The Origin of Elves: Flash Fiction

He could hear them. Their rages. Their threats. Their tantrums and tirades. The words flowed down sewers and rattled under bridges. They clinked along chainlink fences and skittered over concrete alleys. They flew on wings of rancor and fear into the darkness where sunlight never reached.

They came to him.

Every pernicious word uttered by a child lingered in the cavern, etching the name, date, and location on cold stone walls. Every new naughty child caused a hair to grow upon his lanky body. The more caustic the brat, the darker the hair. The crueler the crime the longer his horns. Whenever the whelps drew blood his nails grew, thicker and sharper.

He danced his talons along the balustrade and surveyed the workshop below. Thousands of tormentors, bullies, and  unholy terrors labored over toys, games, and technologies they would never own. Oh how they toiled, their grimy malnourished little bodies bent and hunched. Not a word dared to be spoken, not a tune braved their misery.

Only when they'd truly repented would they be set free. He was in no rush to let them go. Good laborers took time to train. And patience. He had an abundance of one and none of the other. Plus, as the population expanded, so did the workshop. He was always shorthanded.

Lo, the holy days were finally here, when the children of the world faced the consequences of their words and deeds. Time to replenish the workforce.

He shouldered his bottomless bag and plucked a hair from his chin. The magic of the season opened a portal to the first of many new Entitled Little Vicious Evil Shits.

Elves.

Beware Krampus. 

Tonight, he is coming to town.*

*Krampusnacht was last night, 12/5. Call it literary liberty. 

Twelve Days for the Twelve Kingdoms

As Veronica hinted in her post yesterday, I have similar exciting news! The duology that Grace Draven and I did together, FOR CROWN AND KINGDOM, was picked as one of the Best Books of 2016 by Library Journal!! We are over the moon. What tremendous validation for our joint effort.

Which means, of course, that we'll have to do another!

I think the others of the SFF Seven are trying to drive me mad, because this week's topic is Flash Fiction Based on Your Favorite Holiday/Festival Carol/Song/Hymn. Tempted though I may be, I shall not cringe from this challenge or shirk my bloggerly duty. Unlike OTHERS I could mention who sometimes bail on topics. *cough*

Since I'm looking at the December 27 release of THE EDGE OF THE BLADE, I decided to riff on Jepp's Twelve Days of Christmas. Now, the world Jepp lives in doesn't have Christmas, and if it did, she'd probably loathe this song, but she still can give it her own particular spin.

~ ~ ~

On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me an endless flask of Branlian whiskey.

On the second day of Christmas, my true love gave to me two paired daggers and an endless flask of Branlian whiskey.

On the third day of Christmas, my true love gave to me three mountain ponies, two paired daggers, and an endless flask of Branlian whiskey.

On the fourth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me four hunting hounds, three mountain ponies, two paired daggers, and an endless flask of Branlian whiskey.

On the fifth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me five broad blade knives, four hunting hounds, three mountain ponies, two paired daggers, and an endless flask of Branlian whiskey.

On the sixth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me six swords for swinging, five broad blade knives, four hunting hounds, three mountain ponies, two paired daggers, and an endless flask of Branlian whiskey.

On the seventh day of Christmas, my true love gave to me seven sets of leathers, six swords for swinging, five broad blade knives, four hunting hounds, three mountain ponies, two paired daggers, and an endless flask of Branlian whiskey.

On the eighth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me eight nubile maidens, seven sets of leathers, six swords for swinging, five broad blade knives, four hunting hounds, three mountain ponies, two paired daggers, and an endless flask of Branlian whiskey.

On the ninth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me nine sultry ladies, eight nubile maidens, seven sets of leathers, six swords for swinging, five broad blade knives, four hunting hounds, three mountain ponies, two paired daggers, and an endless flask of Branlian whiskey.

On the tenth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me ten lords for mounting, nine sultry ladies, eight nubile maidens, seven sets of leathers, six swords for swinging, five broad blade knives, four hunting hounds, three mountain ponies, two paired daggers, and an endless flask of Branlian whiskey.

On the eleventh day of Christmas, my true love gave to me eleven stalwart fighters, ten lords for mounting, nine sultry ladies, eight nubile maidens, seven sets of leathers, six swords for swinging, five broad blade knives, four hunting hounds, three mountain ponies, two paired daggers, and an endless flask of Branlian whiskey.

On the twelfth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me twelve dead spies, eleven stalwart fighters, ten lords for mounting, nine sultry ladies, eight nubile maidens, seven sets of leathers, six swords for swinging, five broad blade knives, four hunting hounds, three mountain ponies, two paired daggers, and ...

an endless flask of Branlian whiskey.

(The last is all she really cares about!)

No Freakouts Here

My Christmas cactus is blooming now so I thought I'd share

Some weeks I think I'm here to be the odd one out amongst the SFF7 when it comes to craft-related topics...wait, that didn't sound right LOL!

But I don't freak out about my writing. It's my story, I'm telling it, it'll turn out the way I want...if I hit a plot roadblock or challenge, I have my proven ways of sitting down and looking at alternatives...

