Writer's Block

As the definition of "writer's block" goes, I don't usually get it the way other people seem to. Or at least, not the way I hear it most often described, which seems to be I DON'T HAVE ANYTHING TO WRITE ABOUT. I've never had that problem. I always have something I could be writing. My writer's block is something more mechanical, and something emotional. It's a block between my brain and my fingers. You see, I am one of those strange people who thinks of their characters as little voices in the back of her head, and generally speaking I don't have direct control over what they're doing back there. I mean, I can try to assert something resembling control over them, but in the end they'll do what they like.

So, it's safe to say that every moment of my life, some part of my brain is dedicated to those little voices. I can be doing any number of things and those little voices will be messing around doing whatever back there. This is why I tend to have little journals and loose notes filled with scribbles through my handbag; snippets of conversations come to me and I need to keep track of them, though to be honest I lose most of these moments even if do catch them with my pen before they evaporate completely. But they're always there.

Right now I am in utter despair because I've had three days off work; it's the third day now and I've written...nothing, really. Maybe a couple of thousand words, and by my standards that's truly pathetic. I just can't concentrate. Admittedly I'm on the verge of a nervous breakdown for a variety of real-life issues you don't want to hear about, but...I don't know. When I'm this depressed I can go either way, when it comes to how much I write. I either throw myself utterly into the work and allow it to subsume my consciousness and fail to exist as a person in my own right. I just become other people because I hate myself and it's just...easier, that way. Or I just lie around staring at the ceiling unable to do anything but concentrate on how much I suck as a human being and achieve nothing. I've spent the last two days in the latter mode.

It's infuriating.

The last month or so, I've been introduced to two new characters, both of whom are fascinating and pivotal personalities. And I haven't been able to write more than a few paragraphs about either, even though they're right there waiting for me to do it. Arjit, in particular, is being extremely persuasive and is giving me his story in first person narrative -- which is not something I write very often these days. And from what little I've managed to transcribe, he's got something good to give me. What I have written, I am enjoying immensely. But I'm so messed up that I just can't write more than a couple hundred words before dissolving into paralysis and quitting completely.

So. It's eleven in the morning and I have the whole day ahead of me. I should go back to Arjit and just let him talk to me some more. He's...probably good in that respect, in that I've been horribly depressed the last two weeks and my characters vary in their attitudes towards me when I'm like this. .gifs will do the explaining for me. Because I mean, there's maybe one character who reacts like this, and is kind to me when I'm so depressed I can't even speak:

Mostly, though, this is what they do (Arjit's the second type):

...yeah. Always a concern when even the little voices in your head can't sympathise with you.

So, back to the grindstone?

Twit Fic

I've always had an issue with self-confidence. I'm not going to go into a sobstory about how it started because to be frank I have no bloody clue, but it's relevant here for one reason -- I'm thinking of entering another competition. And it's a competition that scares me silly.

I belong to a local (i.e. a New Zealand-based) speculative writer's group called SpecFicNZ, and I tend to feel like a fraud when I have anything to do with it. After all, it has plenty of members who, like, actually publish things. Whereas I just fluff around with my characters, never get anything done, and generally make my carbon footprint on the world the size of a yeti's while making no relevant contribution to anything. So, I have an issue right there; I'm generally scared to death of speaking to anyone who has anything to do with the group because I suffer from what they poetically name "Imposter Syndrome." I'm just waiting for the polite email that says "You're not a writer. Go away and play with your broken little toys elsewhere."

The next issue comes from the fact that the competition in question was announced yesterday and...it's a Twitter contest. Or at least, it's themed that way, in that said stories are romantic speculative ditties written with 140 characters or less. I'm the kind of moron who struggles to meet word limits when it comes to short stories of six thousand words. So...uh. Yeah. This ain't gonna work.

