Science Fiction Fantasy Chronicles: forums - Blogs http://www.sffchronicles.co.uk/forum/blogs/ Friendly science fiction and fantasy forums, discussing science fiction and fantasy books, film, media, writing, conventions, and related subjects such as science and history. en Sat, 25 May 2013 11:15:50 GMT vBulletin 60 http://www.sffchronicles.co.uk/forum/images/misc/rss.jpg Science Fiction Fantasy Chronicles: forums - Blogs http://www.sffchronicles.co.uk/forum/blogs/ Lost Your Mojo? http://www.sffchronicles.co.uk/forum/blogs/triceratops/1815-lost-your-mojo.html Fri, 24 May 2013 03:47:38 GMT There's been quite a few posts over at the Absolute Writers forum, one thread in particular that has quite a few writers complaining about lack of interest in their WIPs--lack of confidence--no validation--zero spark--out of ideas--stuck/blocked--discouraged, thinking about giving up and other negative statements that run the gamut. Many of them haven't been published or gone through the torturous submission ritual. This is a pretty common occurrence, given the fact that writing is a thankless pursuit that pays nothing upfront and requires endless hours at the keyboard. People wonder why they even began to punch plastic and spray pixels across the screen. Yet, they grudgingly admit that it's the Love of writing that spurs them on. So how did they lose the love? Well, seeing as how writing is considered a hobby or a part-time endeavor, it's easy to put the blame on it and cast it aside and then wallow in self-doubt.

Bad breath, bad luck, the stars not in proper alignment, we'll offer up any excuse to explain our displeasure and all the pain that authoring a book can throw at us. But if we could turn back the clock and recapture that moment of euphoria when the idea struck and we hit the keys in a white-hot fever, we'd really realize that it wasn't the story that changed or suddenly felt flat or uninspired; it was our attitude that changed. Our confidence plummeted because we allowed it to happen. Self-doubts began to creep in and take over our mindset. Once we'd let a few doubts in it was like uncorking the flood gates. The flood came and we became awash in nothing but self-ridicule and negativity.

Stuck somewhere in the narrative jungle without a machete?

Do this: back up a dozen or so pages on the manuscript and read through it up until the point you stopped or hang-fired. See if you can get back in the rhythm--find that pace. Try a chapter. Hell, go back to the very beginning if you need to and see if you can pick up that spark again. Recognize any of your writing that really had some punch? Good or great dialog? Excellent characterization, tone, mood or atmosphere? I'm sure you'll see it--you just have to look for it. How can this help? It shows you what you've done right--not wrong. These are the highlights of your prose--the parts of the story that kept you going.

Have some beta readers go over what you've written. Ask them if they see any strong points in your style/voice, or anything that pops in a good way. You don't need to know any of the rough spots at this point. What you need is a little validation, kind of a pat on the shoulder for a job well done. Take the positive comments to heart. Let it feed your ego a little, just enough to know that you don't suck and your story far from blows. There's probably nothing major wrong.

If you're convinced that your manuscript is dismal failure, try another idea and see how far you get. If you've got something else eating at you that feels better, try and get it out of your system. But I can tell you from experience what is just about ready to happen. You'll plow ahead on that new idea only to get hung up worse than you did with the first project. I can't tell you how many 50-page novels I have in my database. I've lost track. They got there because I went through fits of indecisiveness--bouts of procrastination. Inevitably, I ended up right back on that first story, determined to hammer through that brick wall. Know why? Because that damn new idea had less legs than the other story!

Are you stuck in a scene that seems flat or static? No action? Why not leave a little hanger or red herring and transit out of that scene. How about making that chapter a short one? That way you can change your subject matter, swap POVs or start a new hook. There's always a way out of a tight spot without abandoning the project. It starts with a simple paragraph. And then you follow it up with another and another until you have a page. A page is progress.

Now, if it really seems hopeless and you're convinced that everything you write is steaming ****, put that story in the cornfield for now. For now. Write some short stories or poems and submit them until hell won't have it. Try flash fiction if you haven't before. Get published. Get that hash mark on your sleeve. The minute you realize that someone is willing to pay you for something is the day you'll wake up and understand that your efforts were not wasted. If that's the validation you need, then go after it in a white hot fever. Use it as ego ammo to blast those doubts out of your head. It can be the first credit in your resume and nothing can be more official than that! ]]> Triceratops http://www.sffchronicles.co.uk/forum/blogs/triceratops/1815-lost-your-mojo.html Do You Need an Agent? http://www.sffchronicles.co.uk/forum/blogs/triceratops/1814-do-you-need-an-agent.html Fri, 24 May 2013 03:46:31 GMT You don't need an agent to be published. There are myriads of publishers out there that take un-agented subs and, quite surprisingly, dozens that offer token and higher advances plus distribution. For some reason, the larger, more prestigious small press houses refer to themselves as "Independent Publishers." Don't forget University presses that take fiction. Google up a list of those and read the guidelines.

One of the biggest reasons for rejection does not have anything to do with the quality of the submission. Keep in mind that an agent might only allow 2 to 5 new writers on board per year, and they receive thousands of submissions in that time frame. Some pretty tight odds, there. Many agencies are full up at the present but accept submissions because it gives them the appearance of being active and receptive. Writing clients die, fire their agent and move on, and this always leaves a few slots open for newcomers. Timing has more to do with getting hooked up with an agent than you would have thought.

Hint: if you have more than one book polished and ready to go, your chances are better of getting picked up. Especially if they are in the same genre (agent's specialty), or your halfway through a series, or have completed a sequel or a trilogy. State that fact in your query's bio/credit list. This gives you legs with the agency--they're interested in your future and commitment to putting out several books on down the road. I had four books ready to go that I'd swarmed the small press with. I used all the comments from those editors (who rejected me) to rewrite and revise every book. Yes, I used them as beta readers. Then I went agent hunting and got scooped up by four agents. I settled on the A-lister, who loved all of the stories and intended on repping all of them.

