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Posts archive for: May, 2008
  • SEVEN DAYS

    I just got put on sick leave for a week for my depression. I have decided that in these seven days I am writing and completing a novel. It'll essentially be a biography of my 22 years, since no one can help me out with this depression, and no pills fix it, and no counsellors or psychiatrists ever want to litsen or help, this is sort of a therapy for me.

    The premise is that the reader becomes the psychiatrist that never listened. And the rules are that I tell the whole truth throughout and it finishes when my sick leave finishes, at that point, it's over.

    What kind of book does that sound like to you?

    I realise it's pretentious and it's a real gamble to try and bang some 22 years out in 7 days, making it interesting and coherrent, but I might manage.

    Has anyone else ever experimented like this?

    Amii

  • Keeping Le Faye at Bay, A Fractured Fairytale

    Wicked Morgan Le Faye persists with her aim
    To oust Guinevere, her rival of fame.
    She shouts, “I, Morgana, will rule Camelot!
    My life will be perfect when I wed Lancelot!!”

    For toothless and twitchy, this vacuous crone
    Would steal the King’s treasure and usurp his throne.
    By flagons and dragons, this shriveled old maid
    Is lured by the glint of Excalibur’s blade!

    She sits by the mirror and blissfully preens,
    “I’m fairer by far than that featherbrained Queen!”
    Preparing a potion, this venomous witch whispers,
    “Farewell, sweet Gwen, soon I’ll be filthy rich!”

    Then ceased by a fit of malevolent cackles
    To rival a herd of maniacal jackals,
    She poisons the apple so shiny and red
    That she’ll place in a basket by Guinevere’s bed.

    But Merlin appears in a flash of white light.
    He points at the biddy. She cringes in fright.
    “Madam, hand me that fruit or you’ll cop a real beaut!
    You won’t look too cute as a freckle-faced newt!!”

    With a roll of his eyes Arthur says, “Sis, get real,
    Despite what you think, you’ve no sex appeal.
    Stop stirring your cauldron, quit casting your spell!
    Sir Lance doesn’t like you. Your warts look like hell!”

    Unloved and unwanted, she withers to dust
    That whirls, twists and swirls, then swiftly combusts.
    The wind’s wintry breath soon whisks the floor clean,
    But her laughter still lingers. It’s loathsome, obscene.

    And so, for the moment, Le Faye’s kept at bay,
    But the harpy will rise in her sad disarray
    For the hag has her eye on the brave Galahad.
    Yes, a noble Grail-seeker would make a great Dad!

    Second Prize 1997 Australian U3A Poetry Competition

  • When World Views Collide - An Evening With Lois McMaster Bujold

    barrayar

    Back in my VISION days, I had the honour of interviewing multiple award-winning fantasy author Lois McMaster Bujold.

    VISION is a Brisbane-based group for writers of Science Fiction, Horror and Fantasy and was founded by children’s author and fantasy writer, Rowena Cory Daniells. Check it out at www.visionwriters.org

    Aspiring overseas writers are most welcome to join the VISION e-list at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/vision-writers/

    This article, my first, was a surprise challenge and was published in the VISION Newsletter in April 1998.

    ‘Hi, this is Rowena. Lois McMaster Bujold will be in Brisbane next Thursday night and we’re trying to organize a get-together for her at Adrianne’s place. She writes space opera. Please let me know as soon as possible if you can come …’

    The message on the answering machine sounded intriguing. I returned our illustrious leader’s call and accepted without hesitation, but was ashamed to admit I’d never heard of the woman, let alone read any of her books. Then again, I hadn’t read much of anything lately. I’d cold-turkeyed off my five-novel-per-week habit several years ago, thanks to eye problems and the demands of motherhood.

    As a fledgling fantasy writer, I knew I was woefully out of touch. Still, what better way to remedy the situation than to meet a genuine author? I was eager to learn more about her, so I did some research. Here’s what I discovered.

    Lois McMaster Bujold was born in 1949 and attended Ohio State University, but didn’t graduate. She describes her education as reading 5 books per week for 10 years (now, that sounded vaguely familiar), reading enormous amounts of science fiction as a teenager, and listening to her father, an engineer. She is divorced, with a son and a daughter.

    She started writing in 1982 and sold her first story to Twilight Zone in 1985. Baen bought her first three books, publishing them in 1986. Her central character, Miles Vorkosigan, is a puny aristocrat who prefers to use wit rather than military might when it comes to solving problems.