Maybe if I have to find at least one time of semi freak, that would be my first Revise and Resubmit (R&R) letter because I'd never seen one before, there were lots of suggestions (three solid pages as I recall) and what does this all MEAN??? Luckily our Jeffe and several other kindly people talked me off the ledge on that one and I did eventually get the book revised and sold. I'll never see another R&R because I self publish now and I'm not writing one to myself.

Introduce a snake into my environment and I will freak out.

I will also levitate as a result, as proven by the fact that one summer morning when I realized I had just stepped over a six foot rattlesnake, which was now rattling and poised to strike, I found myself safe on the top of a five foot stone wall with no memory of how I got there.

So, moving on, some fun news to share from last week:

The Pets In Space anthology Pauline B. Jones and I co-created, and for which I wrote 'Star Cruise: Stowaway' was named by the Library Journal as one of 2016's Best Books! (And not to steal her thunder, but applause, please -  Jeffe will have some terrific news of her own on this same topic tomorrow - yay SFF7!) I think I can safely say all nine of us scifi romance authors in Pets were so excited. It was a great group and a fun project.

And yesterday I found out that the Star Trek audiobook "City on the Edge of Forever" was named as one of AudioFile Magazine's Best of 2016! Why does this need to be mentioned here, you may ask? Because yours truly had SEVEN whole words of dialog in that audiobook, playing an Enterprise Crew Member! (I'm know my contribution had no part in the selection of the story as a "Best" - not kidding myself about my non existent thespian skills but hey, I am in the credits on the cd box, I got to autograph the script when I was done recording...) Congratulations to Harlan Ellison, SkyBoat Media and all the wonderful actors who created the audiobook. Thanks for letting me play a teeny tiny part in it, which was this Star Trek fan's thrill of a lifetime (ok and maybe I freaked out a bit, being a Red Shirt...)

On to next week's topic.....

5 Writer Freak Outs

Didja ever start a project - maybe you're painting a the house or knitting a baby blanket - and filled with glee, you break out the rollers and brushes and slap up some color, or start casting on stitches? You can straight up SEE how this thing is going to look. It'll be amazing! For a couple of hours, maybe, it IS amazing, because you're conquering your chosen corner of the world.

 

Then your fingers cramp mid-knit one, pearl two. Something in your back shoots daggers up your spin mid-roll of paint. Okay. Okay. Human limits, right? You've made good progress. No need to kill yourself over a project that can't be finished in a day. You pack up and put your toys away so you can go soak the muscle protests in a hot shower. Then toast your project well-begun with a glass of wine. Tomorrow is another day, right?

 

But tomorrow dawns with work. Family. Emergencies. Bills to be paid. And a project left hanging. But you'll get to it. You'll get to it.

 

Until.

 

You realize the baby you were knitting that blanket for was due to be born yesterday. You get a call that your parents/in-laws/people you want to impress with your adulting are coming to visit in a week. You freak out because you have to finish your half-done project NOW. Your freak may look a little like this photo wherein after nearly a decade of living aboard a sailboat, Hatshepsut FINALLY figures out the docks are surrounded by water.

 

Holy Crap! What's That Wet Stuff?

 

 

Writer freak outs look a lot like the weirded-out cat and, for me, they come in a few distinct flavors

.

1. The Deadline Freak

2. This Book Sucks and Cannot Be Redeemed Freak

3. The OMG, Who Am I and What Are Words Freak

4. The I Have No Clue What Happens Next Freak

5. The I Need My Ivory Tower Now Freak

 

Since I have an advanced degree in Drama Queen when it comes to writing, I have become close, personal friends with all of my freaks. We party. And by party I mean staring sightlessly, hopelessly into the distance while slamming dainty little cups of oolong.

 

BAR KEEP! ANOTHER!

 

Existential angst notwithstanding, I've done this enough times now that I can predict when and how I'm going to wig while attempting to draft. I'm good for 25-30k words into a novel. That's proof of concept. If a beginning goes that far without a hitch, it's good for at least 90k. But at that 35-30k point, I'm going to get stopped by the numbers 3 and 4 freaks. I know to expect them. Plotting gets around those. There may be another number 4 freak at the midpoint. A revisit of to plotting notes helps. The This Book Sucks Freak is usually reserved for near the end of the book and tempts me to just throw it all away. Nothing for that one but to laugh it off and muscle through. Muttering "POS draft" like a mantra helps, too. The number 5 freak is reserved for when the rest of life tries to crowd in all angst-ridden and demanding. I long for isolation and silence so I can write the damned words. As it turns out, though, I've discovered there are precious few ivory towers in my vicinity. So it's up to me to suck it up and write the words anyway.

 

Easier said than done, but done it must be. Sorta like those walls you were painting chartreuse and mauve. Or that baby blanket you were knitting. Make it a little bigger and you could call it a hand made quilt and give it to the kid as a high school graduation present - something to take to the college dorm room. Did you just drop a stitch?

 

 

That Moment in The Novel Writing

I'm not prone to the freak-out, especially while writing.  As I've said before, I'm pretty big on structure and outlining, but that doesn't mean I don't make discoveries and revelations along the way.