Here's a few small press and independents that pay token and small advances ranging from $100 to $2,500. I think Journalstone forked over $6,500 for their last acquisition (that's their claim, anyway). Many of these have real book store placement via legit distribution. A $200 advance seems to be a very popular threshold. Sorry for any errors--I wrote it fast:

Zharmae (really has some communications problems—failure to follow through)
Journalstone (excellent, exacting editor here)
Bell Bridge (probably one of the best small press pro staffs extant)
Soho (whopping reputation)
Sourcebooks (award winner and very popular)
LLDreamspell (one to watch)
Diamond Heart
Prometheus (the best advances and distribution)
Steward House
Scarlet Voyage
Pyr (top of the line—very well respected in SF and fantasy circles)
47th Street (?)
Snow Books (Long time popular press with many awards and celebrity authors)
Red Deer
Limitless
Shadowfall (Illness has forced a temporary shutdown here)
Random House (new digital imprint—Alibi, Flirt, etc,.)
Grand Central (Forever Yours Digital)
MP
Buzz Books (?)
Top Publications
Arthur A. Levine
Grand Mal Press
Variance
Seventh Street
Luna
Angry Robot/Strange Chemistry (agent, I think, but a huge trend-setter)
LLewellyn Worldwide
Permuted Press (really making some huge strides)
Blue Leaf
The Story Plant (the famed Lou Aronica and Peter Miller launch)
Mischief Books
Etopia (with stipulations--straight romance and erotica)
Oneworld Press (advance?--distribution)
Limitless (best covers in the industry—hands down)
Intrigue Press
Nightshade (agent sub, and they've had some financial trouble lately which forced a bankruptcy) ]]> Triceratops http://www.sffchronicles.co.uk/forum/blogs/triceratops/1814-do-you-need-an-agent.html Phase 2--Does Nudging Work? http://www.sffchronicles.co.uk/forum/blogs/triceratops/1813-phase-2-does-nudging-work.html Fri, 24 May 2013 03:44:21 GMT Sorry if I haven't been around for weeks. Just got over an acute case of salmonella poisoning that lasted for three weeks, including hospitalization. I'm still not over this dastardly affliction--it tore me to shreds. My stomach, sides and lower back are still numb and I have no clue why. If it gets worse, I'm off to the white sheets and nurses again. On top of that I lost Internet for two weeks because my WiFi router shorted out. That required an upgrade--more expense.

On to the subject at hand...

I've never thought nudging worked and I've only used it sparingly over the past six years. My thinking has always been, why would they respond if they didn't respond in the first place? And how in the heck would I determine the proper or appropriate length of time to get that message off to them? Well, I've always known about ballpark figures, so I'd thought I'd refine those a bit. It goes something like this for me:

Query--nudge after three months
Chapters--nudge after four months
Fulls (requested or standard sub format)--nudge after five months.

As for submissions to agents, I think I would remove a month or 45 days from those numbers. That's up to you.

Now, I know that some publishing houses state that their response time might take six months and longer. But for me, that's just TOO damn long, especially if they did, indeed, lose my manuscript or never got it in the first place. What a hellacious circumstance! That could double the wait time and really leave you with a nasty taste in your mouth. Imagine getting bumped from an initial five month wait into another four or five months! Crikey, what are they trying to do to us?

I also DON'T bother with agents or publishing houses that state that a "No Response Means No."

Does it work? Well, it sure did this time. I went after the chapters and fulls for 12 publishers. I started getting results within days. The longest was nine days. Now, why? Had to be the subject line, even for the identical sub address: SUBMISSION INQUIRY STATUS. That seemed to work just fine, lighting a fire under some keesters. I can only think that interns or editors scan their emails every day and look for such subject line titling. The reasoning HAS to be that, for them, this will be a quick and easy answer.

Out of the 12, eight responded. I was asked to resubmit by six of them, and one, believe it or not, offered a contract. Two excuses dominated the replies: "We're sorry, but we have no record of your submission during that time frame" and "We must have lost your submission--please try us again." One publishers admitted that they had switched their email address, while another said that they'd gone to the form-type submission format. Anyway, I re-subbed and I'm currently waiting. Oh, the sale? I declined the offer after speaking with my agent. They were just too new and didn't have a good back list--their advance was a bit small too.

Here are some samples for three different books, and I've included some special circumstances in my wording. You'll get the idea. You can tailor it however you want.


Greetings,

Please consider this a polite inquiry in regard to the status of my full submission of Fusion, an adult thriller, to (Publisher) on (Date. Any information about its ongoing reading or rejection would be much appreciated.
Most kindly yours,
Chris Stevenson


Greetings,
Please consider this a polite inquiry in regard to the status of my full submission of The Girl They Sold to the Moon, a YA SF distopian to (Publisher) on (Date). This book has taken the first place grand prize in a YA novel writing contest, but I have forestalled any commitment and advance in favor of seeking out other interested publishing houses. Any information about its ongoing reading or rejection would be much appreciated. If you would prefer my agent resubmit the book, I can arrange it. My agent is:
The Sara Camilli Agency (Address and phone number)
Most kindly yours,
Chris Stevenson

Greetings,

Please consider this a polite inquiry in regard to the status of my chapter submission of Screamcatcher, a YA urban fantasy thriller (Publisher) on (Date). This book has received two offers but I have forestalled any commitment in favor of seeking out other interested publishing houses. Any information about its ongoing reading or rejection would be much appreciated. If you would prefer my agent resubmit the book, I can arrange it.
Most Kindly Yours,
Chris Stevenson

As you can see, these are "sales nudges" in that I did obtain offers. So, I kind of held my own little mini-auction. For a normal, non-pressure nudge, the first example or something like it works just fine. They're short, sweet and to the point. In summary, I've found that publishers are not as infallible as I thought. Mistakes are made--a lot of them. What surprised me was the offer and, you know, that could happen again.

Currently I'm keeping an eye on my submission spreadsheet, waiting for publishers to enter that "danger zone." Once they lag, I'm going to be on them like a tornado in a trailer park. No more "write them off and move ons." I bet it'll work for you too. ]]> Triceratops http://www.sffchronicles.co.uk/forum/blogs/triceratops/1813-phase-2-does-nudging-work.html Facebook, What is it Good For? Update http://www.sffchronicles.co.uk/forum/blogs/perpetual-man/1803-facebook-what-is-it-good-for-update.html Thu, 16 May 2013 20:15:00 GMT Just thought I'd offer a quick update to the previous entry in my blog.

My uncle has not only been in contact with his daughter, but they have met a couple of times, and he has discovered that he is in fact a legitimate grandfather, with two grandchildren, one in their early twenties, and the other is five years old.

For her it must be a bit more of a shock to suddenly find that she has a large family out there, cousins, step-cousins, aunts and uncles, and against all the odds a grandmother.

She has been in contact with her aunt - my mum, and contacted me on Facebook.

And the biggest news of the lot is that she is coming to stay with us in three weeks :eek: ]]> Perpetual Man http://www.sffchronicles.co.uk/forum/blogs/perpetual-man/1803-facebook-what-is-it-good-for-update.html Privacy and the Female Writer -- or -- A Room of My Own (Part Two) http://www.sffchronicles.co.uk/forum/blogs/teresa-edgerton/1798-privacy-and-the-female-writer-or-a-room.html Thu, 09 May 2013 00:51:41 GMT If you haven't read the previous post, you might want to before you read this one.

