Silk & Shadows

Someone mentioned A WRINKLE IN TIME by Madeleine L’Engle the other day. I still own a copy of that book and read it again when I’d heard that Madeleine L’Engle passed away. Of all the books from my childhood, that one really stands out. Maybe it’s because the heroine, Meg, wasn’t a princess, or popular or especially pretty or endowed with magical powers. Being a kid who hadn’t quite grown into herself, she was awkward. Her hair never did what she wanted. She wore glasses (considered cool now but not then!). She often didn’t like herself and she never could quite control her temper, especially when the other kids at school poked fun at her family situation (father missing) or her “dumb baby brother.” Meg was a regular girl, a girl like me, who struggled with life and fitting in and worrying if she would ever just be “good enough” in the eyes of others.

In a sci-fi adventure story driven by the values of honor, courage, loyalty, personal freedom, the importance of family, etc., we watch Meg overcome one insecurity after another, until she comes to see her own worth. In learning to believe in herself, Meg learns she has the power to save the people she loves even when all seems lost.

For a shy ten-year-old who didn’t think she was particularly remarkable either, that was a powerful message

Another book I loved was THE WITCH OF BLACKBIRD POND by Elizabeth George Speare. It was what you could call my first historical romance and the beginning of a lifelong obsession. OK, the romance was kind of secondary to Kit’s trials and tribulations as she tries to fit in with her Puritan relatives in cold, damp, gray Connecticut (coming from Barbados, poor thing!), but Nat is there for her when she most needs him and makes her dreams come true at the end, albeit they were dreams she never knew she had.

WITCH is a fish out of water story, and I love experiencing the journey of someone who is struggling to adapt to new situations without losing their own sense of who they are. Kit is a fighter and a courageous girl, which is especially evident when she befriends a woman reputed to be a witch. Not cool in a Puritan environment! I’ll admit that in the beginning she is a bit of a spoiled rich girl, but little by little she gets over her silver spoon expectations, comes to terms with the drastic changes in her life, learns to value her often dour relatives and emerges a strong, positive, independent-minded young woman.

I think it’s so important for young girls to read stories that feature strong, intelligent young heroines with the power to take their world by the reins. My friend Traci Hall’s YA Wiccan series, about a spirited, psychic teenage girl named Rhiannon, certainly fits that category. Can anyone suggest others that are being written today?

Currently working on: Redesigning website
Mood: Baffled

I shouldn’t have a superpower.  I say this because I am fairly certain I would abuse my superpower.  My XY tried to reassure me.  “You’d be a benevolent dictator,” he said.

Sure, that’s what all the dictators say. 

It’s like that 1981 study by the Swedish research who survey American college student driver, 88% of whom declared themselves better than average drivers.  Now, you can play with the numbers to make average mean whatever you want, so that more than 50% can indeed be “better” than average at something.  But anyone who drives knows that the aforementioned 88% is patently delusional.  And I’d be deluded to think I’d be a force for good (or at least above average) just because the universe — or maybe aliens or radiation poisoning or whatever – gave me a superpower.

Lord Acton’s full quote in 1887 was:

“Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. Great men are almost always bad men.”

Since I’m not a Swedish researcher, I won’t argue percentages with Lord Acton, I’ll just point out that Superman wasn’t from Earth, so he doesn’t count.  But back to my superpower or lack thereof.

I think, in order to keep my corrupting influence off my superpower, I’d be Dharma Girl.  I’m envisioning some sort of invisible-but-sparkly-under-special-goggles fairty-type dust drifting in my wake as I pirouette through the world.  Those who encountered my steps would see their ideal path laid out before them in matching sparkly footsteps — literal and metaphorical.  They would know unequivocally they were going the right way. 

And woe be unto she who did not follow.  Because of course I can’t entirely give up the Dark Knight dastardly deeds — my evil alterego would be Swamp Gas Girl, whose arrival is preceded by the stench of low tide and whose twinkly lights lead followers to an early grave.

Tragically, every superpower has a superfailing.  And mine is obviously that I don’t trust myself to be sure I’m on the right path.  Then again, the universe — or maybe aliens or radiation poisoning — gave me a talent for words and I’m using them on romance writing.  So maybe I would use my superpower for good.

Does your favorite superpower reveal something dastardly about you?  Do share.  Supervillains are people too.

To be honest, if you were to look in my most-visited web sites list, you’d see the places I frequent most often are community/book review sites, such as All About Romance, Dear Author and Smart Bitches. I live for books, both writing them and reading them, so reviews and discussions about books draw me like a moth to flame.

