To the beach!
My beloved and our associates are driving south until we hit water. My access to the internet should be gleefully sporadic at best. I have a little bit of time before I leave, so I may queue up a few things to post while I’m gone next week — unless I get distracted or fall asleep.
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“Sit down, please.”
The young boy sat, uncomfortable and gangly in the high-backed wooden chair.
“Are you comfortable?” the red-haired man continued, his eyes and quill busy on a pair of scrolls on his desk. The young boy sat opposite in one of the two fine chairs kept for receiving guests.
“Yes, my lord.”
“Good – good.” Key said, finishing a line on the left-hand scrolled and looked up. He furrowed his brows and tried to collect his ink-tossed thoughts. ” I’m sorry, what was your name again?”
“Lucas, sir. Lucas Grahd.”
“Of Pice? Your family has an estate there?” the red-haired scribe took note of the gryphon emblem on the young boy’s collar – faded, but fine material.
“Yes, my lord.”
“And you’ve come here about your mother?” Key said. “Lionshead Fever –very sad. You have my condolences, of course.” His quill went scratch, adding another line to his letter to the Regent. The paving recently completed outside his office was simply atrocious, and he was determined to have it re-cobbled before the end of the summer.
“Very kind, my lord. That was the subject of my visit today. I believe I may have found a cure.”
…It would honor me greatly if you could send a magistrate to inspect the quality of the work yourself, My Lady. It is simply beyond accepting — I’ve seen untutored yeoman do better with rough bricks and river-mortar…
Key’s quill kept scratching, until the silence in the room finally reached him. He looked up at the young boy sitting in his chair, and blinked.
“What?”
The boy stared at him, but repeated himself.
Key tapped his forefinger on the desk, fresh ink stained – leaving a whorl of his fingerprints on the margin of his letter. The scribe cursed, and quickly reached for a cloth to daub it away.
“Sir, did you hear me? I’ve found a cure for Lionshead fever. My mother has been bedridden for weeks, and the other doctors gave up days ago. I threw myself into our family library and read every medical text and herbal tome that we own. I’m convinced I’ve found a forgotten remedy, passed down from the Sarmadi. Some of the ingredients are exotic, but the process for creating it is exceedingly simple. I consulted many of our family’s friends and business associates, and you have the final ingredient that I need.” The boy leaned forward, the words flung out with desperation.
Key tucked the quill behind his ear, ignoring the ink that dribbled down his cheek. He pinched his nose, and inclined his head to the ceiling for a moment.
“Young man..Lucas? I am sorry. I did not realize that your mother still…lingered. It makes what I’m about to say very difficult indeed.”
The boy slammed his hand on the edge of the desk. “I know the gallowgrass is very expensive, and I know that you have it. Please spare me the sales pitch. I have brought more than sufficient funds to cover any reasonable price. My family has fallen on hard times, but not so hard that we cannot afford—”
“Lucas.”
The boy looked up in surprise. The red-haired scribe has walked from around the desk to sit in the chair next to him. His hand was clenched on the edge of the desk, knuckles white.
“I am sorry that you did not have my full attention at the first. Forgive me. Your age made me think you were here on a simple errand, or perhaps a scholarly project for your tutor. I can see that you are a young man of uncommon intelligence, so I will speak plain.”
The boy said nothing, but nodded quickly with a polite acceptance.
“You say your mother has been suffering for weeks. Did none of the doctors who administered to your mother explain the path that Lionshead takes through the body?” Key said.
“No.”
“Ah. Lionshead Fever is a fairly rare malady, that attacks the upper respiratory system – the lungs and nasal passages. It is not particularly contagious, generally only being contracted through direct exposure to infected tissue. I assume your mother spent some time travelling right before her symptoms appeared?”
“Yes.” Lucas said.
“As I thought. Most people afflicted die in the first two to three days. Their lungs fill with blood and they quite simply drown in their own water. The followers of the deity Nasirah believe it is divine justice, only the wicked, the betrayer, the infidel are cursed with this disease. They would stamp their fierce god’s symbol into the foreheads of the sick – a mark of their fate, and also an effective way to prevent further spread of the contagion. A lion, stamped on the head, do you see?”
“I’ve read all this at great length, my lord. I don’t see how –”
“Those that do not die immediately…” Key continued, his voice level, as if the boy had not interrupted.”….can linger for many days, even for weeks on end. But the damage to the lungs is permanent.”
The word hung in the air.
Key laid an ink-stained hand on the young boy’s shoulder. “You have shown great skill and intelligence in your research, you have shown great ingenuity and determination in tracking me down. I am the only person for hundreds of miles that has the gallowgrass, and I would gladly give it to you to save your mother. She could ask for no greater gift or more pure expression of your love for her. But, the Nameless be kind, it has fallen to me to tell you these truths. You are too late. Any cure would need to be given in the first few days of the infection to preserve any undamaged tissue. It has been weeks. Your mother is dead, in minutes or hours.”
The young boy stood up, and shook Key’s hand with empty poise. “I thank you for your time, my lord.”
“I wish I had more to give to you …and to your mother.” the scribe said sadly.
The boy left, and Key sat for a while in the second high-backed guest chair. He knew he would not finish his cobblestone letter this night, nor would he for many nights to come.
“More time.” he said to the empty room.
[Story on Demand for N.E. White – follow the link for their blog and the clicking thereof.]
Yeah, I haven’t done this in a while. It feels a little weird, a little strange — a little dangerous.
Hold me.
For those of you new to the game, here’s how it works. Once a week I throw out a net for story ideas, then write a short piece inspired by the shiniest idea-minnow in the net.
I’M SAYING YOUR IDEAS ARE FISH. Because I am a wordsmith.
I sort of summarily suspended this while I was finishing the rough draft, and then editing — but I’ll make it all better, I swear.
Just a reminder, I’m looking for an idea, not a plot. The best ones that I’ve written came from one or two word suggestions. Here are some examples:
So yeah, give me your thought-fish. To make it interesting, whoever puts the last comment on this post by noon EST on Saturday, a winner is you.
Let me just knock some of the cobwebs off here.
But I was editing, black and white photo soldier guy, who I hope is not some sort of war criminal! I can see that ceremonial dagger on your belt, and I’m sure you’d like to dispense some pre-Internet justice, but hear me out.
In between normal life errata and work neccesity, my creative-time has been in short supply. Lodestar has taken a turn for the awesome as we rocket towards the conclusion – and I’m determined to deliver on the storytelling and gameplay promise of the campaign and not leave my players disappointed when it wraps up in September. On top of that I’m running a short side-game for some neophyte nerds in the neighborhood, plus planning for my Top Secret Next Campaign. Compounded with time rolling in the floor with the new puppy, and other general puttering about – I’ve been swamped.
I finished the rough draft of Spell/Sword back in April, then put it away for as long as possible before diving into editing. I made it a full four weeks, which was torturous indeed.
True editing began in May, here was my process:
1. Print out the draft, and read through it. Making only absolutely necessary notes in the margins.
2. Cry.
3. Read through it again, making nit-picky grammar notes.
4. Take all of the comments/edits from the paper version and add them to my Google Doc. “No argument” edits were implemented immediately. [Grammar fixes, word choice, spelling mistakes, erotic centaurs scene] More complicated edits requiring more thought or massive chapter-spanning revision entered as Comments onto the G-Doc.
5. Man, there’s a lot of these Comments. [63 total, only 17 of which were related to petticoat description. ALWAYS NEED MORE DESCRIPTION OF THE COURTLY LADY DRESSES]
6. Worked in fits and starts on the larger edits. The easy ones first, picking at the edges — then finally dived into the more serious ones in June.
7. Anxiety Quicksand. Edits seem to be making book worse. Every thing I read seems to be terrible, even if not explicitly marked for revision. I hate the book, and spend a lot of time polishing a terrible, shiny thought. Writing this draft was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done — a goal in my life that I never imagined I would accomplish. To have made it this far is nothing short of miraculous — but the book still might not be any good. Effort does not equal excellence in writing, or any art. I might have a completely unusable draft, rotten to the core. I might have written a book and still not have a book.
8. Kept editing.
9. Started to lose the feeling of forward momentum, so I engaged the Saving Grace of Art. A deadline. Contacted my Alpha Readers, and let them know that I would be printing the draft the first of July to send them copies for review. I embrace that deadline, and editing redoubles in ferocity.
10. I like the book a little better. Well, let’s be serious — I love the book, but understand that I have lost any objectivity. I’ve read it too many times, I’m way too close. I finish up major edits, with the salve that I’m going to go through this whole process again once my Alphas have a crack at it. Only they can tell me whether or not my child is a Goofus or a Gallant.
11. I have one last brainstorm for my editing before releasing it to the Alphas. I read the entire draft out loud in one sitting. I catch innumerable grammar, tense, spelling, and logic errors in the process. Best thing I’ve done, next time around I’m planning on doing this much, much earlier. I also record me reading it [TECHNOLOGY!] for further review.
12. I like the book.
13. I send the draft to be printed for Alpha Readers. I feel a sense of pride that my closest friends and advisors will soon know how fucking clever I am.
14. I listen to the recording, and immediately catch a dozen glaring syntax and logic problems.
15. Cry a little bit. But you know, in a badass way, like Chow Yun Fat in The Killer.
I know I’m not unique in my process, or in my reactions — I know my colleagues and associates are sick of my talking about these things like I invented Author Malaise. But, you’re my blog and this is my first time up this thorny path — so get prepared for some serious whining and navel-gazing.
Also, some ruminations on various literary and genre concepts. I’ve been struggling to put my novel in context with others in the genre, and I’ve had some thoughts. SOME THOUGHTS, I SAY.
I’m also thinking about pulling my old weekend STORY ON DEMAND out of mothballs, now that I have a little more brainspace to spare.
What do you think, Corporal Steely Breadcrumbs?
No turning back. PEOPLE OTHER THAN ME WILL READ THE BOOK.
[Sent this out today — eep!]
Good afternoon, Alpha Readers.
Thank you.
First, before all else, before another word — thank you. You are doing me a giant favor, dedicating your time, knowledge and taste to helping me achieve a goal that I’ve had my entire life. Thank you, thank you – thank you a thousand times.
“Wait, I don’t remember telling Derek I’d do this for him.” You probably forgot, that’s okay — don’t worry, I’m not offended. You’re a busy person.
Can I admit that I’m afraid of you?
I’m not one that enjoys making art of any permanence, my insecurity and ego will not allow it. Temporary, ephemeral bursts of creativity – that’s my racket. But now I’ve written an entire book — with a beginning, middle and end, and now I’m going to let you inside my head to read it. You might all hate it. Hate it viciously. Or even worse, find it mild and forgettable. You are going to tell me things I don’t want to hear, you are going to break my heart. And more often than not, you’ll probably be right. And you must do these things, I implore you.
Which doesn’t mean I’m not going to be a giant baby about it.
I’ve never done this before! You can’t expect maturity.
I’m completing my latest pass of editing this week, then sending the draft to be printed so I can hand deliver them to you. If you would prefer a nice, shiny PDF of the draft instead I can happily provide it [what’s more you’ll get your copy earlier than the other people.] If you don’t live in Athens, please send me the address you want your copy mailed to.
Title: Spell/Sword
Draft Length: 144 pages / approx. 50,000 words
Instructions
1. Read the book.
2. Tell me what you think.
I have no idea how each of you wants to give me your feedback. We could sit down and talk about it, or you could send me an email, or attach your reply to the wing of a raven and hope for the best. Whatever is most comfortable for you, especially when you have to give me the “bad news”. I vow to be as professional and non-tear stained as I can be when you give me constructive criticism. What works best for you? Respond to me directly with your thoughts.
I’m trying to be scientific about this process, it alleviates my anxiety. In this first Alpha Reader group there are an even mix of genders, and a fair spread of age ranges. All of you are fans of genre fiction in some way or other, and I respect your opinion as an educated audience member, but also as artists and creators in your own stead.
