Why yes, I did survive the parental liver pickling ritual that is New Year’s Eve, thank you for asking. Hope you all survived whatever you usually get up to as well!

For my first post of 2009, a meme. I was tagged by the lovely and talented Amanda Pillar. Hers was interesting and mine probably will not be, but it’s better than me listing what I’m doing to get ready for my upcoming trip to see the in-laws. (Doesn’t sound like it should be complicated, but bear in mind that they live in Madras, India. It’s exciting, but yes, complicated.)

It’s just lame personal stuff, so beware.

Share seven facts about yourself in the post. Tag seven people at the end of your post by leaving their names and the links to their blogs.

1. My parents and my only sibling are all music teachers. The last time the four of us spent an evening alone together (September) it consisted of going to my dad’s final Fall Concert (he’s retiring this year!), then out for sushi, over which my brother and I had a Sapporo-drenched discussion/friendly argument about Franz Liszt. Which even my parents thought was pretty much the lamest thing ever. But it’s kind of their fault that their kids are lame, wouldn’t you say?

2. My favorite X-Man is still Gambit, after all these years. I can’t help it. I was 10 in 1990, and it was when I re-discovered my dad’s old comic collection and my love for Iceman, Human Torch, and Spidey. Gambit was new and shiny and… threw cards. And talked like a redneck. Come on.

3. The only thing I’m really qualified to be is an art historian, and seeing as I’m still a class and a thesis away from an MA that I can’t imagine I’d ever want to finish, not even that. I went to school to specialize in Himalayan Buddhist art history. I cannot get enough of art of all kinds, though. Reading about it, looking at it, talking about it, injecting it to the stuff I write.

Except that I hate Impressionism. But seeing as I have some characters who love it, I’m stuck with it all the same :/

4. I used to paint a lot in high school, and my teacher got pissed when I told him I didn’t want to go to art school to try and get actually good. I told him that I couldn’t be an artist, because I didn’t have anything interesting to say.

The only thing I was ever good at painting was people, anyhow. Turns out that I write exactly how I painted, but I try not to think into that too much.

5. People can knock Britpop all they want, but I fully credit it with saving me from the grunge plague that was eating my peers by the thousands in the mid-90s; I’d fought it off up to that point only by burying myself in classic rock. So I tend to think of it with the all the disconnected academic nostalgia of an American kid who didn’t really get it, but was just really grateful there was something other than Pearl Jam going on.

Plus, if it hadn’t exploded when it did, I probably wouldn’t have heard such seminal obsession-causing bands as The Jam, the Stone Roses, etc., until college at the earliest. Let’s not think of that, though.

6. One of my earliest memories is watching my dad play King Arthur in Camelot. My whole family spent lots of time at a summerstock theater, and I think I was like three or four the summer they opened with that one. I never quite forgave Guenevere for cheating on my dad with that dorky Lancelot– though Dad kissing someone other than Mom on stage seemed perfectly normal, if a bit silly.

(I also really, really love Waiting for Guffman thanks to the community theater childhood!)

7. I think George Harrison was the coolest dude ever. When I get questions about “who’s your personal hero?” or whatever on a meme/questionnaire, he’s always my answer.

Okay, so if you want to do this, I’d like to hear from:
N.K. Kingston
Meghan Brunner
Catherine J. Gardner
Michael Stone
Natalie L. Sin
Corinne Duyvis
Aaron Polson

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Now playing: Manic Street Preachers - Slash’n'Burn
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Wellll the New Year is almost upon us. As I get older, I find that these things move faster, just like mom always promised me they would. Not that I’m ancient and decrepit yet– just really looking forward to it. As I’m sure the next few days (particularly once my parents come into town for the whole New Year’s Eve Celebration thing) will pass in a pleasant (champagne-assisted) haze, I thought I’d do the whole end of year posting thing now.

I’ll be brief: 2008 was way better than I expected it to be. There is now a faint possibility that somewhere out there, someone holds a copy of a book with my name in it that entertained them. (Or disturbed them, but around here that’s the same thing.) So, that about says it.