And yet I am trying. At first I took one look at it and said OH GOD THIS IS DREAMING YOU CAN'T DO THIS. And yet, the last couple of days I've been reading various tumblrs that take from Texts From Last Night. In particular there are three that amused me greatly; they take from the movie Alexander, the anime Shoujo Kakumei Utena and the television series Doctor Who and by combining a screencap with a text quote from the original website we get gems like these (click the link for the full tumblr experience):

From http://utena-tfln.tumblr.com

From textsfromthetardis.tumblr.com

From textsfrommacedonia.tumblr.com

It also helps that thanks to some talented people at In The Rose Garden I also became aware of a site called A Softer World some time ago; they were remixing text from the strips with screencaps from Utena, resulting in things like this particular beauty:

I feel terrible because I can't remember who remixed it. But all of these taught me something -- you can tell a story in very, very few words. It's not a skill I've ever mastered; the most success I've had recently was with The Journey of the Magi (almost four thousand words exactly) and Tea For Two (just under six thousand); both are pushing the limit of their associated publication/competition rules, but they got did what they were supposed to. So go figure; this means I've actually logged onto my Twitter account for the first time in years and am using it to compose little one-forty character stories and seeing how it goes. We can only enter the competition once, so I have to come up with something before Valentine's Day. Hilariously, writing a one-forty character drabble will likely take me ten times as long as it would to write fourteen hundred actual words of a novel or a short story.

I am fascinated by the act of it, though. And while I know those above illustrations work partly because of their illustrations, the fact that you can take the text away and put it somewhere else says a lot for the strength of the story inherent in the words themselves. I'm supposed to be a wordsmith, hack though I inevitably truly am. So, I shall hack away on the Twitter and see where it takes me.

Losing The Game

 

I saw just before on another blog I follow that Deniz was interviewing a character, which I thought was rather an interesting little exercise. I didn't quite feel in the mood to attempt it myself today, but then I remembered that while I was NaNo-ing I found an old game on livejournal and decided to play it again with the characters from Greywater and its sequels. It's ever so slightly out of date already, because I've had a couple of subsequent epiphanies, but here it is for posterity. And because it always amuses me.

Incidentally, the character above is Nan; she gets short shrift in this meme because of her thing for llamas. And guinea pigs. She also wants to be a Sizzling Gypsy. Well, shit. ...so yeah, the way this works? You write out ten names of characters. Then you answer the questions. With any luck, HILARITY ENSUES.

...or not.

1. Derel Sabin, Warrant Officer and City Councillor at Southgate, Aran Nomese

2. Círa DeCameiron, Lady Greywater, Ice Maiden of Aran Nomese

3. Calden Larmenret, eldest son to Admiral Leyen Larmenret, Lord of Tiarenna

4. Ryennkar Vassidenel, Lord Rendran, Attorney-General of Lonan

5. Rýlea Denqual Calenta Dionallanata, Duchess of Mydaraë

6. Arosek Asfiye, Lesser Lord Wendar, First Lord Consul of Sarin

7. Kit Eryntalla, the Neverboy of the Crossroads of Yesret

8. Alara Feronza Ordrena, Lady of Lakenheath, Knight of Sai’Ona

9. Taryncíra Larmenret, daughter to Admiral Leyen Larmenret, Lord of Tiarenna

10. Otho Calenta, Major at Arris, named Hero of the Hellspring

11. Nantya Jerikak, Magian of the Spire

12. Cydrac Agrane, Fifth Lord Minister of Erindel

01. Who would make a better college professor, 6 (Arosek) or 11 (Nan)?

…er, Arosek. Hands down. Nan just…wouldn’t be the kind of person you’d leave teaching small children. And before you say “small children don’t go to college!” I’ve been to college. I’ve seen what happens to people who go to college. They turn back into small children, this time without adult supervision. Their plastic buckets are filled with cheap beer and when they play hide and seek it’s usually in other people’s bedrooms. Not to mention the Twister marathons and back-to-back cartoons the night before major exams.

…you know, I take some of that back. Nan would be a great college professor. It’s just her chosen subject would be cavy husbandry and llama guardage. Take that as you will.

02. Do you think 2 (Círa) is hot? How hot?

Ooh…that would be a rather large yes. My real-life image of Círa is based very heavily on Rachel Weisz, whom I think is one of the most gorgeous women in the world. Which I blame largely on Darren Aronofsky, as a matter of fact (although the director of The Constant Gardener has a lot to answer for, too). I also realised a while back something rather hilarious about Rachel; I don’t often give much of a damn for celebrity gossip, but I air-punched when I heard Rachel had married Daniel Craig. For ages I had no idea why I liked the idea so much. I then realised that while Daniel isn’t exactly Otho to my eyes (I lean more towards Clancy Brown OMFG THAT VOICE), he’s still more than close. It was like my brain’s favourite soldier/spirit OTP getting together in real life. Score.