    Bujold won Hugo Awards for her novels, The Vor Game, Barrayar, Mirror Dance and Mountains of Mourning; and six of her books (including Brothers in Arms and Labyrinth) are on Locus’ recommended reading list. She also won Locus Awards for Barrayar and Mirror Dance. In addition to winning Nebula Awards for Falling Free and Mountains of Mourning, she was also nominated for the John W Campbell Award in 1987.

    Awesome! It promised to be a most interesting meeting indeed.

    A week later, I arrived at Adrianne’s home and knocked on her door. It was a cold, miserable April evening and the rain was beating a listless tattoo on the roof of her carport.

    ‘Am I early?’ I called cheerily, trying not to trip over her cat. The digital clock in my car was 6 hours 20 minutes slow. No-one seemed to know how to fix it. I prayed my mental arithmetic was correct.

    ‘A little,’ Adrianne replied. ‘But that’s okay. Come on in. We’re just finishing dinner.’

    Unlocking the screen door, she ushered me in, sat me down at the dinner table and offered me cheesecake. I hunched over in my chair in an attempt to present the smallest possible target to the world. After a brief lull, the dinner conversation continued.

    ‘Don’t you just love American conventions?’ asked a vivacious woman with short, brown hair. ‘They schedule about twelve really interesting events simultaneously and you wish you could see them all. There’s so much to do …’

    As inconspicuously as possible, I began to inch my chair toward the living room. I’d almost escaped when a young man (later identified as Ron from Pulp Fiction) said, ‘Don’t be shy. Come, sit closer.’ I smiled weakly and obeyed.

    Five minutes later, Chris and Sally arrived and, with much clinking of plates and cutlery, we adjourned to the living room before I could embarrass myself any further. Selecting a comfy chair between Sally and the vivacious, brown-haired woman, I sipped my coffee and whined to them about the weather. The woman turned to me and smiled.

    ‘Cold? You gotta be kidding. Back in Minnesota, we used to drive on the lakes. They were frozen at the time, of course.’

    Suddenly, realization dawned. I was talking to Lois McMaster Bujold! For someone so successfully, she seemed remarkably friendly and down-to-earth.

    By 7.30pm, twenty-one V.I.S.I.O.N members, two visiting SF fans, three of Adrianne’s students and a large, fluffy feline had assembled to welcome our guest of honour to Australia. Bujold put us all at ease by asking us to introduce ourselves and give a brief outline of our writing interests before launching into an informal Q & A session. The questions came thick and fast. I whipped out my notebook and jotted down some of Bujold’s pearls of wisdom …

    Bad news comes by mail – good news with a phone call.

    When you finish one book, move onto the next ASAP.

    Contracts aren’t permanent. You can always fix your mistakes next time round.

    Never write back to a reviewer. It’s unprofessional.

    Writer’s block is your friend. Your back-brain is telling you you’re going in the wrong direction.

    After about an hour, we paused for refreshment and mingled. I nearly choked on my coffee when both Adrianne and Rowena approached me to do this article on Bujold for the V.I.S.I.O.N Newsletter. They’d seen me taking notes. I agreed (with a certain amount of trepidation) and returned to my scribbling with renewed zeal for I was now a roving reporter.

    Midway through the proceedings, Bujold delivered an eloquent speech (‘When World Views Collide’) that explored the way people really read.

    ‘Each time someone reads a book, two world views collide. For example, if a cynical, angry reader reads a cynical, angry book, he will feel comfortable … No two people reading the same text will experience it in the same way or at two different points in their lives. When you were twelve, it was impossible to read something that didn’t expand the mind … Reading is very subjective. People read books for different reasons. Some people need to get away from life … Writers become spoiled readers. They start proofreading everything … They look at transitions and are conscious of structure and weak dialogue … Theme is what a book is really about.’

    After the speech, Bujold fielded another barrage of questions with her usual warmth and wit.

    Who are your favourite authors?
    ‘Terry Pratchett. I’d pay to see him any day. Also Heinlein, Tolkien, Asimov, Cord Wainer-Smith, Dorothy Sayers, Arthur Conan Doyle and Poul Anderson. I actually went to dinner with him once.’

    Do you have an agent?
    ‘Yes, Eleanor Wood. She was Heinlein’s agent.’

    How much to you write each day?
    ‘Hard to say. My professional production schedule is two chapters per month. Normally I try to write about 1500 words per day – 500 if I’m working through a sticky bit. I write in ‘chunks’ or sections and amass notes for several months before starting a novel.’

