Yeah, that’s pretty cliche as sayings go, isn’t it?  I suppose just because it’s cliche doesn’t make it any less valid or truthful.  Life has been giving me a lot of lemons lately, most of which has included a lot of debilitating pain that prevents me from writing as much as I’d want to — hence, the lack of updates to this blog.  Stuff is in the works, though, and future entries will probably focus a lot on coping with disease while still trying to find the time and the will to do all the things I enjoy creatively.

Right now, though?  My diagnosis is uncertain.  We’re still waiting on test results.  It could be Rheumatoid Arthritis.  It could be Lupus.  It could be something we didn’t even think to check for.  We’re working on it though.

Just know that I’m still here and, creatively, I still plan to do all the things I intend to do.  It’s just going to be a little harder.  I suppose that’s where another old cliche saying kicks in:  Nothing worth having is easy.

This should come as a wake-up call to all of us who are still searching for that “big break”.  Not every publisher out there wants to see you succeed, they just want to turn you into a cash-cow, no matter how thin and rangy you might be.  Research potential homes for your stories and work like it was the nursing home you’re entrusting your most beloved parent to.  Know exactly what they’re offering and, more importantly, what’s in it for you.

Too many writers these days feel that we are at the mercy of the market.  We’re not.  Chuck Wendig of Terrible Minds said it best in his recent blog post:

…without the creative content put forth by writers, the publisher has not one fiddly fucking thing to publish

So keep that in mind.  We’re not as powerless as some publishers make us out to be, nor are we as stupid and gullible as they seem to think we are.  Take pride in your work and know it’s value.

Is this the price of success for self-publishers with Amazon?  If so, it really makes me turn a hard eye on the Big A for my future self-publishing needs.  I’m not the only writer who’s concerned, either.  Self-Published Authors Helping Other Authors has also made waves with an article they wrote covering Jamie Mcguire’s plight.

What does this mean for self-publishing authors and our futures?  I certainly hope that this tactic by Amazon isn’t something indicative of the time, but the product of some kind of huge misunderstanding.  Needless to say, I’m keeping an eye on Jamie’s blog for future developments and sending all my prayers, warm thoughts, and support to a struggling author in a time of need.

Update: March 6, 2013

Jamie released a statement today saying that Amazon admitted to an error on their part concerning the refunds, which is something I’m glad to hear.  It still sets a frightening precedent for those still treading the “which way do I publish” waters, though.  While Amazon has the promise of exposure, is that exposure really worth the potential landmines like this that one may encounter?

I would rather be told a single honest brutal truth as a writer than be told a thousand comforting white lies.  I feel it’s a disservice to writers to be told what we want to hear, a writer cannot improve him/herself if we’re only ever told how wonderful we are.

But I don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings, you may tell yourself as a reviewer.  My answer to that is simple:  Like a good parent, we would want to be told when our children are doing bad things, when they are misbehaving.  It is the only way we can correct that behavior and reshape them into model citizens.  It is no different for a writer and her work.  Yes, we love our work and guard it fiercely, we may feel it’s perfection at times, but at our heart we know that it is flawed and it falls to us to fix it.

No writer, I’d hope, would want to stagnate in mediocre reviews that don’t challenge how we think or how we write.  So, the next time you’re asked to review something or you volunteer, pepper in a little brutal honesty.  You may find it more useful to the writer than a handful of banal compliments.

January is Thyroid Awareness Month and as someone who suffers from a thyroid disease, it’s always something that hits me right at home.  People think that because a disease is “manageable” that makes it negligible, that because nothing looks wrong with us that nothing is wrong with us — and that couldn’t be farther from the truth.

Thyroid conditions are often life-long diseases that can be managed, but cannot be cured.  Regardless of how much medication we’re on, or how stringently our health is managed, some of our days will be better than others.  Conversely, that also means that some of our days will be worse.

What most people don’t realize is that there isn’t an organ system in the body that the thyroid does not play a role in.  It’s just that important, not only to our health, but to the general quality of our lives.