03. 12 (Cydrac) sends 8 (Alara) on a mission. What is it, and does it succeed?

Hilariously, this almost makes sense; Cydrac is a government minister and Alara is a knight. It’s feasible, except for the fact ministers rarely deal in magic. The whole point of their prefect is to keep them away from it, actually. So, with that said…I’m not sure. About the only thing Cydrac would be hiring a sword for is to hunt down the murderer of his family, and given Cydrac knows who did it and would gain no satisfaction from that person’s death unless his own hand dealt the killing blow, well. Although if he told Alara the full story she’d quite cheerfully help him out to the bitter end, so there you go.

04. What is or would be 9 (Tara)'s favorite book?

She’s not a huge reader, our Tara. I’d say anything horsey. Our Tara loves her horsies. ^__^ Although that’s given me an idea; I think Arosek should give her a book. She’d treasure anything he gave her, whether she actually got around to reading it or not…

05. Would it make more sense for 2 (Círa) to swear fealty to 6 (Arosek), or the other way around?

Ooh, that’s a tricky one. Technically neither of them should be swearing fealty to anyone; Arosek’s job is to be neutral so that he can act as a justice to the whole world, and Círa is an imprisoned companion of the banished water-god, living under the shadow of the earth-father of the North. But…this is a funny question, as there’s no doubt in my mind whatsoever that had their circumstances been ever so slightly different, Arosek would have married Círa. In that respect, he’d have sworn his heart to her without caution nor regret, and she would have done the same for him.

As things stand in the real world (?), Arosek still has a deep sense of loyalty and responsibility towards Círa, and she feels an affection for him that goes deeper than she often cares to acknowledge. This in fact forms the crux of their rather tragic relationship, the end of which…will be written. You’ll just have to wait and see.

06. For some reason, 5 (Rýlea) is looking for a roommate. Should she share a studio apartment with 9 (Tara) or with 10 (Otho)?

…excuse me as I roll around laughing. Rýlea, being the only daughter of a very well-off landgrave and the eventual wife of a Duke, would hardly be looking for a roommate. Even if she was, she’d be unlikely to share with a thirteen year old girl (though not unwilling, I must say; Rýlea loves children, and she’d adore Tara…Tara, on the other hand, might be weirded out). I mean, if she lived with Tara, it would have to be a fostering situation of one kind or another. As I said, Rýlea would enjoy the company, but Tara…well. For all she’d have little interest in living like a lady, Mydaraë isn’t the most usual of fosterages. Give Tara a racing llama and she’d probably be in heaven.

Tara, however, would always be miles better for Rýlea than Otho. Rýlea and Otho were married, very happily so, until Rýlea decided that Otho wouldn’t be a good husband in the long term because of his work. So she divorced him. Otho never got over it. In a way, Rýlea never did either. This is one of the major threads of Greywater, so…yeah. Um. Not a good idea, putting those two in the same building and asking them to play house, oh, no…

07. 2 (Círa), 7 (Kit) and 12 (Cydrac) have dinner together. Where do they go, and what do they discuss?

Círa and Kit are old friends. They’d probably be swapping stories about asshole Attorney-Generals and voyages to the ends of the world before you know it. Cydrac and Círa also know each other very well and would talk about polite matters of state and current government policy (!), but I’m not sure how Kit and Cydrac would take to one another. Cydrac’s in his early forties and his son would have been about Kit’s age, had he lived…and Kit’s got an automatic jealousy-switch that gets kicked on whenever Círa shows interest in an attractive older man (mostly because she so rarely bothers). So…it could be an interesting little discussion. They’d almost be competing for her attention though while Kit sulks Cydrac would just be politely bewildered, and Círa would just roll her eyes and eventually announce THIS IS WHY I CAN’T HAVE NICE THINGS, ISN’T IT.

08. 3 (Cal) challenges 10 (Otho) to a duel. What happens?