Writing, Privacy -- and A Room of My Own

Part Two

The room, clearly, had to be painted. Yellow is almost my least favorite color, but I have found it a cheerful and uplifting color for walls. It always seems to reflect and augment sunshine, so yellow the walls were painted. Megan and my husband, our resident carpenters, filled a large closet with book shelves, we moved in a cabinet that had once belonged to my parents -- a little dark for the prevailing theme, but of considerable sentimental value -- and a long counter was added to my desk to provide enough room to spread out my papers.

There followed a number of visits to office supply stores (if not restrained, I go wild in office supply stores, because once I’m inside I fall prey to the delusion that I can buy organization) and expeditions to various department stores, searching for attractive boxes in which to stash the papers and spiral notebooks belonging to the work-in-progress. While whole chapters defeat me, I will sometimes generate great multitudes of notes and almost as many fragmentary scenes, that may or may not end up in the actual book, but at least remind me that I am a writer and can occasionally put together a rather nice sentence. Also, I needed file boxes to replace a hideous and far too large file cabinet. After that, various decorative objects which had been living in exile were pulled out of boxes, sheds, and cabinets, and repatriated.

And then I transferred my books, desk, and computer, and I moved in.

I have sunshine and air, shelves for office supplies and almost all of my research books -- along with particularly inspiring fiction, that I keep close just in case its influences should magically rub off -- the rest are in a bookcase in the hall, just outside my door. I have organization, African violets, whimsical artwork, a mirror to reflect more light, and beautiful, beautiful colored file folders. (I did mention my love of office supplies, didn’t I?)

It is proving to be a very good work space. So far I have only used it for editing, writing one 300 word story, composing this article, and the huge task of organizing my notes (and also -- I don’t know whether this is a good thing or a bad one -- adding to their number). Well, it’s a start. Best of all, I think, this room attracts me, drawing me toward my desk and computer. I actually like to be here, unlike my recent dungeon, hereby christened the Black Hole of Calcutta (although it is actually lavender).

Now that editing and writing have provided a little independent income, now that I have a room of my own, it’s time to discover if Virginia Woolf was right.

Pictures of my new office below:
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]]> Teresa Edgerton http://www.sffchronicles.co.uk/forum/blogs/teresa-edgerton/1798-privacy-and-the-female-writer-or-a-room.html Privacy and the Female Writer -- or -- A Room of My Own (Part One) http://www.sffchronicles.co.uk/forum/blogs/teresa-edgerton/1797-privacy-and-the-female-writer-or-a-room.html Thu, 09 May 2013 00:43:58 GMT This starts out being general and perhaps a little polemic, but it becomes personal and rather happy, so please stick with me. Writing, Privacy -- and A Room of My Own _Part One_ In her famous essay Virginia Woolf (famously) said that in order to produce fiction the female writer should... This starts out being general and perhaps a little polemic, but it becomes personal and rather happy, so please stick with me.

Writing, Privacy -- and A Room of My Own

Part One

In her famous essay Virginia Woolf (famously) said that in order to produce fiction the female writer should have a little money -- that is, an independent income -- and a room of her own.

She then went on to explain at length why this is so, offering many examples of the desperate anger and bitterness that crept into the works of writers like Charlotte Brontë -- at the expense of otherwise brilliant storytelling -- because, along with all of the other crushing social pressures discouraging the woman writer, there was also a lack of privacy. Even if a man was forced to write in a miserable garret, he at least had a room to himself.

Jane Austen (also famously) was able to write her brilliant novels and “shapely sentences” in the family sitting room where her large family gathered, creating constant distractions. What I didn’t know until I read Woolf’s essay was that Austen hid her writing from everyone but her family, and when somebody else came into the room she would quickly cover up the paper, so that no one could catch her at her unwomanly pastime. Imagine being ashamed of writing a Pride and Prejudice, an Emma, or Persuasion! (Although Mansfield Park ... but no, there are many people who think more highly of that novel than I do.) Austen, however, possessed what Woolf called “an incandescent mind,” that allowed her to put aside every other consideration but the story. Her inclinations were such that she was suited to her circumstances and her circumstances suited her. The only other example Woolf offered of an incandescent mind was Shakespeare, who had the good fortune to be a man. If Shakespeare had had an equally brilliant sister, there would have been absolutely no possibility of her becoming a playwright, and had she attempted to make use of the opportunities available to her brother, suggested Woolf (waxing fanciful), what else could she become but a fallen woman, give birth to Nick Greene’s child, and end a suicide?

There were, down through the ages, women who had the leisure or enjoyed a station in life that permitted them to write poetry -- in a woman generally regarded as a sign of dementia, an eccentricity only to be tolerated in those of high rank. The middle class woman had no chance. Of course there was Aphra Behn, who actually made a living by her writing, but she began approximately where Shakespeare’s imaginary sister left off, already a fallen woman who could hardly sink any lower. Even in the nineteenth century, George Eliot only began to write her novels after she left home to live in sin with a married man. (And did she revel in her own inquity? No. According to her letters she felt her pariah status deeply. Still, I can’t help but think that being an outcast at least provided some peace and quiet.)

Things have changed, writing is now a respectable occupation for a woman, and even the male aspiring writer is often to be seen typing away on his laptop in a public setting.

Now we all know that when the flame of inspiration burns fierce and bright (and if we are lucky, our minds reach a state of incandescence) it is possible to write almost anywhere. In the kitchen, on a bus, in a coffee shop, or at work -- hiding the evidence, like Austen, whenever a supervisor wanders into our cubicle. But when we are struggling for words, when it is most difficult to concentrate, solitude is often an effective remedy.

Over the years I have performed the scandalous act of writing -- or spent countless hours trying and failing to write, largely due to the depression mentioned in a previous article, which can make it a labor even to read a book, much less produce one -- let us say, then, that my writing and I have been consigned at one time or another to practically every room of the house, as children grew older or more numerous, as family members and friends have arrived to live with us for months or years and then departed. When this happens, everyone rotates bedrooms, home offices, and any other spaces necessary to their creative enterprises. At our last house, I worked in the dining room, a space that was simultaneously used as our oldest daughter’s bedroom and the walk-through from the living room to the kitchen and the back of the house. I have worked in my bedroom, once with my desk in a closet, another time with it next to a window -- which made the room appalling cramped, but my husband and I were younger then, and more nimble at dodging the furniture. I have worked in a converted storage shed -- this was actually quite nice after we were inspired to decorate it like a Hobbit hole, and it had three windows, but it was cold and almost impossible to heat during the winter. And I have shared my office with my youngest daughter, whose slightly more than half was used as a sewing and craft room, stuffed with fabric, yarn, sewing machine, and ironing board. Twice, in the past, I have possessed that much coveted room of my own, in the little bedroom at the back of this house, very small for a bedroom, but an excellent size for a home office.

