Tag Archives: new ideas

Mom, circus, freaks, and more

16 Aug

So, over the months (or, uh, years *cough cough*) I wrote and re-wrote Spartacus and the Circus of Shadows, I’d always play specific songs to remind me about the initial concept of the story (I already talked about how Sympathy for the Devil helped bring me back to Spartacus).

My favorite high school-nostalgia/guilty pleasure Natalie Merchant, in her lyric-writing brilliance, initially gave me the pieces to put together Athena, Spart’s circus performing mother.  She evolved from the lyrics to Ophelia: Ophelia was a circus queen/the female cannonball/Projected through/five flaming hoops/to wild and shocked applause. But, to get all literary (and perhaps a bit pompous, as though I could really say this about my own writing)…to Spartacus, it’s like Athena really is all of the characters from the song, simultaneously–wild and demure, loving and unloving. I wanted it to be like he can’t pin Athena down as good or bad, loving or uncaring because she is ultimately a mystery. A crazy, feminine, Natalie Merchant mystery. Well, that’s how I hoped it would appear, anyway.

(And yes, I have a massive girl-crush on Natalie Merchant. Just had to put that out there.)

But while Ophelia gave the words, though, it’s this awesome video, Kind and generous (also Merchant), that gave me the circus-as-family-vibe. (Though this is obviously a much lighter and happier circus than Bartholomew’s…but hey,  it was a jumping off point.)

Photo by Jimmy and Dena Katz, from “World of Wonders”

And, corny lyrics aside, if you’re interested in seeing the inspiration for the sideshow, you don’t have to jump through any weird, girly music hoops to get there. I was at Powell’s Books when I stumbled across the World of Wonders, a photography book by Jimmy and Dena Katz. They–get this–photographed a modern sideshow. It was like they did this just for me because, honestly, Remmy and Nero and Zeda were all there, just waiting to be discovered.  And, I just discovered–you can like them on Facebook. OMG, I can’t wait to do this myself. (Done.)

And lastly…so I have another book idea in the works. Coincidently–or not–it’s another Merchant song, helping me keep the plot in check. Gonna keep grinding, see what happens.

Oh, anticipation, how I love you.

It’s 5AM…are you writing?

12 Aug

5AM never comes easy. But my newest “inspiring” it’s-5AM-get-up-now-thought: Margaret Atwood, stealing out of her bedroom in her PJs and wild hair at this hour (except she’s in Toronto, so this is what she did at my 2AM), sitting in some sort of solarium or atrium or some other plant-filled -um, sipping black tea from a cat mug (I like thinking about her as a cat-person), and clacking away at her next depressing yet thrilling prediction about the end of humanity at the hands of science/religion/robots.

Not that I’m comparing myself to Ms. Atwood. No. But it’s a teeny tiny little bitty inspiration to think I could at least be up, sipping tea from my cat mug, imitating her. Like playing office when I was a kid.

But I don’t get up this early, unless I’m going to the airport or…well, that’s about it. The only time I got up at this hour on a regular basis was back in college to unpack Pier 1 trucks or catalogue books at Barnes and Noble (and I was NOT happy, nor awake; many a vase was broken and book mis-shelved). But the last two months have found me lying awake before the sun comes up, trying to get back to sleep. Most of the time I succeed.

But this morning, I was thinking…#writingparty.

So there are these authors who post to the #writingparty every night–I’m usually perusing their tweets while brushing my teeth to go to bed. It’s really quite brilliant: they champion each other through the wee hours, bragging about their word count, talking about cafés closing around them, asking for help with name suggestions, admiting defeat at dawn and collapsing into what I suspect is a smug night’s sleep, only to get on and do it the next evening. After brushing my teeth, I lie in bed for a good twenty minutes, wondering if I should be up, writing (maybe). Wondering if I should make an outline for another book (yes). If I should start downloading and listening to newer episodes of the writing podcast: I Should Be Writing (if I want to feel guilty, yes). If I left the front door open (most likely, no).Then I fall into a not-so-smug night of sleep.

Last summer, I totally would have been all up for the #writingparty, when I was on deadline and pounding away at The Circus of Shadows until 2AM. But then, I wasn’t tweeting as a, ahem, “writer” then, but for my own amusement. And, in reverse, I wasn’t writing for my own amusement but for the deadline, which was exhausting. Writing for yourself is one thing; it’s a hobby. It’s art. It’s a personal achievement. But writing for a deadline? That’s like going through labor for 6 months. Not that I’ve done that, the labor thing. But everyone likens writing a book to having a baby, so I’m running with it.

But the #writingparty…that means other people…

That’s the one thing I couldn’t handle about the last year: the isolation. Not seeing people, and then talking about the book when I did see them (boring!). Except that was the only thing on my mind: plot holes, character development, pacing, wording, abused adverbs…  (I’m not writing this like this is something new, like it’s some mystery. Writers shouldn’t be socializers; still fresh in my mind is the interview author Mike Sacks did with the Portland Mercury, about how brutal the process is.)

But now that it’s August and I’m in a lull, waiting for PR to start and the book to arrive…well, I’ve made up for the summer I missed last year, I’ve caught up with friends, I’ve created a better writing space, I’ve read more books, and caught up on my sleep–and now I’m lying in bed awake for pete’s sake. Maybe it’s time to actually behave like my bio says. Like someone who has a passion for writing and learning and actually gets up and writes. I guess, I’m saying, I’m ready to join the #writingparty. 1AM, 5AM, noon. I don’t need to abuse myself with writing to exhaustion, but I could amuse myself by writing until that itch is scratched and then going to bed. Or to work. Or whatever.

I even bought a planner (the way most new endeavors begin), penciling in #writingparty as though it were a school assignment. Time for the next book.

Here goes.

Me, hot aliens, and Gary Ghislain…all in my duplex.

5 May

I sat down last weekend to brainstorm ideas for the next book, and started excitedly following a vein for a new plot. It involves a 16-year-old loner and the strange, new girl at school. Strange in that she likes him. Talks to him. Is extremely attractive and instantly popular–and yet still wants to hang out with him! She’s even interested in talking his nerd, intellectual talk. She knows all about history, art, pop culture, the exact ingredients to that go into Frito’s corn chips…It’s all a bit scary seeing this nerd-stuff come out of her unquestionably perfect lips. Nerd Boy and Perfect Lips spend more and more time together and…suddenly Boy realizes that things seem too good to be true. And if it’s too good to be true…it obviously means she’s an alien, scouting out Earth for a potential invasion. (The book kinda goes on from there.)

I was so stoked by this idea that I went online and started Googling it, assuming I was the only one to realize that teen aliens could be just as hot and intriguing as vampires. I hoped I’d only find those My Teacher is an Alien series by Bruce Coville from my childhood, and maybe some extreme sci-fi novels involving…well, space and space travel, space colonies, neutron stars, etc.–which was decidedly not what I was looking to write at all. My book would be like Waiting for Alaska…only Alaska is the hot avatar for a giant squiddy thing (that is probably still a teeny bit hot) who really doesn’t want to take over the earth–but she kinda has to.

But then I found a review for my book–not only has already been written, it’s being released in 2 weeks! The book?

by Gary Ghislain.

( OOooh, Gary…I can’t tell you how close my four bulleted plot points were to your story!!!! Luckily I only spent thirty minutes on them.)

From Pink Me’s review: ”…we have an introverted, buttoned-down teenage boy who meets a fierce, wild-eyed girl, falls instantly in love, and is swept along by her insane momentum until he finds himself dog-bit, tattooed, guilty of criminal trespass, and listening to unfamiliar music.”

Of course, this wild-eyed girl IS MY ALIEN. If you read the rest of the review, you’ll see how Pink Me compares it to two other John Green books, which added to the irony that I’d actually said out loud: “It would be like Waiting for Alaska–only with Aliens!” (I’m glowering even now, just thinking about it…)

But after huffing around the house for a good five minutes, I sat  back down and read reviews and the synopsis of this book…

…and I’m totally picking up a copy as soon as it’s available.

I love the concept, love Ghislain’s spin on it, and the reviews I’ve read have nothing but glowing praise. I might even be the teeniest bit consoled by the fact that I get to think of the idea and then instantly read a completed book without the 3 years of agony of pounding it out myself.

I know, that sounds really really really arrogant, as though I’m saying mine would be any good. I’m not saying that at all (in fact, based on those four bullet points I scrawled on a paper towel, it probably would have ended up lame and predictable). But I really don’t think there are a huge amount of original story lines left. It’s how you choose to spin it, the voice you use, and the character arcs you create and combine that make a story unique and dazzling.

To be  metaphorical, discovering How I Stole… is like sneaking a peek  into the other identical half of your duplex and seeing how the neighbors have fixed it up. Me? I fill my side of the house with free stuff I find in boxes on the street corners of PDX. It’s not impressive. Gary? Well, by reading the book’s synopsis (and the weird Johnny Depp tie in), I can see Gary’s side of the duplex is out of this world.

Oh, and receiving wide applause.