I do, occasionally, venture further afield. I watch a lot of YouTube stuff that people have linked to, and I also visit a few sites on the pretext of research:

Seventh Sanctum. Need a name for a character or a spell? Seeking a dash of inspiration? How about a chuckle? This place is totally awesome.

The Online Etymology Dictionary. Again, maybe it’s because I’m a writer, or maybe because I love historical stuff, but if you want to know when a word originated, or what the root language is, this is your place. Crazy me, I sometimes do this just for fun.

Then, there are the sites I visit when I’m not making any excuses, just wasting time:

Popcap Games. The makers of that internet favorite, Bejeweled. I have unfortunately discovered Peggle, and have lost many an hour watching a ball bounce around.

Make-a-Flake. More of a winter activity, but strangely addictive, even in the summer. Ever make paper snowflakes as a kid? Well, this is way easier and the results are hugely better than anything I could produce with a real pair of scissors.

I also Twitter, post on Facebook, and blog hop. Darn, where do those hours go? Anyone want to give me some more ways to avoid working?

Currently working on: The last of my Prism judging
Mood: Studious

Oh noes, I’m paralyzed by indecision.  Do I write this blog entry straight and talk about my real writing life, where I go to my day job and come home and eat dinner and walk the dog and drag myself to the computer around 9 pm to write until I fall asleep? 

Woo-hoo, blog post done in five easy steps!  And how insanely boring.  So maybe I’ll write about my imaginary writing life with the joys of tropical breezes, bon-bons and cabana boys, or maybe the sexy angst of stilettoes, absinthe and tattoos.

Wait, I’ll do it all.  Kind of a choose-the-real-writing-life quiz.  No cheating.

It’s time for Jessa to sit down and write something.  So she:

1. Finishes her morning yoga and rings for her majordomo to prep her writing area, a ritual that includes lighting lead-free candles scented with homeopathic remedies to inspire creativity and warding the door with a circle of salt to keep out the demons of doubt and any garden slugs that might think to wander through.
2. Finishes her self-inflicted day-long sleep in an Iron Maiden and flays open a vein, liberally spraying the keyboard and monitor, which at least makes it harder to see the dreck spilling from her fingertips.
3. Finishes relocating the last of the evening’s slugs from the pea shoots to a half can of stale Coors Light and heads up to her office to get 1500 words done, come Hell or Miller High Life.

Jessa gets some tough writing news.  So she:

1. Eats a bucket of cookie dough, then calls her therapist, chakra aligner and personal trainer for an emergency three-day weekend at her mountain chalet.
2. Eats a bucket of cookie dough, then peruses The Anarchist’s Cookbook and Easy Three-Step Knitting Guide for a satisfyingly nefarious revenge.
3. Eats a bucket of cookie dough.  And has a glass of milk.

Jessa has a public appearance.  So she:

1. Retouches her roots, freshens her manicure and memorizes her speech in one night using a sleep tape.
2. Tears apart her closet looking for the bunny slippers that still have all four ears and at least one pair of flannel pajama bottoms where you can’t see her long underwear through the 20-pound-paper-thin butt.
3. Quickly organizes a panel discussion so she can stand behind someone else.

 Jessa is visited by her Muse.  So she:

1. Quickly channels the Muse’s brilliant idea into the computer, in such a perfect state of grace she never once misspells ‘teh.’
2. Binds and gags the bitch, drives her to the river, contemplates throwing the squirming Muse off the Hawthorne Bridge, realizes that’s way too obvious, and drives over to the Morrison Bridge instead.
3. Politely gives the Muse the other author’s name when the Muse explains how she must have gotten lost, so sorry to interrupt, and you might want to consider applying the other side of your nose to the grindstone, just to keep it symmetrical, you know?

 Jessa needs to write a blog post.  So she:

1. Selects a relevant post from her categorized and crossreferenced archives and clicks on ‘schedule.’
2. Hacks The New Yorker and Smart Bitches and runs the stolen articles through a resequencer that churns out a deviously untraceable post on how romance is a lot like quantum physics.  (Hey, resequencers only really work on CSI.)
3. Stays up too late trying to be clever and experiences varying degrees of success trying to delete most of the expletives.

There you have it.  The glamor.  The pathos.  The randomness.

If you chose mostly 1′s, you must be Danielle Steel.
If you chose mostly 2′s, you must be kidding.
If you chose mostly 3′s… Yeah, that’s a day in my life too.