Candy happens. AND HILARITY ENSUES. Cal’s thirteen, Otho’s thirty-four. And a Major in the Northern Armies. Then again, Cal’s an absolute headcase and would quite cheerfully challenge Otho to a duel with SHEBERT STICKS and then they’d end up in the fountain and there would be BUBBLES and then Círa would get frustrated and there would be ICE and probably Nan would come riding in on a giant llama with CAVIES FOR EVERYONE.

But the candy’s the important part. I swear.

09. If 1 (Sabin) stole 8 (Alara)'s most precious possession, how would she get it back?

Firstly, the day Sabin attempts to steal something from somebody (who doesn’t deserve it), the world will end. Secondly, Alara’s most precious possession is Nan Jerikak, who would probably adore being stolen and in the end Sabin would tie her up, stuff her into a box filled with strawpeople and bind it up all neatly with brown paper and string and send her straight back to Alara with a referral to a thought-weaver with a very good record in the field of Mydaraën blood-insanity.

Alara would then rip it up, let Nan out, and kiss her silly. Aw.

Two days later Nan would be back on Sabin’s doorstep with a big grin saying CAN WE DO THAT AGAIN?!

Four days after that, Sabin would be experiencing firsthand the intricacies of self-sectioning at the thought-weaver’s guild. But he’d have the paperwork in order first. Naturally.

10. Suggest a title for a story in which 7 (Kit) and 12 (Cydrac) both attain what they most desire.

“Heating the Winter and Felling the Spring: How one mild-mannered government minister avenged his family in a bloodbath in the Fields of Gold and a thirteen year old boy married an ageless water-spirit beneath the Iron Bells of Greywater with the Dark Horseman officiating. …you only wish we were kidding.”

11. What kind of plot device would you use if you wanted 4 (Ryenn) and 1 (Sabin) to work together?

THERE IS NO PLOT DEVICE IN THE WORLD. Even I don’t know exactly what Ryenn did to Sabin, but he’s biding his time. …geez, I am going to have to bug the hell out of Sabin on this front one day. I used to think Sabin disliked him because a) Ryenn has a habit of turning up in Aran Nomese without notice and expecting people to fall at his feet with whatever information he wants and b) while Ryenn is capable of charming most people’s socks off, with some people he just doesn’t bother. I always figured Sabin was just one of those people. From what he casually said to Otho towards the end of Greywater, however…um. I’m not so sure anymore. …BASTARD.

12. If 7 (Kit) visited you for the weekend, how would you get along?

Pretty well…I think. Kit’s essentially a projection of my nephew, so I imagine we’d go horse-riding with Calden and play with foxes and climb trees and then the boys would laugh their asses off because I’d fall out of said trees and crack my skull open and you know. GOOD. TIMES.

13. If you could command 3 (Cal) to perform any one task or service for you, what would it be?

…oh, well, that’s easy. GIVE ME YOUR ORRERY, KID. LIKE, NOW. AND FOREVER. …seriously now, while there are any number of things in my novels I would love to get my grubby fingers on, that orrery is number one on the list. I imagine most authors have a vague day-dream of having their books made into movies and television serials and visiting the set and covertly making off with some beloved prop, but me being me…I have to pick the one thing that would require a Mack truck, a crane and sixteen strapping young men and ABSOLUT COVER OF DARKNESS to acquire. …I also imagine I’d need a wrecking ball to get it into my attic. Gah.

14. Does anyone on your friends list write or draw 11 (Nan)?

This is a livejournal-based meme from way back when, so there’s no flist involved here. So, no. But I had a commission done of Nan AND I LOVES IT SO. Rara is awesomesauce, no doubt about. <3

...incidentally, since I did this in November, Neme-chan did me an adorable sketch of a squishy!Nan, which I ended up colouring for teh lulz. Observe:

15. If 2 (Círa) had to choose sides between 4 (Ryenn) and 5 (Rýlea), which would it be?

These are getting so hilariously accurate, I start to think I set myself up. Wow. O_o Well, Ryenn makes her life a misery. Rýlea is her husband’s still-beloved first wife. …Rýlea, hands down. For all her faults, Rýlea has a soul. Also, Ryenn keeps trying to annex Arosek’s life, and this makes Círa very. Angry. INDEED.