And sometimes, when you're about two-thirds through the novel, you hit this sudden epiphany, where you realize, "Oh, there's a thing happening here that needs to be this."  It could be a revelation about why someone is doing something, or why you've been using a certain storytelling device, or the next level of a character's plan, and all of a sudden, everything clicks.

Almost every time, that's when the story you're writing hits the top of the roller coaster, and then you drop down and it's off to the races.  You know the whole story, all the tweaks you need to put in earlier, each scene for later that you're going to need.

It's a little scary, but it's also really fun, because a lot of the time, it's just a matter of how fast you can get the book out of your fingers.

I say this, as I reach the point in the Lady Henterman's Wardrobe manuscript where I am almost-- almost-- about to go over that peak.  Almost.

In the meantime, look who was interviewed over at File770.  I give up a few secrets for the future.  Just a couple.

Freaking Out

Talk about timing...

The topic is the moment where, as an author, you freak out.

Today. Today is the moment where I freak out. To explain better, let me share my most recent facebook post:

CROMMMMMMM!!!!
That moment where you realize in your manuscript you named these beings X and later made reference to them as if for the first time and called them Y.
*headdesk**headdesk**headdesk*
This is like having a bunch of necklaces tangled and knotted together and you have to do so many little adjustments from this strand then that one and back again....*headdesk* *headdesk* *headdesk* *headdesk* *headdesk*
--goes to get another cup of coffee, and maybe some ice for the head and wonders if chocolate could fix this, or if choclate created this...--

Yes. I freak out when I realize WELL AFTER I SHOULD HAVE that I made a major goof within a manuscript. I should KNOW better. I should BE better.

Going for that coffee now...

Chapter 5: In Which The Author Freaks Out

Dear Readers, beginnings of books are the hardest for me to write. It's showing up solo for a party full of people you don't know and trying to decide how best to present yourself. Wait for the hostess to introduce you to a few like-minded folks? Burst through the door and shout, "How 'bout 'dem Bearcats?" Slink around the perimeter with your coat still on, looking for the family dog? Find the smokers shivering on the patio only to recall you quit ten years ago?

So. Many. Options.

By Chapter 5, I know I've chosen the wrong one. I'm closing in on the end of the first arc and it's not lining up with where I know the middle and end are heading. The stakes aren't high enough. Or they're too high too soon. The opening "everyday" situation doesn't succinctly convey the normalcy of an abnormal world. Too many people are introduced too soon. It's too bland. It's too confusing. It's too...

GAH!

Now, imagine you're in sitting in your car, just outside the party venue, getting ready to head inside. Nude lipstick or red? Handbag or just keys? Coat or no coat?

Breath mints. Definitely breath mints.

Freaking out.

In every book there comes a moment of self-doubt. It's damned near inevitable.

Sometimes it happens early on, and sometimes it happens much later. In the case of my Aliens novel it came very early on as I thought about all that had gone before, including two of my all time favorite movies. Usually it's when I'm rounding the last bend in the story.

the self doubt comes in and I wonder if everyone will realize I've been bluffing my way through the writing process this entire time.

Two bits of advice. The first is my usual statement to writers of all sorts. Sit your ass down and write. By that I simply mean finish the first draft as quickly as you can, before the self doubt makes you go back a reread a dozen chapters and start changing this. Save that for the second and third drafts, when you have more time and less to lose.

You might think that advice is counterintuitive. You're welcome to that opinion. If, however, you have half a dozen short stories and two novels sitting in a virtual drawer until you can get motivated to work on them again, you have already fallen victim to the problem with not listening to my advice. Lloyd Alexander offered a simple quote in his Chronicles of Pyrdain. He said there are three principles of learning: See much, study much, and suffer much.

Guess which one I think works the best? I've met far too many writers who never finished a manuscript because they kept going back to tweak this and that before the end of the story. Make notes, move on. that's my advice. You can always fix it in the rewrite. Same answer for research. perhaps you NEED to know the migratory pattern of the Canadian Goose. Awesome. Make a note. Look it up when yo';re done writing. the information will still be there and you will not have slowed down.

My other but of advice is the same that every coach on the planet has offered to every athlete that fell down and got scraped up or took a blow that hurt but caused no major injuries (Which is also my advice for a break up, but that ls neither here nor there.).

Walk it off.

Sure it's uncomfortable as hell. Sure your world is ending.

Walk it off.

That is all.

Added bonus, I threw the following on Facebook and my Genrefied blog, but I like it so I'm throwing it here, too. A brief section from THE LAST SACRIFICE that I found satisfactory. No context offered.

“We have come to warn you. Your father sent us. He says if you do not change your path, you will die here soon. Die, or worse.”

“My father is dead.” Beron smiled, pleased to have caught the man in a lie so early on.

“Yes, I know.” The man nodded. “That does not mean he does not look out for his son.”

Superstitious nonsense. Still, a chill walked through Beron’s body.

“You have given your warning. Was there anything else?”

“You misunderstand. He means now. Physically. You should change your path or you will suffer greatly.”

“My path is chosen. I have a great distance left to travel and diverting would only make the challenge of arriving at my destination greater.”

The lean man sighed. “I have offered the warning. May the gods be with you.

“So far, of late, they have not been.”