This happened first when we moved into the house, and our four children were young enough and small enough that they could be crammed into— I beg your pardon, I mean that they were each able to share a bedroom with an older or younger sibling. I was allowed this luxury principally because it was the sale of my first novel that allowed us to move into this house at all, from a far less roomy and pleasant house in another city. Another time I was allotted the room after three of our children, now full-grown adults and difficult to cram anywhere, had departed for their own houses and apartments. This ended when my mother broke her arm and moved in, and stayed to the end of her life because of her rapidly deteriorating health. Then it was that I went into the storage shed, before the days of Hobbit chic, and it was fearfully hot during the summer.

After my mother’s long illness and death -- one of the causes of the most debilitating depression I have ever experienced, the one that still plagues me now -- the failing economy began driving my children (and their children, too) back home. That was the epoch of the office/craft room, spacious enough, but noisy when Megan was running her sewing machine. It was a room with two doors but no windows. Then my oldest daughter’s fiancé died -- really, was murdered before her eyes -- and naturally we made room for her in an already crowded house, with another rotation of bedrooms. I ended up in a dark corner of my own bedroom, crowded and cramped, with almost no natural light. If privacy is an aid to inspiration, clutter and poor light are the friends of depression and writers block. So far as fiction was concerned, I hardly wrote a word, except for the miniscule epics of the writing Challenges. That was the period when wherever I went in the house I felt pressed and confined, stifled and choked by depression, my inspiration ground into dust. Meanwhile, the furniture -- taking advantage of my advanced years and decreased agility -- began to lunge at me and bite me with its sharp corners, leaving dark bruises.

Finally, recently, when Gwyneth had recovered enough from her trauma and had also completed a degree by taking online classes, the smallest room once more became available. I immediately claimed it, and was allowed to do so, in part because I am editing now and producing a small and more or less steady income -- which lends my activities a certain legitmacy that was missing during the period when my writing produced income in smaller, irregular increments, or not at all -- and in part because the resulting rotation would be advantageous to two other members of the family.

I was craving light and air, more than ever before. The room has a window and a southern exposure, but the walls were blue and had become dingy. Blue is a nice color, a soothing color, but soothing is hardly what one needs to recover from the apathy and lethargy of depression.


(to be continued -- with pictures!) ]]> Teresa Edgerton http://www.sffchronicles.co.uk/forum/blogs/teresa-edgerton/1797-privacy-and-the-female-writer-or-a-room.html Finding an editing rhythm http://www.sffchronicles.co.uk/forum/blogs/i-brian/1787-finding-an-editing-rhythm.html Tue, 30 Apr 2013 19:48:54 GMT My current WIP is too long and wordy so I need to focus on chopping back - but how do you do that when you thought you had something relatively good in the first place? After my first editing run with Teresa I managed to slash the first 28k words down to 14k, so have been applying those... My current WIP is too long and wordy so I need to focus on chopping back - but how do you do that when you thought you had something relatively good in the first place?

After my first editing run with Teresa I managed to slash the first 28k words down to 14k, so have been applying those principles to the rest of the WIP.

When approaching new chapter:

1. READ first. No editing. Get an idea of what information is being presented

2. DELETION: is the scene is really necessary? If not, copy out any useful prose into editing notes file for reuse and delete scene. If keep, continue:

3. EDIT: look for repetition and remove it.

4. EDIT: look for sentences that can be made shorter or even removed without taking away from the piece

5. IDENTIFY troublesome words that weaken the prose - weak modifiers, adverbs, "then" and "was" - remove or rewrite

6. CUT any extra words where possible

7. FOCUS: What was the point of the scene again? What am I really trying to show? If not clear, identify, rewrite, then edit as above until happy with content.

So far it's working well - the first section of my work has already dropped from 68k words to 46k and I still have a few scenes to go - and I know I'm going to cut another couple more thousand words from one of them (unnecessary exposition) and there are two short scenes I will also cut and replace instead with a short paragraph of reference in an earlier scene.

I'm still struggling a little with focus on earlier scenes - I am still far too tempted into exposition or dialogue to explain something whenever introduced.

However, am confident it's doing a good job for the moment, and polishing down the prose into something better.

I've had feedback again from Teresa from what I've pared down already - there are issues, and I need to address them.

I do need to be careful about a few things, and there's further work required. I figured that's why they're called editing drafts. :) ]]> I, Brian http://www.sffchronicles.co.uk/forum/blogs/i-brian/1787-finding-an-editing-rhythm.html Facebook, what is it good for? http://www.sffchronicles.co.uk/forum/blogs/perpetual-man/1781-facebook-what-is-it-good-for.html Sat, 27 Apr 2013 16:40:16 GMT Recently I discovered that I had a problem with Facebook. It was not really a serious one, more something on a personal level, but certain posts were starting to annoy me. Generally it was people sharing quotes and comments that were meant to seem funny and derogatory at others expense, coming... Recently I discovered that I had a problem with Facebook. It was not really a serious one, more something on a personal level, but certain posts were starting to annoy me. Generally it was people sharing quotes and comments that were meant to seem funny and derogatory at others expense, coming across as smug and intelligent, when there were flaws all the way through them.

Of course if I responded it would have led to all sorts of arguments, so I hid away for a few weeks, blocked the people making the posts, and came back, knowing that in some cases Facebook for good and ill was the one place I could keep in contact with some people that are worth keeping in contact with.

But...

My uncle is a weak man. I do not say this lightly, he has a chronic gambling problem that in a cyclical nature has destroyed his life again and again. My mum tried to give him a bit of responsibility by making him my godfather. It did not work.

About 40 years ago he got into a serious relationship, although they never married they had a child together, his partner hoping that the responsibility of a son or daughter would be enough responsibility to straighten himself out. When he sent her to stay with us for a few weeks to have a break; he went off the rails big time. Perhaps the fear of suddenly having a dependent worked in the opposite direction, but while she was in Devon talking with my mum about how she loved him but struggled with his unreliability and his gambling, and having two daughters already plus a new baby she thought it was a bit much, and they even discussed my parents adopting or fostering the newborn. This worked well, because it made her realise how much she wanted the baby and when she returned home later she went determined to make it work. The child, not necessarily the relationship with my uncle.

I have a very vague memory (I was four) of seeing them off at the station and that's about it.

A few weeks later my mum has a phone call that told her the relationship was over, that my uncle's partner was going to try and cut all ties to him and get on with her life. And that was that.

He drifted. A few weeks later he was in prison.

And that was his life.

He'd get in one relationship after another and ultimately destroy it. He even got married to someone who thought she could handle him. (A relationship that even gave me my first girlfriend.) His wife failed, he went to prison again.

And so it goes.