    How accurate does the scientific information have to be?
    ‘If used in the foreground, it has to be correct science. If it’s not central to the story, you have to make sure it’s not noticeably wrong. I try to keep up to date with modern technology by reading Scientific American. It also helps having a background in biology and being able to draw on my Dad’s experience as an engineer. I used to work as a drug administration technician in a hospital. Elizabeth Moon was an emergency medical technician and she appreciates the fact that I do my medicine right. Still, you get the occasional problem. An exercise physiologist contacted me and complained about my use of the phrase, ‘lactic acid buildup’. She said the term was obsolete.’

    What about co-writing?
    ‘There are as many different techniques as there are writers. There’s no right or wrong way.’

    Have the Baen people approached you about franchising?

    ‘Yes, after my first Hugo Award. But no, I wouldn’t like to do it. It’s too opposite to the way I work. I like to have the power to make my own settings.’

    When writing the seventh or eighth book in a series, how do you bring readers up to speed?
    ‘I must admit it’s getting more difficult. The problem is how to get in enough back-story. You can either tell it from a different viewpoint or get a different character to tell it with a different attitude. For example, you could have a couple of characters talking about something that happened previously and flip the viewpoints around. In doing this, each book enriches the other and eventually, the whole series begins to cross-fertilise.’

    Do you have to re-read so you don’t forget things?
    ‘Yes.’

    Have you thought of writing a prequel?

    ‘Actually, I’ve written two. With prequels, the ending is constrained. That makes them harder to write. You can overcome this problem by setting the story in a place you’ve never been before. Or, you can use new characters. No-one knows if they’re going to live or die.’

    What are your favourite novels?
    ‘Out of the ones I’ve written?’

    Yes
    ‘’Mirror Dance’ and ‘Memory’.’

    Do you have anything you wish had never been printed?
    ‘No. I just think to myself, ‘that’s the best she could do at the time.’ I can live with that.’

    Tension is one of your calling cards. Can you comment on this?
    ‘I try to keep Miles continually challenged. He’s a very self-conscious hero. Not your usual tall, dark and handsome stereotype. There’s something a bit subversive about him. I like to have my characters emotionally involved. But, different readers have different tolerance levels for tension. You can’t cater for the idiosyncratic. To create the new, you have to annihilate the old and force change onto the reader.’

    In what countries are your books selling?
    ‘Australia, Britain, USA, Canada, Japan, Russia, Poland, France, Italy, Germany, Spain. Fourteen foreign languages in all. I was pirated in Bulgaria and they stole some novellas in Greece. My books have also been translated into Hebrew, Lithuanian and Croatian.’

    Do you work with the translators?
    ‘No, not normally. But it’s interesting to see what survives translation.’

    Have you thought of adapting your work to a TV series or movie?

    ‘I was actually presented with a script for ‘Warrior’s Apprentice’. It was horrible. The characters had my names, but that was where the similarity ended. The story was entirely different, too. Let me give you a word of advice. Before signing a contract, make sure you pay special attention to the clause, ‘moral rights’. It means ‘the right for a work to be accurately presented.’

    Would you consider writing the script to a movie?
    ‘No, it’s a different discipline. Scripting is the career of the future, but I think I’ll stick to novels. I’m lucky enough to be financially comfortable. My need for money is limited only by my teenagers’ ability to spend it.’

    As laughter flooded the room, Adrianne called the session to a close and presented Bujold with a thank-you give: an Australiana bookmarker and a box of chocolates which the author generously shared around the room. After refreshments and some more mingling, I purchased a copy of Barrayar, which Bujold graciously autographed, and headed for home.

    Two world views collided most favourably later that night as I snuggled up beneath my doona and devoured my new book into the wee hours of the morning. I was well and truly hooked. The only sound I could hear was the voice of legendary Betan jump-ship commander, Cordelia Naismith-Vorkosigan (Miles’ Mum), echoing in the soundstage of my mind.

    Funnily enough, she sounded just like Lois McMaster Bujold.

    Any other fantasy/sci-fi writers out there?

  • Magic isn't just spells and potions, it's within us if we take the time to look

    Wrote this article on Writer’s Block when invited to typeset/guest-edit a couple of issues of Scope, the Magazine of the Fellowship of Australian Writers (Qld). (Published November 1999 edition). A daunting task for an amateur who had only been writing for a couple of years.

    “That’s awful!” snaps the editor-gremlin perched upon your shoulder. “How many times do I have to tell you, it’s ‘lie’ not ‘lay’? And why so many adjectives? Do you enjoy overwriting?”