Next year, the major goal is to make it even better. I know, massive, huh? Yeah, well, I’m sure I’ll make a detailed list of crap I need to accomplish on my personal blog– y’all get spared here. That’s right, I love you that much. I do think that I’m going to have a New Year’s Resolution this time though, which I’ve never done before.

I’m going to stop explaining why, when I talk about writing, I talk about my characters like they’re real. “Kay wants this” or “Fiona won’t do that”, etc., etc.

Everyone already knows why I do it, because over half of them do it too (this means you!). And anyone who says they don’t know why is either (a) pretending so they can be a douchebag and feel superior in their sanity or (b) probably not someone who’d enjoy my company even if I didn’t do it. So it’s a bit silly to over-explain the issue, isn’t it? I know this should sound like something one realizes at 13, but hey, I’m still getting used to discussing writing like it’s something I’m semi-serious about rather than it being a closeted and fruitless hobby. Gimme a break!

And in closing, I leave you with the awesome of my new calendar, which I could not wait for the new year to put up:

Yeah, that’s totally Jon Snow and Ghost. A Song of Ice and Fire and nerdy fantasy art for the win! If you don’t believe me, well, the power of George RR Martin compels you. (No, I am not that grouchy about the lateness of A Dance with Dragons. I’d rather it deliver and be slow than suck and be rushed, at the end of the day. I mean, he actually hasn’t killed my favorite characters yet! I can hardly believe it!)

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Now playing: The Stone Roses - I Wanna Be Adored
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Well, my family celebrates Christmas, so even though I’m a heathen, I like to keep up the traditions. I have a teeny tiny tree and a lone string of lights, and some stockings. I got a pile of books and a new computer chair that is a bit like a race car. And I think I’m going to find a decent BluRay player soon, too. Good stuff!

(My mom just called. She was playing her new Guitar Hero: World Tour game and wanted me to hear the Oasis song. Ha!)

So happy feelings from me and my new addition to the Desk of Endless Awesome Clutter (it helps, really!), Edwin: The Unfortunately Pink Reindeer, aka the First Annual Sin Award. Because Natalie is great.

Also, I think The Lion in Winter will be our new Christmas Tradition movie. It’s seasonal, and there’s no way you can’t watch that and feel a whole lot better about how screwed up your own family is! A Christmas Miracle! (Plus, it’s made of awesome. Not sparkly awesome, like Edwin… but 12th century awesome, which is also good.)

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Now playing: John Wilbye - O wretched man
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I considered posting an actual review of this book I’m reading, Peter Robb’s M: The Man Who Became Caravaggio. But I think I can sum my feelings up best with a picture and a short comment.

Any book that says this kid’s smile is “insolently sexy” or otherwise “inviting” is just trying way too hard:

Detail of Caravaggio’s “John the Baptist I”

Not to mention that such commentary makes one reflect upon the sanity of the author. In ways that make me wish I believed in hell. It looks like a painting of a kid who just got licked on the nose by a sheep. Now, as my friend Reenie points out, I cannot comment on the ram’s take on the situation. It may be more sinister. But let’s be serious, here.

That said, I’ve been lucky enough to see a few of Caravaggio’s paintings in person in my lifetime, and at the risk of sounding uber-melodramatic, I gotta admit that they’ve all stopped my heart for a few seconds. The man painted saints with the faces of Roman street people, much to the shock of the counter-reformation, delighted in invading your space and pulling you into his (ahh trompe-l’œil!), and was just all around brilliant and revolutionary at hooking his viewer.

You think about it, and this is the goal of every writer, artist, musician, etc. The books (or whatever) that show us the truth in unexpected ways are the ones we love the most. So someone who was doing it at the turn of the seventeenth century is fascinating on multiple levels, both academic and personal.

I’m a bit of a fangirl, is what I mean to say. And other than the weird Freudian tendencies of the author, this is a pretty interesting read. He reflects what’s best and most interesting in the painter, so much so that I can almost forgive him his rare irresponsible liberties with the scholarship. I had tenured professors in grad school who were much worse. (This is officially the least long-winded I’ve ever been about art. In my life. Go me.)