Currently working in: Revision Hell
Mood: Rather toasty

I’m a big picture person.  I like overarching themes and intricate through-lines.  Writing on that level is like flying with the angels — bright and cerebral, accompanied by the soothing sounds of harps and catered by cupids with Nectar of the Gods.

But a story is really told in the guts.  As in blood and guts, and gutsy decisions.  Scenes are the guts of the story.  You get waaaay dirtier there.  Scenes are slippery and don’t always fit tidily where you put them, and you’re not — according to AMA (Association of Manuscript Assassins) ethics — supposed to use duct tape or a staple gun.  But messy as they are, scenes are where the story is.

Scenes hold the emotion, the action, the energy.  Here are a few of my favorite scenes:

From Raiders of the Lost Ark:

Always bring a gun to a scimitar fight.  The story goes, a strenuous physical fight scene had been scripted between the scimitar-wielding bad guy and Indy and his whip, but Harrison Ford was feeling ill that day.  As a joke, he pulled out his gun and “shot” the bad guy.  Everybody thought it was great, so it stayed.

Whether the story is true or not, the scene is wonderful.  Watching it, I felt my heart race as Indy stood with his coiled whip and the bad guy swirled his scimitar.  Then out came the gun and blam!  The tension was perfectly released with a laugh and a wry thought that, ‘Well, yeah, that sure was smarter. I’d follow this hero anywhere.’

 From Ladyhawke:

I couldn’t find a picture, but remember the pre-dawn scene where Isabeau has bedded down for a night on the frozen tundra with the weary wolf-Navarre?  The sun has not quite risen, but the man is beginning to return from the wolf.  As his dark fur morphs to rumpled hair, she reaches out to touch him.  He lifts his hand to hers…  Then the first rays of the sun shine upon them.  Her fingers become feathers and she burst from their lovenest in a blur of hawk’s wings.

 Oh, the heartbreak.  That suspended moment — without a word said — captures their longing and the hopelessness of their situation.  I perfectly understood the desperation that drove them into their final harrowing battle. 

From The Lord of the Rings: Two Towers:

 For epic battle scenes (with plenty of guts, of both the figurative and strewing kind) I think nobody beats Tolkien, and Peter Jackson’s vision was a technical marvel (yes, I watched the days of bonus material on the DVDs) and a masterful manipulation of the viewers’ hearts and minds: With such vast forces of evil raised against our heroes, how can they possibly prevail? 

With awesome CG and Viggo’s twisty locks, that’s how!  Bliss!

All of the above, of course, is just a transparent attempt to avoid the real topic this week which is the favorite scene I wrote.  I can’t even tell you why I like this scene, because that would be cheating, since it doesn’t matter why I like it.  Not anymore.  Those guts I mentioned before must now come together to give life to a breathing, lusting, struggling entity quite separate from me.

So here goes…  Unlike the scenes above, I chose a quieter scene from early in the story, where the heroine, Sera, confronts the hero about her new life as an immortal warrior acolyte possessed by a repentant demon fighting the never-ending battle against evil.

From Seduced By Shadows:

 “Do you really expect me to believe any of this?  That I’ve been possessed by a… a demon?”

“Belief is beside the point.  It is true.”

It was like being told she would soon be killed by a falling piano.  Of course she didn’t believe him.  And yet she couldn’t help looking up.  “Demons don’t exist.” 

“Not corporeally, not in this world.  Which is why it has clothed itself in your flesh.”

The lake wind swirled, and an inadvertent shudder ripped through her.  She wrapped her arms around her waist.  As if she might feel different.  “And what if I’m not interested in sharing my flesh?”

A muscle in his jaw tensed.  “You can cast it out, before it ascends, before it sets roots in your soul and its mark on your skin.”

He twitched back the edge of his trench coat and from the folds of supple leather released a blackened club the size of her forearm.  With a snap of his wrist and the menacing schick of sliding metal, the club telescoped to double in length.  He flicked it outward, and from the thickened, studded end, a blade cascaded out in a series of glittering steel segments, like a cardsharp’s precisely fanned hand almost twice as wide as her spread fingers.

From primitive club to switchblade battle-axe quicker than her stuttering heart could find its beat.

“Oh God.”  She cringed back against the wall. 

“I never got around to naming it.”  He gripped the weapon just below the wickedly recurved blade and tugged up the sleeves of his coat and shirt.

The razor edge carved the cold light, sharper than the look he threw her as he laid the gleaming blade against the inside of his right arm between the inky lines of his tattoo.