    A knot of panic grips your throat as you reach for the mouse, delete a phrase, cut and paste for a minute or so, add two, three, four new words …

    “Look, you’ve made another spelling mistake!” hisses the demon, gesturing at the screen with its horny, great fingernail, “And what’s this nonsense about ‘slender yellow fruit’? If you mean ‘bananas’, write ‘bananas’. And you’re using passive voice again! Surely you’re not thinking of submitting this garbage to Scope?”

    You sigh, make the necessary revisions, and tap out a lively rap medley on the keyboard with your fingertips. Suddenly inspiration strikes! You complete the sentence with a flourish and fix your tormentor with a malevolent glare.

    “Cliché! Tautology!! Split infinitive!!!” cackles the gremlin with glee. It blows a raspberry into your ear, and implodes with an audible pop.

    Defeated, you delete the paragraph you’ve been mangling for the past two hours, flick the computer off and crash to the bed in a fit of despair.

    Then the self-flagellation sets in: “Why can’t I be more like so-and-so? They’ve just sold a sci-fi trilogy and won another competition. Woe is me, my stuff must be terrible. I may as well give up!”

    If this sort of negative head-talk sounds familiar, check out fantasy author Lisa R Cohen’s website on www.sff.net/People/LisaRC/myown.htm for an in-depth analysis of writer’s block.

    Whether your problem be lack of time, physical or mental fatigue, depression, poor health, money hassles, writing what you feel you should be writing instead of what you want to write, or my own personal demon of perfectionism, you’ll discover writer’s block is a self-propelling mechanism. The more you don’t write, the more you feel you can’t write. The more you feel you can’t write, the more you feel hopeless to try.

    So, what’s the cure?

    Simple: You write your way out of it.

    Give yourself permission to do a lousy first draft. Commit your thoughts to paper – warts, wooden dialogue and all. Be daring, be decadent! Forget homework topics, genre and competition deadlines – write what you want to write. Let your imagination run wild! And remember, no one but you need ever see this draft. You can always go back and polish your work later.

    In her article, Cohen interviewed several prolific writers on how they tackled difficult projects and how they avoided the writers’ block doldrums. Their answers contained these common elements:

    1 – Don’t obsess on one thing – juggle several projects. If you get stuck on one, move to another.

    2 – Commit to finishing everything you start – if you’ve left a project, commit to returning to it.

    3 – Change the mode of putting down words – if you’re stuck on the computer, try a dictation machine or writing by hand; or change where you write – go outside, to the park or library.

    4 – Get those jolly little endorphins pumping – take a walk, mow the lawn. Physical activity of the slightly mindless kind seems to generate mental activity of the kind that promotes creativity.

    Cohen also advocates treating yourself like a recovering athlete. She says writer’s block can be a career-threatening injury, so you don’t want to rush the comeback and risk a relapse. By understanding your problem, you improve your chances of returning to the enthusiastic, dedicated writer you used to be. Writer’s block is not just an obstacle: it’s a sign there’s something that needs fixing.

    So rest and recuperate if you must and, when ready, work toward recapturing that love of writing. And while recovering, take solace in the thought that even though you’re temporarily unable to commit words to paper, you probably still are writing – when driving, grocery shopping or weeding the garden. So keep your writer’s notebook handy for when those words start tumbling deliciously from the ether again.

    And they will.

    Cohen’s article helped me break through a lengthy block precipitated by two deaths in the family, major financial trouble and the loss of a career due to health problems. I’m sure her advice will help you too.

    Reinette 58
    warping2gallifrey.blog.co.uk

  • Focus Obsession

    Well, I think not now.:yawn:
    But, on second thought...probably just a little bit.
    Here we go...88|
    FACADE
    Malcolm
    Ah, Stan, do me a favor, will you. Pick Allie at your brother's. And make sure they're not doin' anything stupid. I mean that!
    He gets himself inside. And the elevator moves down. At the lower ground, they are hurry up reaching their vehicles.
    Malcolm
    I'll wait for you at the big house!
    Then they part away.

  • Hello All

    I'm completely new to blogging but have been persuaded by a friend to get going. Not really sure how to go about it so I'm relying on your expert advice :D

    Currently I attend a Writers Group at Dundee university and this will be my second year. I'm hoping some of my scribblings will improve enough for acknowledgement within the group - lots are published authors.

    Enough blethers from me ...

