Sunday, June 19, 2016

Jump the Shark or Cut to the Chase - It's All Cool Beans to Me

I got to go on  a tour yesterday of Georgia O'Keeffe's winter home and studio in Abiquiu. That's been on my list for a while now and - wow! - it was totally worth it. I love studying how other artists live and it turns out that she and I share many aesthetics. No surprise as I love her work. Also no surprise that she's more visually oriented than I am. My sister-in-law who's a painter asked me if I got any "vibes" from the place. Yes. Yes, I did. Her powerful personality haunts that space and they've kept it exactly as the day she left. Remarkable experience.

This week on the SFF7 wonder blog, we're discussing catering to younger generation – what words and ideas have we given up because younger readers won’t know them. This is my topic, so I'll kick it off with a few stories for why this has been on my mind.

A while back I saw a young agent tweet that an author used "cool beans" in a manuscript they'd sent her and she was embarrassed for them. There's a few things to unpack here, so I'll take them methodically.

  1. Agents and editors tweet daily work aggravations, most of which should be treated as the minor irritations they are and not literary canon.
  2. Many newbie agents who are actively acquiring are very young. As in, right out of college young. Some still carry that young adult's "Mom, you're embarrassing me!" squick, which enables the young to separate from the older generation. Being a literary agent gives unreasonable weight to what is really something she'll grow out of.
  3. Still - how many writers immediately struck "cool beans"off the list of slang terms appropriate for use?
  4. Addendum: I've seen the phrase in several books since then. Just saying.

A long time ago, back in the early 80s, the board game Trivial Pursuit came out. My family loved to play this game. I only discovered much later that not every family had the rule that if you'd answered the question in a previous game, you were on your honor to cop to it and draw another question. We viewed it as a test of knowledge. I often complained that many of the entertainment questions were biased for the older generation. In fact, I had a rule of thumb that if I didn't know the actress in question, I'd say "Carole Lombard." For an actor, I'd say Clark Gable. It was like guessing B on a multiple choice test - the odds were in favor of it. 

I've saved this thing for a while from an article in Vanity Fair. The article itself isn't that relevant, as it's dated now, unless you're big into Ryan Gosling history. But this bit caught my eye:
“I think it really is sort of like, I’m a pigeon and the Internet is Fabio and it just happened,” Gosling said to The Hollywood Reporter, attempting to explain the pop-culture phenomenon via obscure Fabio reference
Bolding there is mine. I saw that and wondered, since when is a Fabio reference obscure? I mean, yeah, enough of bringing up Fabio in Every Single Article that References Romance, but obscure? This kind of thing is much like snarky agent's tweet above - it reflects the author's narrow view of the world more than anything else.

There are those (who consider themselves purists or arbiters of culture) who say pop references should never be used as they'll date a work to that era. This might be true on some things (hello Ryan Gosling taking a break from acting), but others persist and become emblematic, even iconic (hello Carole Lombard).

What's interesting to me is when pop culture references become so embedded in our lexicon that we later have to dig to retrace their origins. Good examples are Jump the Shark (from the TV show Happy Days, when Fonzie went, of all things, waterskiing in Hawaii and ended up literally jumping over a shark - now a metaphor for any show that takes the plot in an improbable direction) or Cut to the Chase (originally film director's jargon for cutting to the chase scene whenever the movie momentum lagged, now shorthand for getting to the essence of something).

So... how's a writer to know? When does cool become square, and sick become, well, sick?

I'm interested to hear what my superhero SFF7 fellows have to say on their personal rules of them. For me? Well, frankly my dears, I use whatever the hell I want to.

~hat tip to movie lines from the olde era that live forever~

Saturday, June 18, 2016

The Pages of The Mind Flash Fiction

 For my  flash fiction I get to use one of Jeffe Kennedy's marvelous covers ...but it was hard because I associate them so strongly with her stories. So I've sort of compromised, keeping the fantasy feeling but offering a vignette from a different time and place of my own.            