16. What might 10 (Otho) shout while charging into battle?

Oh, Christ, this is a weird one. Otho is a major, so he does, in fact, charge into battle. I don’t think he’s a talker, mind you. For all Otho often can’t keep his mouth shut off the field, I think he’s one of those terrifying quiet types when he’s actually fighting. It’s just when he thinks he’s about to get killed that he gets mouthy…

17. If you chose a song to represent 8 (Alara), which song would you choose?

Portishead, Requiem for Anna (Un Jour Comme Un Autre – Anna).  I’m still trying to figure this one out, but for some reason it’s there in my head. I suspect it’s the lead singer’s voice, and the fact that the song appears to be about someone pretending that the world is just the same even when it’s clearly not. Alara is like that. She is a Knight of Sai’Ona, something a woman must never be, and so she does it while dressing and behaving almost as a complete lady. Because she has to. Um.

 
18. 1 (Sabin), 6 (Arosek), and 12 (Cydrac) are having dim sum at a Chinese restaurant. There is only one scallion pancake left, and they all reach for it at the same time. Who gets to eat it?

Arosek. But only after the most painfully protracted period of polite debate you can imagine. Again I feel like I’ve been set up, because all three of them are polite to a fault. Sabin simply wouldn’t go near it. Cydrac would offer it to Arosek, being he’s First Consul. …actually, I told a lie. Arosek would eventually take it, but he’d offer it to everyone in the whole restaurant before even considering eating it himself. Some snot-nosed kid probably got it in the end. Either that or he’d stick it in his pocket and feed it to the first stray guinea pig he noticed on the street. (DON’T ASK YOU’LL GET NAN STARTED AGAIN.)

19. What might be a good pick-up line for 2 (Círa) to use on 10 (Otho)?

HOLY FUCK SET-UP. Basically she could say: “Baby, it’s business time!” and he’d be in there. O_o It’s a bit more complicated in the beginning, mind you. I believe the first time she said something about not wanting things to be make-believe any more. Take that as you will.

20. What would 5 (Rýlea) most likely be arrested for?

Ha ha ha. ARREST. RYLEA. Really? REALLY? …probably picking flowers from somebody else’s garden. But she’s so pretty she could just put them in her hair and they’d say OH THEY’RE SUPPOSED TO BE THERE LOOK AT THE PRETTY!!! and she’d get off scot-free. With even more flowers. And even scot-freer.

21. What is 6 (Arosek)'s secret?

He’s never married for two reasons: first of all, he doesn’t naturally tend well towards sex and intimacy of that sort. He loves everyone. Loving one person (or at least, setting aside the time to devote himself to maintaining any sort of deeply intimate relationship) goes completely against the grain of his personality. Things kind of went wrong when he was seventeen, though; his best friend seduced him and Arosek fell mostly in love and was consequently never able to reconcile himself to either his default factory setting or to a happy medium. His deepest shame is that he still can’t let his friend go even after said friend goes and gets married (TWICE). Though in all fairness this supposed friend is really jerking him around. …jerk.

22. If 11 (Nan) and 9 (Tara) were racing to a destination, who would get there first?

Depends. If it was a fair-run horse race, Tara all the way. Bring in the guard-llamas and the cavies, however, and Nan’s gonna win hands down.

23. If you had to walk home through a bad neighbourhood late at night, would you feel safer in the company of 7 (Kit) or 8 (Alara)?

Sorry, Kit. Alara all the way. Kit’s a thirteen year old boy (albeit a very unusual thirteen year old boy), but Alara has been trained to the sword from babyhood and then went and became a Knight of Sai’Ona against all known law and tradition AND KICKED ARSE TO DO SO. The woman’s one hell of a BAMF. And she looks like Vivien Leigh. I am so down with this.

24. 1 (Sabin) and 9 (Tara) reluctantly team up to save the world from the threat posed by 4 (Ryenn)'s sinister secret organization. 11 (Nan) volunteers to help them, but it is later discovered that she is actually a spy for 4 (Ryenn). Meanwhile, 4 (Ryenn) has kidnapped 12 (Cydrac) in an attempt to force their surrender. Following the wise advice of 5 (Rýlea), they seek out 3 (Calden), who gives them what they need to complete their quest. What title would you give this fic?