I don't want to present him in a completely negative light, my uncle has a few strong points. Kids love him, possibly due to his childish nature – when we were quite small my brother and I spent the night with him and what a wonderful time was had, racing radio controlled cars over hardwood floors, with arctic roll (ice cream wrapped in sponge cake) for breakfast. And in between bouts of 'bad' behaviour he did a lot of good work with disabled children.

Some time in the 1990's he met another woman. Goodness knows what she had but she did what no one else – my mum, his mother and countless other women had not been able to do, and straightened him out. Perhaps the fact she did not try to stop his gambling but controlled it was a factor. But for the entire time she lived with him he was like a proper uncle and a different man.

They even spent about three years looking for his daughter to no avail. However in the early part of the new century she was diagnosed as having lung cancer (she was a heavy smoker) and died a few months after. To his credit, my uncle stayed with her through the illness right to the end.

He's been better than he used to be since then.

He can go out of communication for months at a time which drives us all mad, but generally it happens the same time of year (around when she died and when my other uncle, his brother died) so it might be annoying, but it is understandable.

So, you might be asking, what has all this got to do with the point where we started.

Facebook.

A little over a week ago he received a friendship request.

From a woman he did not know, who asked if he had known her mother in the early seventies.

It was his daughter, who had found him.

Since then they have chatted on Facebook to one another, exchanged phone numbers and texted one another. He hopes they will actually have a phone conversation by the end of next week.

Maybe there is hope after all

Facebook eh? Maybe it's not THAT bad. ]]> Perpetual Man http://www.sffchronicles.co.uk/forum/blogs/perpetual-man/1781-facebook-what-is-it-good-for.html My visit with St. Francis of Assisi http://www.sffchronicles.co.uk/forum/blogs/teresa-edgerton/1778-my-visit-with-st-francis-of-assisi.html Thu, 25 Apr 2013 18:27:22 GMT Not the saint himself, naturally. John and I visited the mission named after him yesterday. There are few buildings in California where you feel like you can reach out and touch the distant past, but Misión San Francisco de Asís is one of them. (It is also called Mission Dolores, because there... Not the saint himself, naturally. John and I visited the mission named after him yesterday.

There are few buildings in California where you feel like you can reach out and touch the distant past, but Misión San Francisco de Asís is one of them. (It is also called Mission Dolores, because there was a stream nearby which had already been named by a scouting party Arroyo de Nuestra Señora de los Dolores, the Brook of Our Lady of Sorrows.) A building that is over 200 years old will hardly be impressive to those of you who live in Europe, surrounded by Medieval churches and ancient monuments, but for me, I had never been in a building nearly that old.

Inside, it was far more beautiful than I imagined. John took more than a hundred pictures of the Mission and the Basilica (comparatively modern, since it was built in 1918), but they all look muddy so I won't share them with you because they will tell you nothing about the experience of being there. He brought the wrong camera because "I didn't know it would be so dark." (Um, it was a church, John.)

So I'll have to describe it, which is what TJ wanted me to do anyway.

Of all the California missions, this is the only one that is still intact, although parts of it have had to be carefully restored. It is also the oldest building in San Francisco. It survived the 1906 earthquake and fire, although the parish church attached to it was not so fortunate. It is a building with a lot of history, but that would only be meaningful to those who grew up in California like I did. (And sold endless craft supplies to fourth graders, when I worked in retail, so that they could make their own little models of the missions as part of a state-wide assignment.)

The exterior of the Mission is simple and not prepossessing, all white-washed adobe brick -- the real thing, and very lumpy. (In the museum, there is a section of exposed brick and you can see all the rocks and the dried grass sticking out, and how irregular the bricks are.) Because the other missions were reduced to ruins and had to be rebuilt almost from the ground up much later, the walls don't have the same appearance, so this took me by surprise. The original redwood logs supporting the roof were lashed together with rawhide -- you can see some of those in the museum, too.

Inside, it is very different.

The beams of the ceiling, which are quite striking, are painted with a pattern in subtle shades of green, reddish brown, orange, and tan. It is a restoration, but it depicts an original Ohlone Indian design painted with vegetable dyes. There is glowing old wood in the sanctuary and the side altars, and wonderful wooden statues. In some of them, you can see that the paint has aged -- only by the colors, I didn't see any cracks -- in others the colors are brighter, but still soft, so that from a distance you might almost mistake them for real people. There were any number of saints that I didn't know, but there was a delightful one of St. Joseph holding baby Jesus, several of St. Francis, not surprisingly,and one of St. Clare of Assisi. (There was a statue that I was drawn to in the Basilica later that I also thought was her, but it is an active church and naturally there were no plaques identifying the statues there.) The altars came from Mexico in 1796 and 1810, and the gold leaf is "basically the same as when it arrived." You would not think that it was 200 years old.

There was a guided tour being conducted when we first arrived, but after they left and we had the building to ourselves the coolness and the silence had a quality that I can't describe. It was lovely.

Outside, there was a little courtyard with a diorama in a glass case, one that depicted the original buildings, with many tiny figures of monks and Ohlone indians. It was made for the 1939 World's Fair on Treasure Island (which has it's own history) but I was not impressed.

Then we went into the Basilica. It is far more embellished on the outside than the mission, but still in the Spanish California style so comparatively simple. It was the largest and most beautiful church I had ever been in. Not ornate like a cathedral but large and airy and glorious in its own way. There were fewer statues, but there were stained glass windows all along the walls, depicting each of the 21 California Missions (small) with figures of the saints they were named for (large). I thought these were quite beautiful, but John was so busy composing his shots that he wasn't paying attention to the pictures and I had to tell him later what he was seeing! One thing that struck me was that the name of each of the missions was also a city or town I knew at least by name. I had never realized that so many places were still named for their nearest missions. (Although some of the names are abbreviated, and how I wish that they weren't, because the originals were far more beautiful. If I lived in San Rafael, I am sure I would be telling people -- much to their confusion -- that I lived in San Rafael Archangel.)

There was a gorgeous sanctuary, but situated above the altar was a garish blue semi-partition-backdrop-thing with equally garish golden beams of light, that looked like a committee with very bad taste had put it there in the 1980's. John -- who likes to say that his artistic sensibilities are practically non-existant and claims that he can't tell one shade of a color from another -- was even more offended than I was by how discordant it was with its surroundings.

The side chapels were much nicer, exactly what you would expect to find in a large Catholic church.

In spite of the glaring blue object by the altar, the whole time I was there I felt an incredible feeling of peace and serenity. I am not Catholic (although I used to attend Mass with my cousins sometimes when I was a teenager), but I felt happy in a way that I haven't felt in a long, long time. The feeling lasted after I left, through the rest of the afternoon and part of the evening. ]]> Teresa Edgerton http://www.sffchronicles.co.uk/forum/blogs/teresa-edgerton/1778-my-visit-with-st-francis-of-assisi.html <![CDATA[Scammers 'The Write Agenda' ally with misogynist/racist author Vox Day]]> http://www.sffchronicles.co.uk/forum/blogs/j-wo/1772-scammers-the-write-agenda-ally-with-misogynist-racist.html Fri, 19 Apr 2013 06:10:14 GMT Candidate for online SF's all-time low- Publishing scammer scuzzballs The Write Agenda decide to support misogynist, racist turd Theodore Beale (aka 'Vox Day') in support of his bid for the SFWA presidency. If Scientology pops it's head around the door we'll have the total package! ]]> J-WO http://www.sffchronicles.co.uk/forum/blogs/j-wo/1772-scammers-the-write-agenda-ally-with-misogynist-racist.html One Year On http://www.sffchronicles.co.uk/forum/blogs/perpetual-man/1768-one-year-on.html Thu, 18 Apr 2013 11:06:47 GMT I have not really been doing too much of late rather than writing (or attempting to write) a novel. With the first draft done, I have decided to try and do a blog or two again, but in this instance it is something that I decided to leave for a year before I wrote it. It is intended as an... I have not really been doing too much of late rather than writing (or attempting to write) a novel.
With the first draft done, I have decided to try and do a blog or two again, but in this instance it is something that I decided to leave for a year before I wrote it.

It is intended as an observation nothing more.

One year ago today at the time of writing we (well more exactly my wife) had our second child.
Much as had been the case with the first one there were a few complications that led to her being hospitalised a week or so before the birth, although she was sent home and then had to go back in again a few days later. This was due to lack of beds.

When she had our first son three years before this, Derriford Hospital had been running two maternity wards plus the birthing suite, by the time we went in for the second one of the wards had been closed down, so everyone in the final stages of a pregnancy was being squeezed into one ward.

At the time no.2 was born the demand for the ward was horrendous. Mothers to be were coming in, giving birth and going home again, within hours, just to try and keep as many beds free as possible. This meant that the longer term patients, the ones with standard pregnancy issues – high blood pressure etc – got the beds. I'm sure in a lot of cases this worked out for the best.

But the closing of one ward was not the end of the issue, as the number of midwives was cut back to. Where once it had been one midwife per bay, it was then two per ward, which meant that they were spread out over about four or five wards, not forgetting the smaller rooms as well.

I trotted in dutifully to visit my wife in the mid afternoon of the 18th April, fully expecting her to be bored out of her mind in bed. She was not due for a few more days and when I had spoken to her earlier she had seemed in that 'I want it out of me!' mode.

When I got there I discovered that things had changed. The baby had decided it was time, her waters had broken and labour was under way. She was lying in bed, sheets soaking wet with contractions coming nice and regularly. She noted they were painful. And having missed out on the whole birth experience first time around due to an emergency caesarian we joked that this was what it was all about.

I stayed with her for most of the afternoon, but caught unprepared I had to go home to get the other son from nursery, sort him out and get him to my parents for the night. He was unsettled enough with his mum being in and out of hospital, that I thought it was better for him for me to see him and tell him what was happening.

I was gone for about two and a half hours.

When I returned things had changed. Sort of. My wife was in the same bed. It was still wet. She was in the same clothes she had been wearing when her waters broke. Due to the heat in the hospital it was beginning to stink. Not just smell but stink. A small like salt and blood, all going stale.

And she was in pain.

With each contraction she was screaming. But it seemed wrong. There was an animal edge to her cries. It is easy to be objective, say she was in labour, one of the most painful things a human can experience, certainly nothing a man can know about – the nearest we can come is kidney stones apparently – but it did not feel right. That little bit of instinct was telling me it was wrong.

She told me that she had pressed the button for a nurse and had been told they would inform the midwife.

And then that the midwife had been informed and would be there as soon as she was able.

And then as the pain got worse, the button was pressed again. The alarm would sound, the light would flash and then it was turned off from the main desk and no one would come. Or a nurse would come in and tell her she was in labour, the pain was normal, that the midwife was dealing with a much more serious case and would be there when she could.

Time passed. Pain got worse.

Button pressed.

She was screaming by now, blood curdling screeches with every contraction, and we were being told the same thing over and over, when the nurses could be bothered to answer.

And it was not just me any more. People in the other beds, women in labour were pressing their buttons, telling the nurse that there was something wrong with the lady in the corner, and they were told the same thing.

Around this time the bed opposite became empty and another mum to be was wheeled in.

With each contraction she screamed. It did not sound right.

So we had two women in the ward, both in a lot of pain, both screaming, and both getting the same words from the nurses.

At this point the second midwife came in. She told us that the nurses were getting a bit fraught with the constant bell ringing and could we refrain from pressing the buttons please. The woman opposite swore at her, told her that she had had two kids already and what was going on felt wrong compared to the previous two. The midwife nodded, but said there was nothing she could do as both the woman and my wife were patients under the other midwife. She said she would inform her, but there really were more important cases to be dealt with and left.

A few minutes later the other midwife came in. She looked tired, and had a stern look on her face. She started laying down the law. That she was dealing with bad case that needed attention more than ours, or indeed the lady opposite. That she would be there when she could, that the women were in labour. Pain was part of it and could everybody please stop pressing their buttons because it was stressing the nurses out.

She was just emphasising how she was dealing with something more important when my wife screamed again, and she heard it for the first time. Immediately her face changed and she acknowledged at once that there was something wrong, that suddenly we were a priority. It was about then that the woman in the opposite bed screamed and the midwife conceded that both cases were more important than what she was working on and contacted the birthing suite.

There were no free suites, only the emergency one held on standbys for real emergencies. She told them she had two, and by some incredible act of humanity and magnanimity the woman in the bed opposite said that she had not been in pain as long as my wife, and she did not think she sounded as bad.

So we were taken to the birthing suite.

Once there things were brilliant. Perhaps because things were one on one, well five on one really. A midwife, a nurse, a doctor, and an assistant who floated from room to room (and me) all for my wife. Despite a few requests from my wife for pain relief they held off until they had done their tests – the medication could interfere with the outcome. There was a lot of screaming that diminished as she learned how to use the gas and air. I noticed everything, my favourite (not at the time though) being when the nurses pretended that the blood pressure machine was broken. I presume they did that so they did not let either of us panic because it was so high. I saw the reading though and kept my trap shut.

They kept promising the epidural, but only when the doctor finished her examination, to try and ascertain what was wrong. In order to do this she had to have my wife breathing and pushing and everything that comes with that. But it was then that they realised that the cervix was not retracting properly, each contraction was trying to push the baby out, only to meet with solid resistance and find there was nowhere to go.

This was the cause of the pain.

The doctor played with the cervix and after a lot of pain and instrumentation use, then hands – (It made me think of sliding doors, jammed with her trying to unjam them) – and my wife asked again when she would be getting her pain relief, at which point the doctor grinned, and told her it was a bit late for that, one more push and the baby would be out.