“No.”  A sickening beat of horror skipped through her, like when she’d seen the SUV hurtling toward her, about to change her life forever.

The tattoo, not Celtic nor tribal but even more primitive, swirled over his knuckles and spiked halfway up his arm.  Against the black, the skin of his wrist looked tender, veins and tendons standing out in marbled relief.

He stilled, and despite the dread-full thump of her heart, she found her gaze drawn to his.

“Unforgivably melodramatic,” he said, “but effectively convincing.”

He sliced the blade down his inner arm.

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Currently working on: Nothing!
Mood: Somewhat guilty, actually

With winter still firmly plunked on the Pacific Northwest in the form of gray skies, gray water and gray moods, this week’s topic about imagining our characters on winter holiday is particularly fun. What makes it even more fun for me, is that I’m not here! I’m in Chicago on break.

Yeah, the Windy City in February. Okay, so it’s not where most people — or characters — dream of spending a few free winter days. But I have a bit of research to do. As I mentioned once before, Liam and Jilly, the leads from Book 2, get into a spot of trouble on the ‘L,’ the elevated train tracks downtown. I also need to make a run through Chinatown, go dancing at a cool nightclub, and hit up this supposedly awesome bra boutique, which are all things my hero and heroine do. Yes, even the underwear shopping. Although the hero did that, so you know it’s fiction. I would PAY my hero to go bra shopping for me.

But I digress. That’s what happens when you’re slacking on vacation.

Actually, my heroes don’t get much time off. Saving the world, blah blah. Their version of downtime is sharpening their weapons. If Sera and Archer from Book 1 were contemplating glossy four-color brochures of potential holidays away, their conversation might go something like this:

Sera: You’d look fantastic in that Speedo, love.

Archer: Where would I keep my bad-ass recurved demon-slaying ax? Would that count as a carry-on or personal item?

And that would be the end of Sera and Archer’s Caribbean adventure. So until they rid the world of evil, they’re stuck in Chicago. And I’m with them for a long weekend.

If you could put aside your saving of the world for a weekend, where would you want to go right now?

Currently working on: The big bad
Mood: Teeth gritting

Happy almost Valentine’s Day!

What better time of the year to talk about writing sex scenes than Valentine’s Day? Er, not that Valentine’s Day is all about sex, but it does tend to go there, doesn’t it? If it’s done right, of course

I’ll be honest here (and honesty is a useful tool for Valentine’s Day AND writing sex scenes); I often skim sex scenes when I’m reading. Not because I’m a vaguely repressed romance writer working out her problems in cheap self-therapy on the page, but because – like a long-term comfortable relationship where maybe the fires have dimmed a little – sex scenes can sometimes feel rote and perfunctory. We’ve all heard the tease about romance novels where you crack the spine at the halfway point and, whoopsie, fell into bed and had sex.

Even with whips and whipping cream – even with prehensile tentacles if you read the farther-out-there stuff – the sex has to MEAN something. I want my sex scenes to work harder, to get down and dirty, and go deeper…

Okay, I can see this posting has the potential to get me into trouble. But that’s exactly what I want from my sex scenes. The potential for trouble. I want to know that this scene is important – just like all the rest of the story. That clues and pitfalls and moments of truth are hidden in the otherwise eons-old insertion of tab into slot.

So how do you create a special Valentine’s Day – and a special sex scene?

Engage all the senses: The archetypical Valentine’s Day includes chocolate, champagne, roses, and a candle-lit bubble bath. So too on the physical level, a good sex scene should play with every nerve ending – the thick creaminess of the dark chocolate, the gleam of flame-light on slick wet skin, the rich sweet scent of the roses as the petals float across the water only to sink under a surging splash as he raises himself over her… But Valentine’s and sex scenes aren’t just about the physical.

Reveal more: Hey, we’ve all bought Valentine’s Day panties. And let’s just say the price does not reflect the square footage. I like a sex scene that uncovers something about our heroine. It’s a dangerous moment, that unveiling. In opening herself to the hero, she risks more than the twenty bucks spent at Victoria’s Secret. Our hero faces the same moment, but please don’t picture him in Valentine’s Day panties. I mean, unless that’s your thing. Although I’d go more Abercrombie & Fitch.

Find the core: No, you naughty-minded reader, not THAT core. Well, actually yes, that core too. But I was thinking of that defining moment that is the reason you cannot skim a good sex scene – it’s the moment the hero metaphorically pulls out the velvet Valentine’s Day jeweler’s box. Locked in that dark, protective box is a shining jewel that he will hand to the heroine for safekeeping. Will she accept? Whatever comes next (and you know there’s more to come), that bond will mark them forever.