JESUS CHRIST WHAT THE FUCK. Some of this works – because Tara spends her time trying to foil Ryenn, Cal is her brother, Nan once worked for Ryenn, Sabin also hates Ryenn and Cydrac might have his uses. But it’s still crack, because Tara’s thirteen, Sabin’s a desk-jockey and Rýlea’s main interests in life include kittens, pancakes and putting pretty flower crowns on her My Little Cavy collection. Hmm. I can see it starting out like a “Spy Kids” flick and ending up more like “Kick-Ass.” So let’s call it “A Series of Unfortunate Events Wherein The Guinea Pigs Take Over The World (We Still Don’t Know Where They Came Fro….NAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAN! GODDAMMIT, NAN!)”

My Magnificent Octopus

And I'm not even talking about Cthulhu (for once). No, over the last couple of weeks I decided to finish the third novel I'd been planning to finish during NaNoWriMo last year. At the time, it just didn't work; for whatever reason my brain couldn't cope with the way the story was going and I couldn't make sense of anything. So, I quit, and continued on with other stories. But I was reading the latest Stephen King a couple weeks back and the time-travel element finally kickstarted my own brain, and here we are.

I now have a couple first draft of The Juniper Bones. And no real idea what to do with it. If there's anything in this world that tells me I will never be a publishable author, it's that I have five first drafts of five different novels lying around my harddrive and I have no idea how to pitch any of them. For What We Drown is probably the easiest, being an urban fantasy romance, but it's overlong and the second part needs to be completely rewritten. Hibernaculum reads like a Russian novel (HELLO TOLSTOY) but it's supposed to be fantasy. But then it's romance. But then there's too much romance for the fantasists and too much fantasy for the romantics AND IT READS LIKE A FUCKING RUSSIAN EPIC. Winter is coming, in-fucking-deed. The Neverboy is YA, but it's about fifty thousand words too long to be published in that genre and being that it already forms the first part of a trilogy can't be hacked in half. Greywater is again a romantic fantasy, and suffers from many of the same issues as Hibernaculum, without being dogged by the shadow of the Russians.

The Juniper Bones is a completely different wee beastie. ...or huge beastie, let's get it right. It exists in three parts and weighs in at around 320k before editing. I also refer to it as My Magnificent Octopus, because magnum opus is far too grand a title for this particular pile of rubbish. But it's my rubbish. Because the main character, Eliot, is someone who cannot see his place in the world and therefore sees no point in living in said world any longer, but lacks the motivation to even try to leave it. He's waiting for someone to make the decision for him, because he knows in his heart he doesn't know how to make that decision for himself. And he's afraid of making the wrong decision. Again. Because he's always making he wrong decision.

Eliot is an expy of my own worst fears.

Because of that TJB is deeply personal. It's also completely insane. There's no way any publisher would touch it. So it's just...sitting there, now. Rather like the little doll of Morgan in the picture above, who stares at me with Baleful Button Eyes and reminds me that I'm just a fool for thinking any of this could ever work. So...yeah. My first entry of the year has straggled in rather late, and it's rather gloomy. I can't help but think I ought to give up on writing. But then writing's about the only thing that gives me any purpose in this world anymore.

I suppose in the meantime to cheer myself up I'll pretend that my Morgan doll has a switch like this. Because honestly, if she doesn't? I'm in real trouble now.

Something A Little Like Magic

I have the strange urge to try and work out how I write a story, mainly by blogging it. I'm not sure that I'll ever get around to it, mostly because once I really get writing it's hard for me to understand even where I am, let alone what I'm doing. But it came to mind yesterday while I was working on a story that...sort of came out of nowhere, though not really. It's essentially the very first part of the sequel to The Juniper Bones, though it acts as a stand-alone in some respects because it's a bridging piece between spring and autumn.