And he was.

One year ago he was born, and although this might not sound like it this is a massive thank you to the midwives and staff at Derriford Hospital in Plymouth. All of them.

They are forced to work under near impossible conditions facing cuts and setbacks that are made by men in suits, sitting in offices who believe it is better to cut maternity wards and staff than it is to cut wages of the over abundance of administrative posts. So when a midwife is expected to cover multiple bays with as many as twelve beds in each bay it is hardly surprising that when something urgent happens at one end, she can't immediately check on those at the other; where stupid rules and regulations mean that midwives have to stay with their own patients and not help others.

This seems to be the state of the NHS, or at least they way it was in the Maternity region, and it seems that when it comes to trying to save money in this organisation things would go a lot better if some of the upper administration were given the push, and the medical staff were not the ones who are cut again and again.

I would like to add, that when I have known serious problems, with my mother – where a surgeon decided to operate on a Saturday rather than play a round of golf – they saved her life, dad and myself had already been given the small room speech, if there are any close family, get them here sooner rather than later; with the birth of the first son; and with the care I received from the first on the scene paramedic through to the consultants who cared for me after my big seizure were all exemplary. When it really matters they are superb, for me at least.

Just don't talk about my hernia op... ]]> Perpetual Man http://www.sffchronicles.co.uk/forum/blogs/perpetual-man/1768-one-year-on.html <![CDATA[Mieville And Ballard's Crazee Blu-Ray Mystery Adventure!!!]]> http://www.sffchronicles.co.uk/forum/blogs/j-wo/1766-mieville-and-ballards-crazee-blu-ray-mystery-adventure.html Thu, 18 Apr 2013 04:24:11 GMT The two critically acclaimed speculative fiction authors always seem to get into some real zany trouble... (http://jamesworrad.blogspot.co.uk/2013/04/mieville-and-ballards-crazee-blu-ray.html) The two critically acclaimed speculative fiction authors always seem to get into some real zany trouble... ]]> J-WO http://www.sffchronicles.co.uk/forum/blogs/j-wo/1766-mieville-and-ballards-crazee-blu-ray-mystery-adventure.html Happy thoughts http://www.sffchronicles.co.uk/forum/blogs/stormfeather/1764-happy-thoughts.html Mon, 15 Apr 2013 15:53:36 GMT I'm barely here anymore - lurking rather than contributing anything useful - and it feels kind of sad, and I feel kind of guilty. And, when I have been around, it's to mope and share the darker, sadder things that have been going on, rather than look at the happier side of life.

So, now that we've finally got some sunshine, it's actually warm, and the kids are nearly back at school (we had an inset day today, and my son used this opportunity to accidently do a forward flip over the banister, from about 7ft up, and land on the hall floor, winding himself, and scaring the absolute life out of me - fine now and playing happily upstairs!) I thought I'd try and find some happy stuff to share.

I've got my fingers in so many creative pies at the moment. Am loving crocheting butterflies - will post some pics when I've finished them up. Not entirely sure what I'll be doing with them all yet, but am sure inspiration will strike at some point.

I started a course of Pilates sessions today - never tried it before, and although it didn't feel like we were doing much today, my backside is feeling what I suppose you could call 'the benefit' already. I am looking forward to the next session, especially as the teacher also does bio-mechanics and is interested in helping me with the lingering sypmtoms of SPD that I had during my last pregnancy.

I've got my quilting course starting up again tomorrow, although I feel a bit guilty at not having done much in the intervening weeks due to illness and family stuff - it's like getting to Sunday evening and finally admitting to yourself that you should have done your homework on Friday . . .

I haven't done much to sell though, as in between all of the above, I've been focusing on getting our house sorted, and the next thing is the garden. The aim is to have things at a minimal maintenance level that I can cope with, which will also leave me with more free time to craft and create.

The difference the sunshine makes to my mood is amazing. Having the flash of fear as I saw my boy wonder going over the banister in slow motion, serves to deepen my knowledge of just how lucky I am (and he was too!). Life overall is good.

As to the other main issue going on, J has an appointment tonight to find out the schedule of treatment. She seems fairly positive right now, but I know we're facing a bumpy road. I haven't spoken with her as regards to Macmillan yet, but am sure she will have received the info. She just might need a nudge to do something.

So, when the kids go back this week, I shall be cleaning and preparing my pots for container fruit and veg - salads, tomatoes, potatoes and beans, with pot grown apples, pears and figs too. Hopefully we'll get enough sun to ripen the grapes - last year we had hundreds of bunches but they never ripened, which was a real shame as these particular grapes taste of passion fruit!

A quick review proves that I'm waffling - and the kids are demanding that I get the ironing board out and iron their Hama Bead creations. So will sign off for now, but with the intention of hopefully doing more than lurk in the near future

SF x ]]> StormFeather http://www.sffchronicles.co.uk/forum/blogs/stormfeather/1764-happy-thoughts.html Depression http://www.sffchronicles.co.uk/forum/blogs/teresa-edgerton/1758-depression.html Thu, 11 Apr 2013 21:43:37 GMT This post is not about writing, except that it is about something that affects everything I do (or don't do) including my writing. It's prompted by a visit to my therapist today.

I don't speak often or very much about my severe clinical depression, because I think that the topic is boring. It bores me. It's not a dramatic stick-your-head-in-the-oven sort of depression. (Anyway, suicide would take more initiative than I have most days.) It's ... drab ... and it feels so trivial. People suffer from much, much worse conditions. But it goes on and on and on, and saps me of even the desire to do the things I used to enjoy. Because I don't enjoy them. If I do them, I am only going through the motions, in an attempt to pretend my way out of my depression. But it never works. It's called anhedonia. It sucks the joy and beauty out of life. So it's not a trapped-at-the-bottom-of-a-black-pit-of-despair depression. It's all in shades of grey, like Kansas before Dorothy left it.

And I used to live in Oz. I did creative things, colorful things. We never had much money, so I had to use my ingenuity (and, in those days, had ingenuity to use). I wrote, I planted gardens, had tea parties, did mystical things with crystals and tarot cards, made costumes and went to SCA events, did knitting and embroidery, made puppets, and tried out all sorts of different arts and crafts. I can't tell you how many times we repainted the living room and moved the furniture around. We'd dig out our collection of knick-knacks, buy a few more, throw in odds and ends from my cottage at the Renaissance Fair or my Victorian parlor for the Dickens Fair, and make it look like a brand new room. I bought cheap fabric and sewed up curtains. I decorated for Christmas and every few years came up with new themes -- for two years we had Narnia in the dining room. (I still get moderately excited about Christmas, but I don't enjoy it nearly as much. If I ever lose the will to decorate at Christmas, it will be time to take me to the vet and put me down.) Because I had a sense of humor in those days, I think I was an amusing person to be around. Now I feel old and stern, like a crabbéd and cross old woman.