In other news, I had a spectacularly unproductive month. I wrote one 8k short story, and it’s completely devoid of fantastic or horrific content, though I’m glad I wrote it, and hope I can eventually make something of it. (Barry recently discussed how this can happen, and I think Aaron’s about to do the same). I prepped a full manuscript for submission, which made me a little crazy, but also made me realize I don’t hate my own book. I (think I) finalized edits on a story for slated for a July ‘09 Anthology of Awesome, under the guidance of two wonderful editors. I got one older story edited up and submitted to a magazine with the help of my generous beta-editor friends. And I’ve been relying heavily on my love of lists and anal retentive organization to build the foundations of a strange epic fantasy/clockpunk world that’s quickly spiraling out of control.

See, I look at that and I think, no, you’ve worked rather hard, haven’t you, for the month after writing a novel in two weeks? But I guess as long as I never feel like I’m working hard enough, I’ll stay hungry, right?

With that, this dorky little blog will likely be silent until after Christmas. My best friend is coming in from Pittsburgh this afternoon, and we’re going to hit up the Oasis show in town. (This makes number 8 for me I think, or maybe 9. Again, with the obsessive fangirling. I might as well be 15, still in love with the same bad music, excellent art, decent books and sci-fi.) And then, you know. Time to make the traditional Christmas Chili!

Have a good one, y’all.

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Now playing: Oasis - Bag It Up
posted with FoxyTunes

Another book worth mentioning, Extraordinary Engines, a steampunk anthology edited by Nick Gevers. I saw this on the shelf in Borders last time I was there and thought it looked rad. I particularly enjoy short stories after writing something long and involved, as it helps to relieve some mental pressure build-up, so it was good timing after Nano.

This one shares that quality typical amongst well-done anthologies– all the stories are good, but not every person is going to love every story. Inevitably, however, they will love enough to make it worth their $7-12. This is the reason I love anthologies– I’m always very curious to know which ones will strike my fancy, and even the ones I’m not into are worth it, since they make me branch out.

Also, I like steampunk. I’ve been messing around with the idea of a clockpunk/epic fantasy type thing for a few months now, I like it so much. (Yes, really. Don’t ask, I don’t know, it seemed like a good idea at the time.) I like the expected Very-Victorian-London ones just as much as the unexpected Wild-West-American ones and the Cracky-Other-World-Fantasy-or-Skiffy ones. Another good reason to pick this thing up, if you like different flavors. So 2-3 sentences about each story, I think, and you can decide if it sounds interesting or not.

Steampunch by James Lovegrove -
A good one to draw you in at first– mechanical boxers, what more do you need to know? I liked the PoV in particular, the old timer telling us a story as we get off the transport. It’s more skiffy than some of the others, which is fun, and has a cool ending, too.

Static by Marly Youmans -
Rad world concept, with everything charged with static electricity. Beautifully written, carefully rendered, but in general if there’s not a lot of plot in a story, I need to at least like one of the characters. I’m a philistine like that.

Speed, Speed the Cable by Kage Baker -
Featuring Bell-Fairfax from Baker’s Company series. This is one of the excellent Victorian adventure-type tales in these books, one of my favorite manifestations of the genre (not to mention that it’s pretty much The Classic). Very fun.

Elementals by Ian R. MacLeod -
Industrial Revolution theoretical/supernatural stuff that messes with your head. The awesome pseudo-scientific elements put it squarely in my field of interest, but this really is one of the most engrossing tales in the collection. I read it on the Metro going back and forth to the District and was very worried I’d miss my stop.

Machine Maid by Margo Lanagan -
More head-screwing, this time from the Aussie frontier camp. I was dreadfully uncomfortable almost the entire time reading this, and I enjoyed it for that. The title says a lot, but there are also issues of unwanted marriages and repressed intellect at work.

Lady Witherspoon’s Solution by James Morrow -
More excellent pseudo-science. This one is a decided and guiltily delightful rip on attitudes of sex and race in an upper-class Victorian world– things that have always fascinated me (since they strike us now as hilarious). The characters are my favorite kinds: the ones you like when you know you shouldn’t. Loved it.

Hannah by Kieth Brooke -
One of the more overtly dark offerings, murder and mad science. It’s short and packs a punch, atmospherically falling somewhere between a Sherlock Holmes mystery and Frankenstein horror. Nicely done, and left a cold impression on me.

Petrolpunk by Adam Roberts -
More high adventure in alternate realities, centered in London. It took me about five pages to really get into it, just because the narrative is inexplicably thick and I thought “God, this is trying too hard.” But once I was adjusted to the voice, I had a great time with the whole mad story.

American Cheetah by Robert Reed -
Hard for me not to love a story (sort of) involving one of my historical fascinations, Abe Lincoln. It’s not the snappiest plot, but it’s so well done I didn’t mind in the least, and the superimposing of some of Lincoln’s habits and philosophizing tendencies was really brilliantly carried off. I got a kick out of it.

Fixing Hanover by Jeff VanderMeer -
An inventor hiding from his past in a relatively idyllic, hidden island town after he washed up on their shore. The excellence of this one is in the unfolding of the backstory and the delicate immediacy of the prose (I swear I could smell salt water the whole time). Unsurprising, considering the source, but there it is.

The Lollygang Save the World on Accident by Jay Lake -
As entertaining as you’d expect. The plot isn’t complicated or even much at all, but the fabulous world of the Big Pipe’s society and technology, and the accidental heroism of Per are more than enough to make it a great read. Also, the man just has a way with words that makes the strangest things seem beautiful.

The Dream of Reason by Jeffrey Ford -
I am going to find some of this guy’s books like, yesterday. Otherworldly steampunk and my beloved pseudo-science. When I say otherworldly I do mean it in both senses of the word; it’s both taking place somewhere Else, rather than being alternate history, and it’s ethereal, dreamlike. One of my favorites.

And that’s my much-more-than-two-cents on the subject.

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Now playing: The Charlatans - Toothache (Chemical Risk Remix)
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And now, book talk—Michael Stone’s Fourtold, to be precise, a collection of four dark and strange and lovely novellas.

There’s a subtlety to his style, a disarming straightforwardness (not to be mistaken for simplicity) that makes you think you know what you can expect from these stories. You can’t– not to ruin the surprise. You think you’re getting something easy to digest, but it’s building these opulent castles in your mind while you’re carried off by the story. I don’t know where he learned this trick, but if he could bottle it and sell it, I’d buy a whole case or three.

His characters are odd, and in their oddity immensely true-to-life—not the kind of sculptures that unnerve you by being a little too perfectly human, but the kind that you never notice aren’t real in the first place. They have all the bumps and scrapes and wrinkles, and you come to know them almost as if by accident. He’s made it somehow plausible that it’s my next door neighbor with the mouth in his forehead and the trip to a particular clinic, or chewing (yuk!) ex tabs to keep the sleep disorders at bay. They’re flawed and sometimes ridiculous, and I cared very much about what would happen to the surprisingly brave Solomon Barley, desperate Kasper Clark, and all the others. That’s the most important thing for me when reading—if I don’t care about the people you can have the most brilliant plot in the world and I won’t get through it. No worries here on either count.

And I laughed at the most unexpected moments. The novellas, serious though their themes are, and uniformly dark, still refuse to take themselves completely seriously. I’ve read a lot of new books this year, but this is the one I would be sorry to have missed.

A few little words about each, then, to round this off—I’ll steer away from explaining too much of what they’re about; you can get excellent reviews at Book Smugglers or Cate Gardner’s awesome blog that have done that better than I could.

San Ferry Ann

Displaced WW1 ex-pats, medicine man and fire eater—this one is prime example of how oddities of character are made endearing without a reader knowing what’s just happened. A series of strange events and meetings propel massive character evolution here. This also has to be one of my favorite titles of all time, I think, for a worthy tale from a weird place.

The Reconstruction of Kasper Clark

A story about a man with a mouth in his forehead, and adventures in reconstruction at one crazy clinic. Oh the allegory I could make of this one if I were only a little more pretentious! I got entirely too much enjoyment out how truly bizarre this one was—and I don’t mean the kind of bizarre that’s trying too hard to be edgy, I mean the kind of bizarre we’ve all seen in our dreams, but never quite articulate properly.

The Terra Cotta Warrior

As you might expect from the title, there’s a bust up with one of the Emperor’s tomb guardians involved. This one has some of the most simultaneously terrifying and hilarious action-packed visuals I’ve ever read, I’m totally convinced. Two words for you: polo mallet. I kept laughing and thinking it was terrible to laugh at this horrific series of events. And that’s what makes it so much fun.

The Lemon Man

This one made my heart pound. When our esteemed author learned of my sleep issues, he said I’d like this one; he was right, it’s my favorite of the four. Narcolepsy, sleep paralysis, and heaven. It’s honest, it’s scary, it’s beyond strange, and when I was done I felt like someone had just beaten the hell out of me. Which sounds like an odd thing to say as a compliment, but I do mean it as such, and violently.

Something really interesting, too: everyone who reads it seems to have a different favorite. I think that speaks to the overall awesome of the collection, don’t you?

There’s a paperback release on the horizon for this one, and you can keep tabs on it over at the author’s blog, where he’s just announced a contest to win a free autographed copy. I also recommend this telling (and often hilarious) interview from Book Smugglers, if you’re not already convinced that you need this book. Or even if you are.

(I totally want the Lemon Man prequel/sequel, personally.)

Hm, I was going to talk about some steampunk too, but I’ve gone on quite enough for one day. Breathe your sigh of relief, my friends. Enjoy the silence while it lasts.

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Now playing: Franz Ferdinand - Ulysses
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Well it’s that time again, time for me to rant pointlessly about cool stuff I read online. Which is pretty much all I do here, barring that harrowing period in the beginning of November where I did that whole Nano thing. (Don’t worry, it’s only once a year!)

So here they are, my picks from November (and, admittedly, the very beginning of December.)

First up, the debut publication from Corinne Duyvis in the last issue of Underground Voices, Dependency. It’s one of those pieces where you can’t say too much without re-telling the story, and don’t need to since it speaks so eloquently for itself– but the way she’s balanced a single moment of decision with a sad and fascinating history is truly remarkable. (Cory’s also a professional artist and one of those people who’s entirely too good at everything creative for the comfort and sanity of others. Which is why we love her, obviously.) If you check it out, you’ll be happy. Well no, you’ll be depressed. But you know what I mean.

It’s not strictly speculative, unless we expand the definition to include all forms of speculation. I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately; I’ve been working on a story that doesn’t have any overtly fantastic elements, but still feels like it’s held up by a sort of scaffolding of invisible magical threads to me. And anyhow, some people might call a lot of things magic that others call mundane. (Any sufficiently advanced technology…, etc., etc., but magic is fun!) It seems important to keep an open mind about it, in genre fiction in particular, where it’s all about the spin. Life’s always a crossover/slipstream bit of a story, I guess is what I mean. (Only without trying to sound deep, since I have the depth of a mud puddle on a hot day, as will now be abundantly clear.)

Next up, something from the awesome debut issue of Arkham Tales. Not that something with such a rad name could fail to be a nod to the greats, but this one really delivers. Loads of good stories in it (even some evil vegetarian/crazy meat eating ones, like just for me!), but I particularly wanted to recommend Jenny Schwartz’s Market Values. It’s a cool slice of a fascinating world– the kind of little story that leaves you both satisfied and interested to know more. Odd little characters, and some disturbing questions. And, you know, really creepy. All in the best tradition of dark fantasy, and so nicely executed.

Last up this time, Critical Mass by CA Manestar in this month’s Nossa Morte. Every month it seems like there’s one that’s very me, as in something people who know me would read and go, Yeah, she would pick that one…. This is it, this time. It’s disturbing in a great way, so much so that I feel compelled to let you know: this is f@$kd up, my friends. It’s fabulously written. There are so many interesting mental threads going throughout, and the way she draws them back around in the end is so awfully satisfying. I don’t know her, but the word is that this woman also makes Steampunk flavored jewelry.

Dude.

And that’s me, this month.

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Now playing: Oasis - I’m Outta Time (Remix)
posted with FoxyTunes

Haha, okay, Aaron is clearly an agent of the devil. Or at least one of the minor demons in charge of procrastination and distraction. For pointing out Xtranormal.com, we obviously need to build him a shrine. (Also: I hate Cate. Almost forgot to say that! This is her fault, too!)

Please enjoy this, my absolute favorite exchange from Oscar Wilde’s Lady Windermere’s Fan. I had to smash Cecil Graham and Lord Darlington– I named a character after him in Wolfton Paranormal!– into one character to make it work with two. Forgive me, oh long dead hilarious Playwright. And yes, it doesn’t fit into my little window here. My sidebar will just have to suffer. Wilde trumps sidebar.

I particularly like the way the terrible British voice says, “Wildly, madly…!” It’s so accidentally appropriate.

Right, back tonight with that online spec fic thing. I just had to lemming off the cliff a bit.

Well it’s not THAT bad- actually it’s entertaining! I saw this meme somewhere and thought, “God, I’m such an amateur, it’s ridiculous to even consider filling it out.” Then I saw it on Catherine J. Gardner’s blog, had a really good time reading her answers (because she is a powerhouse of awesome fiction, let me just say it now). But she said she wanted to tag everyone.

First thought: but dude, she doesn’t mean me because I have nothing to say!

Second thought: but one day, I want to. Maybe it’d be cool to compare it in ten years, and see if I’ve done anything much.

I suppose it will be. Assuming I have done something, of course. If I haven’t, well, let this post serve as a lesson to future me, hm?

If you’ve not tried this yet, please do. If you have, I’ve no doubt enjoyed your answers immensely, and have been inspired to try my own version because of you. So here we go, the ridiculously long-winded version of the author meme plague. More than you ever wanted to know about that girl who’s only had 3 things published. (Not counting the two upcoming in 2009. No really!)

Age when I decided I wanted to be a writer: 13. I spent most of my adolescent weekday evenings locked in my bedroom writing and/or reading like someone would take it away from me soon. Weekends were always given to friends, ballet, and painting, and afternoons to sports and my Stratocaster. I was a busy, active, shockingly happy kid, in retrospect, but I always liked daydreaming by myself better than anything else.

My mom used to bust into my room to ask me to come and watch TV with the family, and she’d ask me if I was “writing my memoirs”. We still refer to my writing as such, because she is and always was perfectly adorable. I once overheard my parents talking when I was a newly minted teenager, and my mom said, “She’s really serious about this writing thing.” I never forgot that. I remember being very impressed with her for taking me so seriously. I had not previously realized I could rely upon a grown-up for such a thing.

Then I figured out that to be a writer who makes any kind of living you have to get extraordinarily lucky, and went to college for art history. Because that is so much more viable, obviously.

Age when I wrote my first story: 12, that I remember. Back then it was just me and my best friend Tara writing to amuse each other. (We’ve been best friends since we were 6. Now she reads my stuff and I get angry phone calls telling me it’s my fault she can’t sleep tonight. It’s okay though, she loves me. Really.)

Age when I first submitted a short story to a magazine: If anthologies count, I was 27. If not, and you count online, I was 28, and it was last month.

Age when I sold my first short story: 27– it was The Mirror. Kalen told me to check out duotrope.com and just try something. I thought must’ve been smoking something really good at the time (maybe he was!), but it worked out anyhow.

Total number of submissions: 7.

This is misleading however, since it’s only counting short stories and I hadn’t written one of those, barring fanfiction, in almost ten years when I wrote The Mirror. I was completely convinced that I was incapable of original short fiction, I’d been working on novel-length stuff for so long. However, if you want to talk about queries to agents about books, let me bust out my excel file here.

7 for my first (grown-up) book
12 for my second, so far (in 2 rounds of 6)

Those don’t sound like high numbers– it might sound like I’m not even trying, but I research an agent like mad before I query. I don’t believe in wasting peoples’ time; I believe in research! So if we want to add those all together, that makes 26 since I started subbing anything– which has been just under a year.

Total acceptances: 5, short story wise. Nothing on the novel front, but god knows I’m too stupid to stop trying.

Thickness of file of rejection slips prior to first story sale: I didn’t have one for short stories, which is again hugely misleading. I’d had a pretty good helping of agent rejection for novels before that. Not all of those were based on query either– some were based on partials, which is at once more depressing and kind of cool. Especially since those ones really gave me faith that there are amazing people out there in the industry, no matter what horror stories I’d read before.

Also misleading because, though many will write this off, I’d been writing fanfiction for something like 6 years, complete with brutal and talented beta readers– some of them responsible for anything readable I produce today. Plus, it was X-Men fanfiction. Let me be perfectly clear about this: I would give a major internal organ to write for Marvel comics some day, and that would be getting paid to write fanfic. Joss Whedon writing X-men, Peter David writing Trek books, Neil Gaiman’s beautiful 1602– all totally professional fanfic.

What a gig, man.

Approximate number of short stories/novelettes/novellas sold for cash money: 4. 1 for the love so far.

Poems sold: 0. And while I hate to say never, I’m really tempted here. My love of poetry was instilled in me from an early age my by Granddaddy Reilly. But my god, do I suck at writing it.

Age when I started writing my first novel: 13, but that can’t count! My first grown-up novel, I started writing at 21. And holy god, was it f@$king terrible.

Age when I started writing my first completed novel: 13 again, but right, we’re not counting that. So let’s go with 21, shall we?

Age I finished that novel: 22. Except that I just completely redrafted that very same novel (for the 9th time). I know, most people abandon those early novels, but I’m a scarily obsessive individual. In my defense, I had a really encouraging response from agents who saw partials– ala “Really good, don’t give up, but not good enough.” So I had to try again.

(Confession: It’s the vampire book. Yeah, I love monsters, and monster superhero science. I read comics and love old horror movies, what do you expect?)

Age I started my second novel: 15, but okay, let’s go with grown-up novels again. 22 for my second vampire book.

Age I finished my second novel: 15– and that very same best friend, Tara, still has it as evidence. But talking about the grown-up thing again, I finished the second vampire book at 22 as well.

Age when I sold a first novel: Er… ah…

Total number of novels written (discounting duds): I think I only finished 2 in high/middle school, but discounting THOSE as well as the duds, 7.

Books sold: Right, future self, you seeing this? You ought to have something to put here by now, oughtn’t you?

Books in the process of querying: I have a single partial still out on the second novel I queried. I’m going to start queries on a third novel come the end of the holiday season, however.

Short stories in the slush: 0. For someone who pukes up a book in two weeks, I’m really, really slow at producing short fiction. I’m extremely critical of my ideas, and I throw away at least half of the stories I begin before they even get rolling. I do have 2 stories in edits right now (I live in terror of sending out anything that hasn’t seen a trusted editor first– my first drafts are as subtle as a bag of bricks to the vitals and as readable as an Ed Wood script sans sentimental kitsch value), and another written at which I’m diligently chipping away, and hope to have ready for fresh eyes within the week, but that’s as close as I get right now.

Short stories written this year: 14.

Age when I became a full-time novelist: While I’m not exactly otherwise employed, I do think I’d need to have a novel published to qualify as such.

Age now: 28.

Right, had enough? Thought so.

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Now playing: Scissor Sisters - I Can’t Decide
posted with FoxyTunes

Excitement! Adventure! A not-quite-green-man! Yes, my story Green, now up at Reflection’s Edge, has it all.

Okay, so it doesn’t have it all. But it’s a weird bit of dark fantasy that some may find enjoyable, at least. I’m really pleased because I tried writing it almost a year ago and kind of gave up because it wasn’t coming out properly. Then I went to Puerto Rico and saw this in Old San Juan:

And knew I pretty much had to try again. I’m awfully glad I did.

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Now playing: Paul Weller - Sunflower
posted with FoxyTunes