Something about the writing of the piece seems...odd, to me. Partly it's because I am having a commission frenzy, being that I am very over-excited by having money again. One of the pieces I commissioned was of Eliot and Morgan, the two characters in this story, and it's a very...odd piece, in such that it's got some fantastic lighting to it. I've seen the progress of the artist so far, and while I knew it would be excellent from her previous work, my god she knows how to deal with lowlight conditions. And this picture has the two characters in a windowseat with a full moon beyond, no other lights on, and...it's a very liminal sort of atmosphere. Things change in light of that kind, mostly because people and objects are very indistinct in such light in the first place. And the story I am writing deals with that moment, and it feels like I'm trying to catch moonbeams in my fingers. And they're slipping away...but not in a bad way. It's just...writing is a peculiar experience at the best of times, I think. But there's something very peculiar about this story. I feel like a magician, or a wizard, or perhaps even an enchantress. I can feel the power, even though the story is just fragments at this point. Something thrums beneath them, something far bigger than what I think it is. I often feel like I have very little to do with the creation of a story except as a glorified secretary, and I'm getting that sensation so very strongly here.

So yeah, there's an odd little ramble for the day. I should go eat something before I go even more nuts. Let's just blame Christmas for this one, shall we? ^_~

Inspiration Stations

Due to a combination of factors, I haven't been writing since I came back to New Zealand. Mostly it's that I am just so disorganised; living real life again is far too complicated for a person with a brain as small as mine. So, I've been stuck on trying to get myself sorted for both work and Christmas, leaving very little time for writing. But I want to write, so...

The other day I got a couple of my more recent commissions printed properly, and then I stuck a few up on my wall with some of the older ones to remind me of what I am up to. It's still missing a few of my favourites, but my own printer is out of ink and I pulled the plug on my credit card for the others...but I've been paid since, so I will have to do some more at some point. But yes, having pictures up on my wall is a major inspiration to me, along with the extensive playlists I make for different novels. I can write without these things, sure, but I much prefer to have them. They remind me of what I need to do. Besides, there's nothing quite as terrifying as Viola Morgan staring at you from behind your computer with her baleful button eyes.

...terrifying woman. Damn her. At least she doesn't have a scalpel, though one must note she is dangerously close to a canopic jar. It's currently filled with earbuds, but things always can and do change. But yeah, I am trying to work out what I should be working on in the run up to Christmas. A friend wants to start reading Greywater so I probably ought to proofread/sense check chapters as I pass them along, but I should actively write something too. Kaverlen Falls is calling, but I've had a couple of very curious revelations regarding several characters and their fates, and some scenes from the end of the unnamed third book are very strong in my mind. So I probably ought to write those down, so at least they exist. I can alter them to suit whatever the story ends up being later, of course.

I'm just not sure about anything, I suppose. I find it very easy to get discouraged and just throw my hands in the air and shriek STOP WRITING YOU CAN'T WRITE JUST STOP IT. But I can't. Like I said, I just keep realising things about characters, and it feels like failure if I don't give them this chance to live. But then I wonder what sort of chance it is, if I can't write anything worth reading. So...yeah. It's very much SSDD around here right now.

So, with that said, I'm going to go and try to write something without thinking about it. Because when I think about it I end up in floods of tears wondering why I am even alive. Yeah, it's that time of month all right. My issue, mind you, is that it's always my time of the month these days. Gaaaaaaah. At least I have a felt plushie. That wants to kill me. Oh, dear...

"And good evening, Colin."

I haven't managed to do much of note the last week or so. I arrived back from Australia and between trying to get over jetlag, catching up with some fellow local writers, and going back to work a day and a half after getting back into the country...I'm exhausted. Not to mention I've got the most ridiculously fruit-stuffed Christmas cake in the oven this afternoon. I've never made a fruit cake before. I don't even like fruit cake. But as I'm well-known as the sort of madwoman who'll bake anything on a dare (yes, Oreo-stuffed chocolate chip cookies, I'm looking at you) my mother told me to make one for her. So...we'll see how that turns out. Although with that said it's not like I have to eat it.