After you’ve all given me your feedback, I will internalize your responses and then do a fresh edit of the book – probably several, before it goes on to be read by 5 brand new readers for the Beta Draft.
Suggestions
1. Please don’t discuss the book with each other, until after you’ve given me your feedback. Don’t be messin’ with my scientific method.
2. Don’t copy edit. If you can’t stand a grammar issue [and there will surely be some] please feel free to mark it, but don’t feel like I’m trying to con you into hours and hours of work.
3. Write all the notes you want on the draft! I want to know when you had questions, when you were confused, and most importantly, when you got bored.
4. Help me make my book better. Whatever that means, however you think best to do it.
Thank you again, you terrifying people.
G. Derek Adams
spell-sword.com
I’m on schedule for finishing my Alpha Edit of Spell/Sword before July 1st — my personal printer [aka my mom] is waiting to print copies for my crack team of Alpha Readers.
Editing is like painting with sand — everything you do changes the landscape, and draws into question things that you once considered granite-bedrock of your fiction.
I’ve spent a lot of time just sparring with anxiety. Am I editing too fast, too slow? Are the changes I’m making good — are they bad? Why aren’t there more minotaurs?
I’m terrified of getting overzealous and damaging the heart of the work — I’m terrified of not doing enough and leaving cancers to grow and fester in the lines and pages of the book.
I do think it’s time to crack the door open and let some other eyes prowl over the pages. I’m restricting my Alpha Readers to 10, half male, half female — and a pretty even spread of reader-types, and writers that I respect. After they get done, and give me some feedback, and I can stop crying — I’ll get back to work on a Beta Draft for the final round of 5 readers — my toughest critics: my girlfriend, a world-renowned Shakespearean scholar, a playwright, and the cruelest douchebag I can find.
I’m in a production of Shakespeare’s Comedy of Errors, and a friend came to see the show last night. Here is the wonderfully arcane series of texts we traded. Warning: These jokes require a clear memory of the game Bioshock, as well as serious familiarity with the Bard’s text. In other words, this will be funny to no one.
Josh: I’m seeing a definite Bioshock influence in the Comedy of Errors set .Deliberate or unintentional.
Me: Sadly unintended.
Me: No gods or kings!
Josh: Is Antipholus not entitled to the sweat of his own brow?
Me: Antipholus chooses, but Dromio obeys.
Josh: Haha. Well played, sir.
Yes, we are freakish nerds. We also made jokes about sandwiches made by Determinism. Envy us.
A little context.
1. I’ve been working on my very first novel. [QUIVER. CLENCH. ANXIETY-NINJAS IN MY STOMACH.] I started working in September, and completed the very, very rough draft in April.
2. I’m coming around the bend on my first round of editing. Soon I will let a few Alpha Readers take a long look, before they solemnly set fire to my manuscript and without breaking eye contact — dial the authorities.
3. While I try to stay focused on the craft itself of working on the book, I have noodled around a bit on The Next Step. The world of traditional publishing is contracting, and it’s never been known for being an easy assault for new talent — so, most of my thoughts have been centered around Self-Publishing. With resources like CreateSpace via Amazon it’s childishly simple to do, and I could have the most basic unit of my goals with a modicum of time and effort — i.e. a paper book that I slap in my mom’s hands.
4. I heart Pat Rothfuss. Name of the Wind and Wise Man’s Fear are excellent books. Wise Man’s Fear is one of the only books I can ever recall finishing …then immediately starting to read again. Slowly, languorously. I went on to read other things, but I would circle back like a honey-drunk bee to take another sip. I read that cat’s blog religious — and all of this novel nonsense is so I can send him a copy [right after my mom] and then he’ll read it and think I”m awesome and that we should be best friends and then he’ll come to my birthday party. THIS WOULD CLEARLY BE HIS REACTION TO MY WORK.
So, contextualized?
Today I read an interview he gave, linked into his own blog.
I was chuckling at his wry humor, and stroking my chin at the interesting bits — when I came to this section:
Full interview: Toonari Post
TP: Were you ever tempted to self-publish?
PR: Not really. Because, as I mentioned, I wanted people to read my books.
I know there’s a lot of talk about self-publishing right now. Everyone’s giddy with the possibilities. And I’ll admit that it looks good on paper: sell your books directly and keep a bigger chunk of the profit for yourself. No rejection letters. No hassle with agents. Sounds good, right?
Except nobody knows who you are. And nobody really cares. And your book is mostly crap because you haven’t had a substance-level editor give you feedback and make you revise it a couple of times. And your book is full of typos because you didn’t have a copy-editor read it. And the layout is ugly because you don’t know anything about layout…I’m sure you get the picture.
It’s like the query letter problem that I just mentioned, magnified a hundredfold. You might be good at telling a story, but that doesn’t mean you know anything about marketing. Or layout. Or editing. Or publicity. Or selling your books for foreign markets.
Even if you’re surprisingly good at one of those things, you’re still not going to be as good as a professional. You don’t know the tricks of the trade. You don’t know the right people to call. You don’t know what mistakes to avoid….
Everyone can point to a few examples of people that have done very well for themselves self-publishing. But honestly, those folks are lucky as lottery winners. They’re statistical anomalies. You want to publish with a publisher because a publisher knows how to publish a book. And you don’t. You really don’t.
Woof.
Dang.
Now, first and foremost, this isn’t about how Pat Rothfuss broke my heart, or what a big meanie-face he is, etc. etc. His beard is made of laughter and moonbeams, people. From my EXTENSIVE PERSONAL KNOWLEDGE [aka reading his blog.] he is clearly not a malicious person in any way. He was speaking from his own experience, trying to give helpful and clear advice.
It was a bit stern, and absolutist — but then, I remembered — Nerd/DM High Speech. Nerds speak in absolutes, with unwavering knowledge about whatever topic is in our demesne. It probably comes from being the smartest kid in the class, or years with our finger pointing at the small print in the Player’s Handbook. We all delight in pronouncing This is how it is. This is how it works. No, you cannot gain access to 6th level spells, just because you have a magical ability that increases your effective caster level, Carbunkle.
No, this post is about my reaction. I felt foolish.
Here is a writer and person that I respect telling me that I’m functionally wasting my time. I will self-publish my novel and it will be garbage. It will not be discovered, it will not be read. I am doing a disservice to myself and to the work itself by going this route. Pat Rothfuss told me I was an idiot.
This is not how my fanfiction plays out AT ALL.
I don’t think he’s wrong. I don’t think he’s right either.
For the vast majority of people self-publishing, he’s absolutely right. We all need to hear the stark truth like that. A wake-up call that if your goal is financial success then you are setting yourself up for failure. You are not some maverick Hemingway blazing across the firmament while thumbing your nose at traditional publishing. If you got into this gig to be the next 50 Shades of BLAHBLAHBLAH, then you are in it for the wrong reasons. Take a glance at the amount of self-published drivel on the Amazon Kindle alone. His metaphor of winning the lottery is apt. Every writer can benefit tangibly from a trained editor, copy-editor — and the inarguable expertise in marketing and layout that a publishing house can bring to bear.
But, I’m special. SCREAMED THE SPECK OF DUST IN A TRANSPARENT ALLUSION TO THAT CALVIN AND HOBBES STRIP.
There are more options now then ever, so more people than ever are going to chase the dream their own way. So, yeah, me too basically.
I have taken his thoughts to heart. I’ve always considered self-publishing the book as a first step, a tool to one day get picked up by a publishing house. The first book is a resume for the new job I want to have.
I hear you, Pat. I really do. But I am mercurial at best — I just can’t stay motivated with the idea of finishing the book THEN enduring two years or more of frustrating query letters, and standing like a beggar outside the big publishing houses wearing an adorable Dickensian top hat.
Well, maybe the top hat.
So, I’m sticking to my guns. Alpha Readers in July. More and more editing after that, and then when I say done I will use this fancy InterWebamaphone to put my book into people’s hands and on their fancy e-readers.
And I’m still sending you a copy, Pat. I’ll save you some cake, and a brightly colored hat.
spell-sword.com 