A spontaneous sexual romp on a sunny Sunday afternoon is wonderful too – in real life and in a book – but the ritual that is Valentine’s Day and the crafting of a meaningful sex scene can be as sharp-edged and delicate as scissors wielded on a construction paper heart, with as many mixes messages as a box of candy hearts. The story that doesn’t miss a beat here can win my heart.

What was your most memorable experience of Valentine’s Day? The passing of those cheap little postcards in grade school? An impromptu game of spin the bottle? A proposal from your hero?

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Congratulations to Zita Hildebrandt, winner of the unicorn gift from Sharon Ashwood.

The Silk And Shadows holiday gifting comment contest will continue after the actual holidays. Meanwhile, our topic this week is “Our characters at Christmas/Hannukah/Kwanzaa/Solstice/etc.”

Working on: Stuck on Chapter 10, having been derailed by said holidays
Mood: Restless

I haven’t been able to settle to my writing for the last couple weeks.  Distracted by the holidays, sweetie’s birthday, blowing snow, boarding a second dog, arranging for an author photo from some suitable body double, [insert additional excuses as needed], I can’t seem to get many coherent words on the page.

So why start now?

As I tried to imagine a holiday themed story for my characters, I choked.  My heroine fights demons.  She doesn’t have time to reapply her lip balm much less wrap presents or bake cookies.  So unless an incorporeal demonic emanation possesses the Christmas ham…

Sometimes I envy her.

Which is, of course, ridiculous, and not just because she’s a character in a book.  Her existence is dangerous and rife with conflicts both internal and external.  Still, it rings with clarity.  Her choices may be monumentally difficult and possibly fatal (‘cuz isn’t that more fun to read?) but she lives every moment to the fine edge.  So here are three lessons I’m trying to channel from my heroine this holiday season:

• Don’t waste time.  The world is shopping days are coming to an end.  Make every second count.
• When time is running out, remember what is important.  (Hint: It ain’t lump-free icing.)
• Don’t forget to say I love you.

What lessons have you taken away from your favorite novels?

Heroes are consistent creatures. It’s true that Mr. Overbearing has given some ground to Mr. “I will do the dishes once in a while.” And, over the years he’s changed occupations—fireman, cop, vampire, whatever. But, he’s still basically the same guy. Big, gorgeous, troubled, demanding, and oh-so-hot to claim the girl for his own.

On the whole, we understand Mr. Will Fill Dishwasher But Still Manly without too much trouble. While there are endless variations on the theme, he’s been around in popular culture long enough that the reader easily recognizes his type. I don’t think the modern heroine is as predictable. These days the gals are as likely to be holding a machine gun as a cookie press.

This is not a bad thing.  If we’re going to have realistic action-adventure, monster-busting stories, we need protagonists who are up for the job. But, I think what hits my radar about the “kick ass heroine” phenomenon is not so much the kicking ass part but the psychology behind it. Authors can’t cut corners here. I’m not as willing to buy her as I am Mr. Manly–not without reading the label.

If the woman I’m cheering on is going to commit an extreme act of violence, the author has to lay lots of groundwork and motivation before I want to go along for the ride. Cartoons and comics are one thing, the emotional journey of an entire novel is very different.

I mean, think about it. If Jane runs around killing monsters day in and day out, what sort of a psychological toll does that take? In this day and age of humanized vamps and werewolves, what separates her from a serial killer? And where does clever, sarcastic repartee cross the line into just plain rude?

This is where the author’s job gets hard. Speaking for myself as a reader, I might conceivably be a housewife, a career woman or a secretary to a Greek millionaire tycoon with a secret baby, but I’m unlikely to be a slayer, a superhero or even a leather-clad special ops agent dangling from a rope and stealing the Thing That Saves the World. The author needs to make be believe in Jane as well as her mission.

I love these Babes of Iron when they’re well done–but tough isn’t good enough. We have to admire these gals and, for that, we have to understand them—not just as action figures, but as women.

Is this more than I would demand of a hero?  Yes and no. I want to know his emotional landscape and why he does what he does, too. Otherwise, it’s bad characterization. However, I do think I accept a man of action and all that entails with less scrutiny. He’s more familiar and so I’m more comfortable making assumptions about him.

What do you think?  Do we need more characterization to understand our heroines when they’re in these non-traditional roles? Or, has our culture seen enough Buffys and Ripleys that we accept them as easily as we do their male action-adventure counterparts?