  • Chaos

    Hey, here's another - I'm only posting the small stuff over here, so if you like it, I have some longer stories on my blog, cheers :)

    Chaos

    Controlled life dies
    Chaos reigns down
    All through the night
    Rippling through the town

    Trees crack and fall
    Normal life fades
    Shadows over walls
    And down through waters wade

    Science breathes its last
    Crying out in space
    All things from the past
    Now lay down in waste

    Sensing something wrong
    The world itself will shake
    And from this chaos song
    Order shall it make

  • 2 poems

    The Road
    I am broken like a wave
    One word you’ve spoken
    And I’m awake
    Here is a token
    Of that day
    From that land
    From whence we came
    Familiar streets that now are foreign
    And the road is grey with dirt and ash again
    Why wait
    To ponder on
    The simple thing
    That I have become
    It is forgotten
    For a duration
    For a while
    It shall remain
    Though a loss
    It is emancipation
    It is a freedom all the same

    Dust Sawdust
    Beginning again,
    Time slips
    Feel the earth turn
    Solar systems spit
    Ants crawl
    Ants fly
    Ants stumble
    Ants die
    Arc of the Universe
    Just behind the eyes
    Infinitesimal infinity
    I lie, he lies, she lied
    Falling asleep
    To higher plains
    Dying of thirst
    Soaked in rain
    Man crawls
    Man flies
    Man stumbles
    Man dies
    He lies, she lies, we lie mans lies

  • Here's A Few I Prepared Earlier

    BLOGGING'S A LOSING GAME?

    See me, I have no shame
    Blogging's a losing game
    Tongue in cheek, but it's all the same
    Blogging's a caring game

    My memory could be amazed
    Yet it's been erased
    I have nothing planned
    My Brain could use a hand

    Posts cannot be found
    Please look all around
    I'll get a helping hand
    This blog's a futile stand

    Have I lost my mind?
    Blogging I'm sure you'll find
    Somedays, can be unkind
    By those who are unsigned

    Just ignore the sods
    Let them pray to their gods
    You know I have no shame
    Blogging's a funny game.

    MY WAY...

    Hello, my blog is here, and I must say my back is hurting
    my blog's may bring a tear, and maybe a bit of flirting
    I've blogged and broke the rule, And I've surfed t'internet highway
    I've bored, but just one wish, I blogged it my way
    My blogs, are blogged for you, but yeah I know that is pretention
    I blogged what I had to blog, even with a great big correction
    I have no plan or wooden horse, A careless post, blogged on a weekday
    Oh yes, I've just one wish, to blog it my way
    Yeah there were blogs, just one or two,
    that didn't mean a thing to you
    But through my blogs, I learnt to shout
    I met new friends who helped me out
    I typed them all, and had a ball
    And blogged it my way
    I've blogged, I've shed a tear, I've had my fill, my share of boozing
    I stink but blogged all that, and can I say, in a fly-way
    But no, oh no that's me, I blogged it my way
    For what is a blog? What has it got?
    A bit of fun, a bit of snot
    To post the blogs in between meals
    And not the blogs of my ideals
    My blogging's slow, and God only knows
    I BLOGGED IT MY WAAAAAAAAYYYYYY

    I WANNA GO WI' BRITNEY!

    Ah wanna go wi' Britney, but Herself will nae let me.
    She says if ah go wi' Britney, that she's gonna hit me.
    Oh ah wanna go wi' Britney, but Herself willnae let me
    Oh no Oh me Oh my.
    Ah think she's in a muddle, and she jist needs a wee cuddle
    Ah think I'm the man tae show her fun, but Herself willnae let me gie' her one
    Ah think she's in a bit o' a pickle, and needs a wee bit o' slap'n'tickle
    Ah wanna go wi' Britney, But Herself willnae let me
    She says if ah go wi' Britney that she'll throw me oot, and hit me.
    Oh ah wanna go wi' Britney but Herself willnae let me
    Oh me, Oh my.
    Ah'll get ma leather troosers, and show her a' the boozers
    Ah'd even shave ma heid, but widnae touch the weed
    Ah could dry all her tears, that poor lass Britney Speirs
    Ah jus' wanna comfort the lass, but Herself will gie' me a kick up ma a**
    Oh ah wanna go wi' Britney, but Herself willnae let me.
    Ah wanna go wi' Britney, but ma leathers dinae fit me
    Oh ah wanna go wi Britney, just wan kiss, if she'll let me
    Oh ah wanna go wi' Britney, but Herself said she'd hit me
    Oh no, Oh me, Oh my.
    A jist wanna comfort the wee lassie, ah think she's awfy sassy
    Ah luv that Britney Spears, fur her ah'd shave ma ears
    Ah wanna go wi' Britney, but Herself willnae let me
    Ah wanna go wi' Britney Spears, Ah've fancied her fur years'n'years
    Ah wanna go wi' Britney, but George W Bush willnae let me
    Oh no, Oh, me, Oh my.

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