If you know someone in your life that suffers from a thyroid condition, do yourself and them the favor of getting educated on what it means.  That moody, inhospitable person with the bad case of dandruff might just be someone who suffers from hypothyroidism and has thyroid-induced eczema as a result.

Yeah, take it from someone who knows.

http://www.thyroidawareness.com

Fire Snakes can be a bit loud, speaking their minds and smothering you with their opinions. This does add a twist to his dynamic and vibrant character, as he is quite the extrovert. These Snakes have a great wisdom. They are intriguing communicators who leave you breathless after a conversation. Fire Snakes can change even the most obstinate mind with their powers of persuasion, convincing you their opinions or ideas are better than yours. This does make them a little self-centered, but you can’t say they aren’t driven for success.  - Wikipedia

By Chinese Astrology, I’m a Fire Snake and — for the majority — I find descriptions of Fire Snakes to be pretty accurate to the kind of person I am and how I represent myself to people.  That’s not to say I adhere to astrology like it’s the gospel and live my life by it, but it makes some amusing correlations.  This year, 2013, is the Year of the Water Snake, so by all predictions, this is supposed to be a good year for me.

I’m certainly hoping it is.  2012 was fraught with set-backs, personal tragedies, and continuing health problems — all of which have taken a toll on my creative energies.  I’ve done my best to shrug them off, though, and am looking forward to getting a couple of projects squared away and ready to publish this year.  I’m grateful that I have not only supportive friends and family, but supportive readers, fans, and fellow creatives out there that commiserate.

That being said, I’m going to let you in on what I’m going to be up to this year.

Writer & Roleplayer Primers:  Character Development

This is a small workbook of writing prompts that I’ve done in the past for writing and roleplaying communities that I’ve been part of.  My husband is currently compiling them from a variety of places on the web and we plan on putting them in book format and selling it online as a writing aid.  Don’t worry, it will most likely be very affordable.

The Riftwalker Chronicles

You’ve seen tidbits of this story from when I was working on it for Nanowrimo back in 2009, but it’s gotten completely reworked and will be my breakout novel this year.  It’s an urban fantasy story that bridges the connection between magic and human creativity.  Once I finish the novel at the end of this month, I should be able to pin down an accurate synopsis — right now the story is going places that I never quite planned on!

Write & Role Podcast

The Write & Role Podcast was created by my awesomely creative friend, Suzanna Reeves, featuring a number of writers, artists, and general creative minds.  The podcast is meant to uplift and inspire, as well as share our own views and perspectives on creative processes, writing and publishing, and more!

Loads of Surprises!

I’m planning on reconnecting with my blog audience this year.  2012 was just full of “blah” and I was remiss in posting a lot.  That’s not something I plan to continue this year! I’m hoping to come out with regular content both to encourage and entertain.  So keep an eye on this space (and update your bookmarks)!

One

The Disarming Lass

Ale flowed freely around the table of dwarves, each of them toasting the others as they regaled one another with tales of daring-do.  The hardwood was covered in a thin patina of spilled ale as well as the crumbs and leavings of several different meats, breads, and other foodstuffs.  Any who ventured into The Blue Lantern tavern at this hour was immediately assailed by the raucous enjoyment.  The dwarves were clearly celebrating, especially pleased to have among their number a Paladin of Lathander; word had it that she was a dwarfess of some small renown whose tales were already being told by hearth-fires as far away as Waterdeep.

She sat at the head of their table, a place of honor, her blue eyes watching the goings-on with tolerant amusement.  Her raven-dark hair was carefully coiffed into an elaborate braid that coiled once around her brow before trailing down to the small of her back in a thick, black rope.  Although she was dressed simply in brown leathers, the symbol of Lathander glittered in bas-relief, carved into a steel brooch on her left shoulder.

“Tell it again, Grum!” One of the dwarves bellowed, pounding his mug against the hardwood table.  This, of course, only succeeded in sloshing his ale around on the faces and beards of his fellows, who shoved him face first into his stew.

“All right, all right,” an older dwarf said in his rolling brogue, “Silence ye lot and I’ll tell ye the tale of the disarmin’ lass we have in our company tonight!”

He raised his mug in salute to the dwarfess, who sat at the head of the table in a place of honor.  The paladin dipped her head in courtesy to her elder, returning his toast before taking a drink from her mug.  Taking that as a sign that he could continue, the elder began his story.

♣

It all began in this very tavern, at that table right over there.  Our brave lass was taking dinner with one of her companions, when Lord Brunt first laid eyes upon her.  Indeed, it was much said by the dwarves that night that it was as if a star from heaven had alighted among them, so rare a jewel did they find in this city of tall-folk and point-ears.  As befitting her grace, she dined and drank with them, much as she does with us tonight. 

This very table, it was, where Brunt revealed that their delegation from Citadel Adbar had been sent to negotiate a contract of work with one of the many Captain Clans that ruled the waterways.  It was a very lucrative venture, but one that hazarded to escalate the conflicts over land rights, for some of the other Clans had already invested their funds in the adamantine forgings of the Drow.

There were many angry mutterings into ale mugs around the table of dwarves, and a few insults about the low quality of elvish metal, but the elder waved them down with both hands so that he could continue the tale.

Unbeknownst to our brave lass, some of her companions from earlier ventures were discussing a lucrative venture of their own.  A pair of them had come by a treasure map and decided to share this news with their fellow adventurers.  After much discussion, they all deemed that it was better to see if the cave and its treasure existed than to simply shrug the map off as a forgery.  So, the call to adventure sounded and off they went.

They didn’t get far, though, before they ran afoul of some miserable goblins, who had apparently waylaid a caravan on its way back to the city.  Women and children were counted among the dead, butchered for no other reason than because they were in the way.  Even the animals, the horses, made into little more than goblin fodder.  It was a travesty.

Enraged by the brutal savagery and heedless of her own safety, the dwarfess charged into battle with a mighty cry to Lathander!

Cheers erupted around the table and the dwarves all pounded their mugs against the hardwood in approval; their guest of honor merely bowed her head in acceptance of their praise.  More mugs of ale were brought around and the dwarves toasted the courage and ferocity of their local heroine.  However, the elder was not finished with his tale; he slammed his mug on the table, calling for them all to quiet down.  Once the dwarves settled, he resumed.

These goblins were just a small band of thieves and cutthroats, little more than wretched curs trying to eke out a living.  As our lass charged them, her dwarven battle-axe gleaming in the waning afternoon light, she deemed them unworthy of a death by good, dwarven steel.  She hurled her axe to one side, the blade biting deep in the burned husk of one of the caravan wagons.

“Tha’s not quite ‘ow it went…” The paladin prompted from her place at the head of the table.

However, the elder glared her direction, slamming his mug on the table.  For a long moment, the paladin and the elder stared at one another, but after a moment the paladin sighed and dipped her head respectfully to her elder.  With a satisfied grunt, he turned back to his retelling.

Thinking her disarmed, one of the goblins lunged forward, clouting her upside the helm with his crude cudgel.  And as we all know, rough wood holds no candle to good dwarvish metal.

Again, the dwarves cheered, bellowing jibes against goblins and their lack of value.

Determined to show these goblin louts how a good dwarf  deals with their enemies, our lass took the very club that the goblin had clouted her with a single jerk of her mighty arms.

Gales of laughter hooted around the table of dwarves, one of them daring to lay a hand upon the paladin’s person, lifting one of her arms upward like a champion who had just won a bout.

Her face colored a faint shade of rose.  “Tha’s not quite ‘ow tha’ ‘appened either…”

“It happened this way, I tell ye true!” The elder said, giving her another glare.

She sighed and, again, acquiesced.

Once she’d disarmed the runty blighter, she threatened him with his own cudgel, scaring him so badly that he fled right then and there.  Another of his green-skinned cohorts was not so wise, however, and dared to strike again at our daring lass!

Roars of drunken indignation erupted around the table as many an oath was sworn to hunt down every green-skinned lop-ear from Luskan to Waterdeep.  Such was the courage the quiet paladin inspired—well, her and a few kegs of drink.

Again, the elder dwarf called for silence, even going so far as to clout one of the rowdier dwarves upside the head, knocking him clean down to the floor.  The others, not wanting to follow their fellow face down into the floorboards, were silent as they were bade.

Disgusted by the miserable lot of them, our lass added insult to injury by crushing the remaining goblin before her with his cohort’s own club!

A brief roaring cheer erupted only to be quickly silenced by the glare of the elder.

Behind her, not to be out-done, the others of her party dispatched the remaining goblins with alacrity – but how can point-ears and humans really compare to the might of a Shield Dwarf?  Their enemies laid low, the party turned to see what havoc the wretched fiends had wrought.

Death.  A noble woman and her child, all that remained to adequately identify them was a family crest on the woman’s brooch.  A pair of merchants who could be identified by their signet rings.  Between them, our lass and one of her companions, a monastic of some sort, laid the dead to rest in a shallow grave, giving them as proper a set of rites as they could among such primitive environs.

Determined to set this wrong to some manner of right, the party quit their pursuit of the cave and its treasure, deciding then to return to town so that they could notify the next of kin for all the deceased.  They were hailed as heroes, but in their hearts they knew they were heroes too late.

Several of the dwarves, steeped in their spirits, booed the melancholy end of the tale, others vowed revenge upon every breathing goblin between Luskan and Waterdeep.  There was only one of their number who remained silent, raven-crowned head bowed low in rememberance of the slain.  The paladin looked up, her blue eyes going to the elder who related the tale.

“A fine tellin’, Master Grum,” she said.  “Ye do me far much more honor than th’truth of it all.  Thank ye all fer th’drink an’ th’comp’ny.”

The paladin rose and departed without much more than that.  The table of dwarves watched her go, somewhat disheartened, but after another round of drinks they hailed their heroine, singing songs of her daring-do and her gentle water-blue eyes.

They lavished her name with glory — at least whatever glory could be found at the bottom of a tankard of ale.

Ruria Hammerfall, the Disarming Lass.

Forgotten Realms is a recognized product of Wizards of the Coast.  It is presented here as a derivative work based on our Dungeons & Dragons 3.5 Edition gaming sessions. This is a work of fan fiction only.

[Show as slideshow]

Like writing, like photography, people have often asked me “How do you do that?” or made comments like “I envy your talent” — statements of awe that cause me to just smile and shake my head.  I wasn’t born with this kind of talent; I’m not some miracle prodigy of the arts.  Everything I have done and everything I have accomplished was through my own stubbornness and sheer force of will.  My willingness to learn and grow.  Most of all because I was surrounded by supportive people who believed in my dreams.

I realize, though, that there are people who are born to such talent, who are immediately destined for greatness, I don’t detract from that at all.  However, for the rest of us, for we Mediocre Mollies who have to carve out our destinies against detractors, defamers, and people who stop at nothing to tear us down and shatter our hopes — there are people in our lives who serve the singular purpose of pushing us toward our dreams.  Perhaps it is a beloved friend, a wise mentor, a caring spouse or significant other, or even a stranger reaching out across the distant reaches of cyberspace.  No matter who they are or where they are, embrace these people and their willingness to accept everything that you are in awe.  Allow them to not only inspire you, but allow yourself to inspire them.

We are all people of many talents, if we have the courage to take that first step, to learn and to grow.  The perseverance to stick with it, even when it frustrates and infuriates us.  The acceptance to know that, yes, there will be people who might be “better” at it than we are.  However, like a friend once said to me, “Everything you offer is unique because it came from you; no other person could create the exact same thing in the exact same way.”

Embrace being unique.  Embrace bringing to the world whatever you feel you might remotely have talent for.  You never know, you may find that tiny grain of sand that turns out to be the piece of a star that gives you your moment to shine.

A picture is worth a thousand words…

At least, that’s how that old saying goes, doesn’t it?  That’s the beauty of the world to us as writers — there are stories to be had in everything.  Inspiration is literally  everywhere.  I think that’s a lot of the reason I also enjoy photography as a hobby; not simply the act of taking photos but looking at photos of other artists on Google+.  You might be amazed at how many stories, micro-fics, or mini journeys I have taken because of a single image.

Too often I hear fellow writers complain about being stumped, of being overwhelmed by writer’s block, and I’ll advise them to head over to my favorite photographers’ galleries.  It’s interesting to hear the stories they come up with for the various images they come across.  Or how they take certain images and populate them with characters from stories they’re working on or stories of their peers.  Story, my friends, is never hard to find.

It’s not some elusive, fae creature.  Stories want to be found, they want to be shared.  If you ever need a dose of inspiration, try some of these amazingly talented photographers:

►  Dag Hagerius – Almost every image in Dag’s gallery makes me want to tell a story.  My personal favorites are The Spirit is Occupied, Still Here, and Finished.
►  Ed King — He does amazing landscape photography that is sure to inspire a story or two.

The next time you feel like your story is getting away from you or that it’s becoming harder to find, just take a visual journey somewhere (or even take a trip in real life).  Don’t just look at things, though, really see and experience them.  If you find yourself wondering about the story behind something, ask or create one.  Take a notepad with you and jot down any ideas that come to mind.

The only reason you have for never being able to find story… is because you simply aren’t wanting to find it.  Open yourself to the world around you, experience the world — don’t just get by in it.  I guarantee that story will bludgeon you for attention and you’ll have more stories to share than you know what to do with.

]]> http://writerholic.com/2012/07/finding-story/feed/ 0 http://writerholic.com/2012/06/thickening-of-the-skin/ http://writerholic.com/2012/06/thickening-of-the-skin/#comments Fri, 15 Jun 2012 00:45:18 +0000 Angeli http://writerholic.com/?p=840 As long-time readers of my blog can tell you, I’ve been writing for a long time.  Over the years, I’ve been through the school of hard knocks when it comes to my writing and criticism.  I’ve been dragged through the wringer and I’ve been praised for my brilliance.  I’ve run the gamut of empty platitudes parroted by my friends in an effort to appear supportive.  I should have a t-shirt:  I survived criticism, I’m still writing.  And all I got was a cotton shirt.

If anything, I’m living proof that you can take the worst criticism imaginable and use it to your advantage.  Use it to empower your writing, instead of tear it down.  Even if all someone says is “You suck!” — take that and use it, galvanize yourself with it and make a goal to prove them wrong.  Far too often in writing communities and groups that I’m part of writers seem to only want to hear good things about their work; they want to be patronized, given a pat on the head, and told that they have done a good thing.  I find it hard to take writers like this seriously.  No writer in their right mind wants to hear only the good they’ve done.   I certainly don’t.

Then again, I have been prepared for hard criticism for years.  There is very little the world-at-large can say to me that I would find offensive.  Even in the worst criticism, I have learned to glean things that might be important.  This is something Suzanna Reeves and I have spoken about numerous times during our writing meet-ups every week.  Every criticism has its use.  Even in the vitriol of the worst detractor of your work, there is something useful to be found.  There are writers I’ve come across, though, that aren’t mentally or emotionally prepared for these kinds of eventualities.  If you aren’t prepared to take on all kinds of criticism of your work, then you are not prepared to face the reality of the world as a writer.

A writer must thicken their skin to survive and certainly to publish.  We cannot afford to be naive about our craft.  Everyone will not love us, but everyone will not hate us either.  We must be prepared for both, because we will come across both.   It’s inevitable.

More importantly, we need to surround ourselves with people who will support what we do.  I’m not just talking about our friends and family — although they are important — I’m talking about people who will be completely honest and real with us.  People who aren’t afraid to give us the bad with the good.  If we truly desire to improve as writers, we can’t cloister ourselves in little bubbles of positive reviews, we achieve nothing in doing so.  A writer grows through all the feedback they are given.  If a writer doesn’t grow, then a writer ceases to push beyond their limit to achieve greater things.  Don’t settle for mediocrity.