It is hard to get out of bed, I feel so heavy and inert. When I do get up (usually to go to the bathroom), I begin to feel relatively normal. I'll eat, bathe, check my messages on the computer, respond to posts here (but sometimes I'll see something that ought to interest me and think, "why bother?"), but somehow, though I don't plan it, I end up back at the bed. I think I am only out of bed three or four hours a day. The rest of my waking hours are spent semi-recumbant, watching videos or playing solitaire on my Kindle. I used to spend the day in bed reading book after book, and I thought that was bad, but now reading seems like so much work I hardly get any pleasure out of it.

And sometimes I will spend that time editing, when someone sends me a manuscript.
Because I can edit ... though sometimes I get heavy and dull and skip a day or two. Like the posts that I respond to here, the manuscripts stimulate something in my brain that doesn't seem to be present otherwise. I don't love doing it -- which makes sense because I don't love doing anything. Whether I like it or not depends on how good the book is, or could be. I don't charge much, because I want people who could use help to be able to afford it. Considering how much work I put into it, my hourly wage works out to less than I would make doing ... well, anything, anything short of being enslaved in a sweatshop like an illegal worker brought into this country as part of a human trafficking ring.

But I feel useful, which is something I don't feel the rest of the time. I think that I have a specific skill set, background, and knowledge that makes me particularly suited to editing speculative fiction. I think that I do good work and help people -- and am not such a drag on society at those times. But I do feel a pang from time to time because I miss my own writing. I feel guilty because that's not what I am doing.

So why don't I set time aside to write? I do. But mostly during those times I don't write. I think I will, but somehow I end up back in the bed. It's not even a conscious choice. My own writing doesn't give me that mental push that somebody else's writing does. My book is there in my head, but I lack the words to tell it. Yes, there are scraps of paper where I scribbled down fragments years ago, when I did have a period of creativity. But there is not enough to make a book. So I don't write, and again I feel guilty. When I do find the energy to get started again, I find that it's been so long that I can't remember for sure exactly what I've written (or added, or subtracted), so I have to read it from the beginning to remind myself. But I get distracted and I don't get very far. I've been through the first two or three chapters so many times, and I still don't remember them well.

So my therapist has said I should go out on the walks and expeditions like the ones I've been writing about on Facebook. I enjoy them, and usually come back feeling refreshed ... but tired. And the initiative to keep up the habit isn't there. We've tried every antidepressant there is, so the only option remaining (if I can't make the walking work) is electric shock therapy. And that scares me, not because of the shock (which she says I won't feel) but because of the anesthetic. I've had several operations for one thing or another, and I'm always afraid that I'll die when they put me under. So I am reluctant to take this option, but I don't want to live the rest of my life like this. She said I could join therapy sessions that would help me learn how to cope, to live with my depression. But I don't want to cope; I want to get better. My life is slipping away and I can't seem to find a way to make it mean anything. It's all so "weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable."

Now comes the part where I wallow in self-pity, so be warned about that and don't read on if you find that sort of thing annoying: I don't feel like my family notices how sick I am, or if they notice they don't care. Out of all the other people who live here (of whom six are adults), you might think there would be someone who was supportive. No. I think it's because when they see me I am out of bed and acting like a normal person. It doesn't occur to them that there is something very wrong about the fact that on an ordinary day I spend twenty hours a day in bed. When I try to explain to them, their eyes glaze over. That makes sense, since I told you the whole topic is boring, and my problems seem trivial. Maybe I was always trivial -- my activities were never such as to rock the world -- but at least I didn't used to be so boring that even I find myself wearisome.

So that's my tedious screed on the subject, for anyone who is still reading.



. ]]> Teresa Edgerton http://www.sffchronicles.co.uk/forum/blogs/teresa-edgerton/1758-depression.html Achievement unlocked: editing http://www.sffchronicles.co.uk/forum/blogs/i-brian/1756-achievement-unlocked-editing.html Wed, 10 Apr 2013 17:38:23 GMT So 12 years ago I had a draft novel at 700k words...

I've spent the past few years labouring with - not simply trying to chop it down to size, but also apply basic writing principles so it such as ... oh, POV use.

After a few years work I finally got it down to an overall word count of 250k.

I sent the first few chapters to Teresa Edgerton for editing purposes, to see how I was doing.

There were some experimental things I'd tried and wasn't sure if they worked, and the beginning still felt a little slow. I presumed the characters were so brilliant that a slow start wouldn't matter and it would be a good thing.

I thought I was nearly there.

Teresa very much disagreed. Her notes were quite extensive, but she challenged me on the volume, the lack of pace, and questioned some of the character motivations whom she also complained were too chatty.

I let the notes sink in and agreed that she was quite right. I had tried to be far too clever, and had been especially prone to info dumping - after all, you need to explain everything as it comes up, don't you?

And while I'd made a big effort to chop a lot back, I needed to go further.

Trying to massively cut down on what you have, while staying true to your characters and what you want to convey, has been incredibly hard. I really would never advise anyone rewrote something old, because you end up having to effectively rewrite it - yet with limitations from the old work.

Anyway, I've finally completed my editing of the beginning section. And do you know what? It reads rather good.

My flabby chattery voice has been replaced with a succint one with pace.

The original first draft of the beginning section came in at 67k words. Just to introduce the characters.

I managed to get that down to 28k for Teresa.

It's now at 14k.

I've halved what I gave her and it still feels like I've lost nothing significant, which shows how much further I still had to go.

All I've really lost is a sense of trying to be too clever.

Now each word is stronger, the prose tighter, the characters are more focused, the dialogue more purposeful. I've stopped trying to explain things for the reader and just get on with the character experience.

Some major things have been dropped. In the original draft, I realised the beginning was dragging, so I added a fight scene.

The problem here is that the fight scene added to the problem of lack of pace, because the real story was pushed back further to incorporate this.

So the lesson is: if something feels too long, cut, don't add, no matter the intention.

I'm not going to claim what I have is brilliant or publishing standard - I'll not trust that presumption - so hopefully Teresa will look at it later in the year.

Luckily the rest of the manuscript isn't so bad - the second half of the book is a lot tighter than the first. But it all still needs a lot of work.

I am more confident that what I've already started will be publishable with a little spit and polish - and hopefully not too much of that!

However, boiling down 67,000 words into 14,000 simply demonstrates just how badly I used to write.

And it was the people of chronicles who first pointed that out, on the critiques board, for which - if I'm ever published - will be forever thankful for. :) ]]> I, Brian http://www.sffchronicles.co.uk/forum/blogs/i-brian/1756-achievement-unlocked-editing.html