Otherwise, I spent Saturday most emphatically not writing, which was at least partially because I took a break from Dany and Tyrion and my other favourites to read the book that arrived in Saturday's post. The Scottish Prisoner. I've been dying for this book for months, and...finally. I did learn a lesson about checking release dates, mind you; I knew the UK date was later than the US one (or at least I thought it was) and when in Australia I ordered it from Amazon.com. And when I was at Whitcoulls last week hunting out A Storm of Swords for a laugh I checked the new release section and almost had an apopolexy when I saw that The Scottish Prisoner was there. Cheers, New Zealand. You suck, New Zealand. God, I love you, New Zealand.

Now, I'm a bit of a rabid Lord John Grey fangirl so of course instinct demanded I buy it, but my bank account is unhappy with me after so many weeks of not working, so I actually kept my cool and didn't buy another copy when I knew I had one coming in the post. I also got the next A Song of Ice and Fire to distract myself with anyway, but you know. [slaps hand] I'm a bad fangirl. (Actually, I still haven't read Lord John and the Plague of Zombies yet either, so I am a doubly bad fangirl.) But to make up for it I'm going to have a ramble here now anyway. I hesitate to call it a "review" because it's not like I have a clue what I'm talking about at the best of times, but I want to have a little SQUEE HANDFLAIL WHEEEEEEEE moment, so here we are. It's going to be filled with SPOILERS, so ye have been warned.

Like I said above, I've been waiting for this book for ages. Mostly it's because I love Lord John like the foaming-at-the-mouth idiot woman that I am, but it's also because it promised to give some real insight into John and Jamie's "friendship." Said friendship was utterly in tatters after Brotherhood of the Blade, and although we know from Voyager and beyond that the two of them managed to come to an understanding before John married Isobel, it was obviously not something that could be overcome with mere words. It needed action -- acta non verba, if I may be pretentious enough to pretend I know anything about Latin, ha ha ha (tip o' the hat to Herself there for teaching me the Latin in the first place) -- and fortunately for us, we got an entire book of action. In words. Oh god the irony, it burns. And you know I fucking love it.

I have to say first off that I have a copy of iTunes that is possessed by some sort of music demon. Or possibly a leprechaun. I already knew from having read various generous extracts that Jamie and John would be taking a trip to Ireland, and the moment I opened the book to the first page iTunes -- which was on random -- promptly brought up The Rocky Road To Dublin. Cue hysteria on my part. Incidentally I apologise for the leading photograph of this entry; that's not Ireland, it's the Highlands of Scotland. I've never been to Ireland myself; partly it's because I am a moron, but I also have this funny little thing about Ireland. By descent I'm English and Scottish -- although a Scotsman once told me I was Danish -- but my father has a family tree on his mother's side going back to the sixteenth century that he once told me proved we were Irish. I read it, then flipped out and emailed him back wailing DAAAAAAAAAAD WE MOVED TO ULSTER FROM ENGLAND and...yeah. I'm neither a Paddy nor a Mick, I'm a bloody Pom. Oops. (Although my great-grandmother was actually Scottish; apparently my English grandmother was terrified of her. Er.) So, yes, going to Ireland in books is about as far as I get right now. (And in my head, every Irishman sounds like Dara and Ed. Ha.)

So, to get back to the book. Overall I enjoyed it -- it's not my favourite of the supplementary material, I don't think, but Brotherhood is somehow hard to top for me. (And not just because through said book Lord John saved my life in Mexico. Long story.) But there is definitely a lot to recommend it. My only complaint is that I felt it could be longer, which is hilarious in hindsight because I've felt a few of the Lord John books have been a bit overlong in the tail. It wasn't even so much the story that I felt could be longer, I think I just wanted more detail. It's the richness of Gabaldon's writing that I always keep coming back for, and I didn't get as much of that here as I usually do -- though I might change my mind on a reread, because I was chewing through this thing like the word-glutton I am. I know I took my time over various extracts when they came to light and got far more satisfaction that way, so you know. Take that one with a grain of salt.

The characters, again, are what stood out for me. Naturally I adore Lord John, and even though I am not actually a huge fan of Jamie's, I do like his narrative voice. And yes, you heard that right; I am a full-blooded presumably straight female who wouldn't jump Jamie Fraser's bones at first opportunity. I'm not sure why that is; I find him to be a fascinating character, but he doesn't appeal to me the way I know he does to most other readers. I suspect it's just because my tastes are odd, but there you go. I do, however, love his narrative voice; