I keep having epiphanies and scribbling like a mad woman, then I go write about dinosaurs (NO. TRUE STORY. THERE ARE DINOSAURS IN EIDOLON.) and I have brief flashes of the blog that could have been. But when the dinosaurs are gone, so are these flashes.

Clearly, madness breeds genius.

But sanity can breed it, too, yes? Maybe? PLEASE.

Probably not. BUT. Even if it's not genius, I did manage to think of something to write about today. I DID.

I'm a self confessed outliner. Before there is any writing that can count toward word count of a story, I write a one-liner pitch thingy, a query, a synopsis and a three act outline. YEAH. So when I sit down to write I know my stuff. I know exactly where this story is going. And I like that. Still. Even the best laid plans can rot (or something. I feel like Russell Crowe said this in Robin Hood but I'm probably wrong...). When I write my outlines, I think of them as shells. The scenes are objectives - this and this needs to be accomplished to get from point A to point B. How it's accomplished is completely up to my characters. By the second chapter, they're calling every. Single. Shot.

But having a shell, I've realized, is different than having a skeleton. All the gooey goodness that you need to make a story work falls out. And right now, half of my story is a shell, and the other half is a skeleton. I need it to be all shell to make it work. Umeko and I need to sit down and have a thorough heart to heart about WHAT SHE WANTS TO DO. And what Jackson wants to do. And who's gonna get busy. And who might die, be left behind, alter the course of the universe (their universe).

SO. Yes. Outliners (and non-outliners) what makes up your shell? Do you even NEED a shell? Please. Tell all.

THAT SECRET STUFF

So I should actually be writing, but I thought maybe I should get these thoughts down before  I forget them or they become less eloquent or something. Yes? Yes.

But first, you guys (if you haven't already) should hop on over to YAHighway and check out their amazing and stupendous three day giveaway that is filled with so many types of awesome I might actually faint. My cyber fingers itch to get my hands on one of those prizes.

Now. On to the thing that was on my mind.

This post is kind of directed at writers but mostly at readers (which I'm pretty sure every writer is. right?!).

The reaction often received in response to a heartfelt confession that I'm a writer ranges from 'oh, that's so cool' to a breezy 'oh, how nice for you. Are you published yet?' Since I've been confessing to my writerlyness since I was, oh, eleven, I've gotten used to it. I'm used to the people who don't understand publishing and the people who are your own personal cheerleaders and so on. Sometimes it's heartening, sometimes it's hurtful, and sometimes it rolls off my skin like water off a seal's back.

But one thing that is constantly jarring and invasive is 'when can I read your book?'

Not because I don't know that you mean well. Not because I'm greedy and don't want to share. But because my work, my writing, is a sacred part of me. I pour my dreams and hopes and thoughts into my writing. All of my characters carry a little piece of me. Every single word of my book has been read a million times. Every scene has been played over and over and over again in my head. All of it is so special and close to me that when someone says 'oh, can you email me your book' all calm-like I want to wrap it up and steel and shove it into the deepest part of my heart.

You can't just ask a writer to hand over their most prized possession. That's like asking a woman to hand over her new born child before she's even gotten a chance to say hello.

When I was in the 9th grade, I used to write poetry. I poured all my emotions into it. Every misgiving I had about life and society and love and grief came out into the little notebooks I carried everywhere with me. I shared them with very few people and when I did it was a secret. So when a teacher discovered that I wrote poetry and asked to read it, I felt hugely violated. And after I said no and she kept asking, the feeling of violation grew and grew.

If one of your writer friends evades you request or gives you a flat out 'no' respect it. Respect their wish to keep this deeply personal and private thing just that, private. Because you're basically asking them to hand themselves over to you naked. You're asking them to strip down in front of you and give you their opinions and hopes and dreams in a 200 page manuscript.

And that's not fair.

There's enough stress in writing as is. And even more in writing for publication. Don't add to it by demanding to see the secret part of them when they're not ready to share with you.

THANK YOU & STUFF

So today's blog is one of questions. Because I need you guys to talk me off of this ledge and back into sane writerdom (whatever that means). But before I start asking questions and force you all into a discussion (which is the whole point of the IntenseDebate thing) I wanted to say something that is sososo important.

THANK YOU.


Thank you so much for all your beautiful and thoughtful comments on my last post and on every post. Thank you for being who you guys are. Thanks for being down to earth and wonderful and understanding. Thanks for all your support and your smiles and your funnies. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. You guys are awesome.

So yes. That.

In the last few weeks I've wrapped up revisions on The Scion, sent it off to betas and started working on another project (which I'm going to be secretive about until it picks itself up and starts moving) and am trying to ignore the numerous calls that The Scion is sending out to me.

Because it's going to get a rewrite. It's going to shift from contemporary fantasy to urban fantasy.

But I'm not allowed to work on it yet. I need time and space between us so that when I come back to rewrite, I have a fresh outlook.

It doesn't care. It wants to be rewritten. Now. So much that it is trying to kill my current project.

HOW DO YOU GUYS OVER COME THIS?? Ready? GO!

A STUDY OF THIS YEAR

...via cellphone pictures. 

We start off bright eyed sophomores, despite the general sketchyness of our street.

We are then hit by the biggest blizzard in thirty years. We hole up together. For a week. No one dies. 

The weather clears (a lot) and we go do things in the sunshine. It's exciting. Can't you see how excited our shadows are?

I am attacked by ducks. In my own home. But I survive. I always survive.

We have epic sleepovers. These include mashing together mattresses on the floor and staying up until 4am watching Hindi movies. 

In these epic sleepovers, I become a purple genie pirate. That needs caffeine. Also - I have cool boots with beads on them. 

Birthdays. With sparkling, relighting candles. We nearly set Asma's bed on fire. But don't tell her that. She doesn't know how close she came to losing that comfy red cover. 

My desk, a reflection of my life, explodes. Also, I get awesome gift from TH Mafi.

Kate does a rain dance for me and I get rain. For .5 seconds. And then it clears up and I curse the world. This was my hermit stage.

The ducks stalk me to the Kennedy Center. I had a fit. THEY ARE ALWAYS WATCHING ME. 

I buy soup that I can't finish. Ever. No really. It's a vat of never ending soup.

There are lists. And pills. 

There are study sessions in the Minerva room. We kind of broke in. But not really. They left the back door open. 

There is motivation via caffeine and chocolate. 

There are If I had a Twitter Board's. 

Homages are paid to Star Wars day. Business School graduate students are much amused by the two Muslim girls sitting beside the Storm Trooper mask on the board. Don't worry guys. We're amused, too.

I think this might speak for itself. Finals. Someone lost a shoe. I happen to know said someone. 'Nuff said.

She wrote me a love letter. I'm a little disturbed that she called me cute. But whatever. It's the only love letter I'm going to get for a long, long time. 

We pack. 

We leave. 

Good bye GW for another four months. (Even though I'm going to see you all summer because I'm working there. I don't know what madness possessed me to do this. But I am. So good bye for a week?)

REVISIONS & WHY THEY SLAY ME

So, if you've been following my Twitter today (and the past couple of days) you know I've been making that final trek through revisions. Mind you, these are all pre-beta revisions. I'm sure I'll be doing it all over again once I get comments back from my lovely readers. Anyway, as I was revising, I was (naturally) reading the notes that I made to myself in the manuscript. I thought I should share them with you. Just so you know how well revisions and I don't get along.

It started out great. I was calm. Collected even.

Do we need this? See if you can fit the showing somewhere else instead of exposition.

Manchester or Lancashire? Pick a city.

Do High Born have the mind eye?

Second. Right?

Keep this time frame in mind. This is in August.

But you have a full fledged garden later on. Fix this!

 We get in around fifty pages, and I'm really panicking. If you remember my twitter from the first read through, you'll remember how much I freaked out. It translated to my manuscript something like this:

THIS MAKES NO SENSE. WTF!? SERIOUSLY. WHAT. THE. F***.

THIS. WHAT. THE. F***?!

But she was seeing Presence in the beginning. WHAT HAPPENED. THINK ABOUT THAT, HUH?!

THIS LINE IS ALMOST AS BAD AS FIERY BEAST!

THIS IS ALL COMPLETE BULLSHIT. FIX IT. NOW.

 Somewhere, a little later on, I managed to find a balance between the crazy and the rational actual giving of advice to myself.

Maybe make him a more developed character? Add some more to the beginning with him? OR CUT HIM LIKE A BITCH.

WHAT DOES THIS MEAN?! WHY IS SHE IN A SPIRAL OF DESPAIR. (I know why – I’m just being mean.)

Changing this – she got there a few days ago. Oi – the rewrite.

Awkward phrasing.

 But somewhere after that I just...I don't know. One word pieces of advice. LOLCat speak. Clearly, I was at the end of my rope:

OLDER.

UNNECESSARY.

MORE REACTION. !!!!

SOMETHING ELSE TO CATALYZE THIS MOMENT.

Maybe replace with were. Duh.

ALI IS THE BETTER RIDER. DON’T YOU KNOW ANYTHING?!

MOAR EMOTIONZZZZZ!!!

So...yeah. Thankfully, I had a few weeks between the time I wrote these notes and the time I had to apply these notes. And, to my surprise, I actually understood what I was referring to. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to study for the finals that I should have been studying for instead of revising. 

INTERVIEWS GALORE

So, I think I might finish up revisions today. Which means that in order to accomplish this I need to not be procrastinating. But, I wanted to point you guys toward an interview that the amazing Kristin B. Otts did with me. If you click here you'll be able to read the fabulosity.

YOURE CRAZY

You know you're crazy if:

1) It's finals time and you're busy trying to do revisions instead of those reader's responses that are due tomorrow morning.

2) It's finals time and you're trying to piece together a plot that actually makes sense for your next book. 

3) It's finals time and you're running around trying to secure a job, volunteer opportunities and planning on sacrificing sleep in order to get it all done.

4) It's finals time and you're screaming at your computer repeatedly because it won't regurgitate  the proper code and is basically making you want to stick a straw in your eye.

5) It's finals time. 'Nuff said.

I know I've been really bad about commenting on everyone's blogs. But I promise once school wraps up all tidy-like that I'll be back and spamming you guys like crazy. You'll wish I were back in finals time. :)

A CONTEST THAT ISNT MINE

I'm running in so quickly in the middle of revisions to let you know that Vee is having an amazing contest, and that you should run over there really fast to check it out.

Now, if you'll excuse me, my chemistry exam is over and I have revisions to complete.

TOO FAST, TOO FAST

I usually don't post personal things on the blog (personal being not at all related to my writing, which is, in itself, highly personal). But this is sort of writing related, so I'm going to do it anyway. Yes? Yes.

Yesterday I was reading a story by that a classmate from my writing class wrote (wow...that is an awful sentence). Anyway, if you follow my twitter you know how mean I can be when reading these stories - usually because I leave them until late at night, and I'm tired and grumpy and don't want to be thoughtful. By and large, my classmates are really talented and I should be nicer. (This is my saying that I will try.)

Right. So this story. It was pretty amazing. And I didn't even realize it. It was thoughtful and insane and left me dazed without even trying. And I didn't even realize it. The story was about a girl who had gotten the job of her dreams, right before graduating. The next morning she wandered around in a daze, not sure if it was what she wanted and why she had spent four years working towards something that she wasn't as interested in as she would have liked.

This story could have flopped completely. But it didn't. And it shook me up because even though I don't have a job offer, and it's not the end of my four years, I still have this feeling of 'What exactly is going on in my life?' And even though most of me knows, there's this little part of me that's struggling to come to terms that I'm actually kind of an adult and big stuff is ahead of me. I've never really known exactly where I'm headed with my life. And then, all of a sudden, I know. I want to be in the English honors program, and get my PhD, and be a professor and this could all happen in...oh...six or seven years. Which isn't very long considering how very fast the past two years have gone.

I don't like feeling like I'm careening head first towards a choice that I'm completely responsible for. Except that's exactly what's happening. And I have no idea how to make it slow down so I can breathe instead of being kept breathless.

THE DISAPPEARING MAGIC ACT

So. I have been...scarce. I have been....lax. I have been....abducted by the raptors (of school and life). Also, if that picture doesn't strike fear into your heart, rest assured that this means you have none. Even as Neo, I am terrified by the raptor.

Anyway, the point. I am hoping and praying that I'm going to catch a break in the weeks leading up to finals. But, as that may be a little unlikely to wish for, I'm letting you guys know. Comments? May not happen. Posts on AbsoluteWrite? They might disappear. Blog posts and general tomfoolery? That might stop altogether.

Yes. I'm weeping, too.

But I promise, come May 11, I will be back in full force.

I leave you with this raptor. And my hope that the Force will always be with you.

IN WHICH WE PROCRASTINATE

I am a horrible, horrible person. Do you know why? Because, I am about to give you the tools that could possibly rip the world asunder. Or...you know...prevent you from completing that really important assignment that your entire grade depends on. And yet, I feel little remorse.

Twitter: Have you not seen the almightiness that is Twitter? Go. Go! It is the most awesome thing since connective tissue.
XKCD: A funny comic for those nerd and non-nerd alike. Also: stick figures. So you can't even be jealous.

Also, don't forget to hover over the pictures. There are super cool messages (or not).

PhD Comics: Do you want to be a grad student when you grow up? Do you imagine having that prestigious 'Dr.' before your last name? Do you imagine that you will be lecturing students who hang over your every word? If so - don't read this. It will shatter your dreams and terrify you out of ever wanting to apply to graduate school (unless you're a masochist, like me). 

                                 

Seriously. This is me in the future. Yoda + PhD? AWESOME.

Youtube is also a great help in allowing you to procrastinate. There are all sorts of yum. Like what? you may ask. You must discover that yourself. I leave you with the song that has been filling my life lately:

THE FREAK OUT: PART ONE

So I've just started my read through of The Scion. The first one. Please refer below for an idea of how it went. (Also, regular, intelligent semi-intelligent posts will resume soon. Promise.)

RETURN OF THE DUCKS

I told all of you! All of you! The ducks are watching! And I have proof! (Also, my really good friend put this up to freak the crap out of me.) 

THE DIFFERING STAGES OF MADNESS

STAGE ONE: determination
You are pumped. You are prepared. You are a little daunted. But you think it's doable. Twenty thousand words in week is doable. You sit down, stare at your screen and mentally scream, go! This lasts about an hour before everything goes to hell.
STAGE TWO: avoidance
The internet has all of a sudden sprouted all of these lovely gifts. Twitter! AIM! Yahoo! Blog posts! Deviantart! Everything and anything except Microsoft Word, which is really what you're supposed to be focused on. This can last anywhere from an hour, to the entirety of your madness.
STAGE THREE: confidence
You're in about three thousand words and stuff is happening. Real stuff. Shit's hitting the fan left and right. You can do this. You might actually finish on time.
STAGE FOUR: panic
Everything that you're writing is garbage. Why would anyone want to read this crap? IT  MAKES NO SENSE. Your career as a writer? ITS OVER. And it never even started. You stare at the screen, torn between sobbing and just getting to the part where you can write 'THE END'.
STAGE FIVE: relief
YOU FINISHED. The end has been typed. It might be crap. It might be swill. BUT ITS DONE. This is the part where you proceed to get up, dance like a mad person, and scream it to the world (or Twitter). You email the completed version to yourself, close Microsoft Word, and force yourself not to think about how, once your betas get a hand on it, you're going to be doing this all over again.

EDIT: Because I am still giddy and high (and chanting 'I'm done!' over and over again in my head) I spent a very long time making this! Click on it to make it bigger.

WHAT NOT TO DO (WHEN YOURE MAD)

1. Don't sleep in. You're waisting valuable time that you'll need to waste later.
2. Do change out of your pajamas when you wake up. It keeps you feeling fresh and from smelling like monkey butt.
3. Do sit at a desk when you're writing. Otherwise, you might fall asleep on your keyboard.
4. Don't watch Psyche while writing. You end up watching Psyche and doing no writing.
5. Don't watch TV. Period.
6. Do feel free to stab people with pens if they won't leave you alone. They should understand - this is a time of madness.
7. Don't daydream. It's all great to imagine getting a huge advance but that will never happen if you don't finish the book. 
8. When you find your professor on twitter, do close the page and pretend it never happened. Stalking your teachers when they don't know it = horrible, horrible thing.
9. Don't contemplate watching a movie. 
10. Don't leave your room unless you need to eat or use the bathroom. 
11. Do finish the God damned book. Or else this was all for nothing.

IN WHICH I GO MAD

Spring break. Beautiful, beautiful spring break. It's hear, with all the rain and the gloominess and the perfect, most awesome atmosphere to write in the whole. Entire. World. And I have made the ultimate, terrifying, absolute I'm-going-to-break promise that I'm going to finish The Scion this week. Because I have six glorious days left to write about twenty thousand words. And I'm going to do it. Really. I've done more in less time.

Also, I've realized that I've picked up some of my creative writing professor's hand movements when talking about plot movement and story structure. I don't know whether to be frightened that my mind is so easily impressed or to just shrug and continue with the cool hand movements.

Beta projects, I'm reading. Really. But, to my family, vacation = Sumayyah has nothing to do so lets make her do everything that we won't.

Yeah, the end of spring break is going to see a crazy, deranged college sophomore who wants to kill everyone. But my book will be finished.