“You will tell my story.” Her voice was low and beautiful. He wished he could see her more clearly in the swirling lavender and green mists. She extended the glowing book to him, saying, “It’s all here, all the spells, all the details.”
                “Where are you going? Why can’t I come with you? After all the adventures we’ve shared, why must we separate now?” He clenched his hand on the pommel of his sword.
                “Our destinies lie along different paths and I’m summoned home to my own place and time. Yet if you tell the story true, we may meet again. Take the book, I beg you.”
                Ignoring her outstretched hand, he shook his head. “I’m no scribe, no bard. I can’t do justice to your tale. I can’t even read - you set me an impossible task.”
                The book drifted in the evening breeze, floating from her hand and moving like an oversize butterfly, coming closer to him. Unwillingly he plucked the glowing tome from the air and tucked it under his arm.
                “You should seek help,” she said, retreating a step. “That’s allowed. Go to the city and visit the book seller in the corner of the market square. His daughter will be able to read the runes, can tell you what you must do next.”
                Taking her by surprise as he’d hoped, he leaped forward, capturing one slender wrist. “Swear to me we’ll find each other if I do this.”

                He realized he held nothing but cold mist, as she continued to back away, deeper into the forest shadows. “I did love you,” she said.

Friday, June 17, 2016

Lady of the Star Wind Flash Fiction


For my cover translation flash fiction, I have the great good fortune of pulling Veronica Scott's cover for LADY OF THE STAR WIND
 
 

Someone groaned. His vocal chords burned, leading him to believe he'd uttered the sound. Good sign. He wasn't sucking vacuum. Yet. Forcing his eyes open cost him what felt like a laser cannon blast to the head, but when his vision twisted into focus, the worst of the pain retreated to a sullen, persistent thump in his left temple.

Blue-gray bulkheads surrounded him. Centuries of space travel and no one had found a way to create space-worthy building materials in anything other than grim. The depressing bit was that it wasn't his grim, blue-gray bulkheads.

"Oh good," a feminine voice said. "You lived." She'd propped a shoulder against the door frame. Lush. Blonde.

He shook off his body's interest. More pressing concerns. "Where am I?"

"Aboard the cruiser Star Wind."

"Star Wind. Solar wind," he said. What the hell had happened to his brain that he tripped over translating a poetic ship's name?

She smiled. "Something like."

Focusing on the weapons strapped to her waist, he said, "A destructive force of nature."

"Unless you're armored." She looked him up a down, brows slanted in amusement. "Very few are."

Star Wind. Destructive. He frowned. "My patrol skiff was under attack."

She nodded.

"You rescued me."

"Of course I did," she crooned. "Because the great big payday tucked away in the piece of space debris you patrol goons were guarding isn't the least bit necessary to keep the Star Wind competitive in this cruel universe."

He clenched his fists. "Pirates."

"I prefer 'force of nature.'"

"So I'm a prisoner."

She snorted and straightened. Stepping back, she tapped the doorframe. The distortion of a force field splintered her features. But not her words laced with bloodthirsty amusement. "Oh no captain. We don't take prisoners. We procure entertainment."

Thursday, June 16, 2016

Flash Fiction based on Damned If He Does

So, we're doing flash fiction based on each others' covers, and I've pulled Marcella.  And, lo and behold, Marcella has a brand new cover, just revealed!  It seems almost foolish to not use this one, especially since it's so dynamic.

Now, a warning: flash fiction?  Not my skillset.  So I'll just pre-emptively apologize to Marcella and the rest of you right now.  But, my first paid publication was for Hint Fiction, so I'll aim in that direction.

----

His touch was explosive.
Her skin, incendiary.
Thank god their tailor specialized in asbestos.

----


No, no.  I'll see myself out.


Wednesday, June 15, 2016

Flash Fiction based on A Murder of Mages

For the flash fiction we’re writing this week, I am riffing on Marshall Ryan Maresca’s cover for A Murder of Mages.



Legolas Mulder put his shoulder to the heavy bolt-bedecked door and grunted as he pushed. Once the weight of it cleared the threshold the hinges did their work and he straightened, bringing his crossbow into a ready position. Beside him, Tauriel Scully stepped lithely around him, her weapon already aimed into the room, following the door’s edge to cover the expanding space.

Before them appeared a room dark save for a ring of scarlet candles. All had burned nearly to the floor. Some had extinguished themselves but it was impossible to tell if they had run out of wick or if the flames had been drowned by the blood. Seeing no body from which the large puddle would have emanated, Mulder’s eyes scanned upward.

The chamber had a vaulted ceiling, about twenty feet up, a pale and too-slender figure hovered. Its enormous black eyes stared and its big head lagged to one side. The figure had large slits along its spindly limbs, and blood dripped from its toes.

Scully let her aim fall downward and she sighed.

“What?” Mulder asked.

“This isn’t what we’re looking for. It’s far too small to have built this place. The doors are twice our height and three times its height.”

“But we found one! It’s proof!” Mulder said.

At that moment the figure began to make a crackling sound. As they watched, its body disintegrated into dust. “So much for proof,” Scully said.


“Fuck,” Mulder murmured.

Tuesday, June 14, 2016

Cover Flash Fiction: FATAL CIRCLE by Linda Robertson

FATAL CIRCLE -- Flash Fiction based solely on the cover of Linda Robertson's Urban Fantasy.

Keys.

The keys were upstairs on the dresser. Seventy-eight steps. Seventy-eight steps from the foyer to the master bedroom and back. Seventy-eight opportunities for one of the babies to hear the slightest disturbance in the force and scream his puddin' head off.

Then his brother would hear. And his other brother. And the other. And the other. Then the unholy choir would sound and the babysitter would bolt. Ears bleeding.

She could do this.

Thirty-nine steps one way.  Five bedroom doors. Stealthy like a ninja. Like a ninja wearing thigh-high leather boots that creaked every time she bent her knees. Bending one's knees was a requirement for climbing stairs. Forty-five minutes to lace them up meant she couldn't just whip them off. Five-inch heels made her ass look great, but the ruckus they made on the steps would sound like the Charge of the Heavy Brigade.

They were just babies. She was a grown ass woman. With keys on the dresser. Keys that stood between her and an epic date night.

"Wish me luck, hon. I'm going up."


Monday, June 13, 2016

The Orb - Flash Fiction for K A Krantz

The idea this week is to take the next person in line's book cover and do a flash fiction. This one is for KA Krantz. :)


Larcourt the thief thought she could run. That was her first mistake.

Her second was making him angry.

The sorcerer tied one single strand of his target's hair around his right thumb and carefully pulled the orb from its wooden case and held it in his hands. He stared deeply into the flawless depths of the orb and whispered, "Find her."

There perfect translucence was marred by mists and a moment later he saw the mists clear, revealing the location where she was trying to hide.

There were six stone hounds along the walls of his workshop. They were meticulously detailed, from the wrinkles on their muzzles to the patterns on their carved fur.

"Find her. Bring her to me. Kill any who cross your paths."

He closed his eyes and clutched the orb. Behind him, stone grated and moved....


Sunday, June 12, 2016

Clean Fire - Flash Fiction for James A. Moore

We're playing a game this week at the SFF Seven, writing flash fiction inspired by a book cover belonging to the writer who posts on the day after us.

This means I drew Jim.

Hee hee hee.

Oddly enough, it perfectly fits the world of the series I’m currently writing, Sorcerous Moons. Maybe I’ll end up using this. Cheers, Jim!

 *************

Fumes from the fire hung heavy in the desert air, only slightly less choking than the ever present grit. Another day, another sandstorm. And, naturally, a hot fire to eliminate the last wriggling bits. Her iron battle axe cleaved through the foully animated golems easily enough, but it wasn’t worth it to stay there, chopping them into pieces small enough to render them completely harmless. They’d emptied the city of all life already.

Might as well burn it to the ground and move on.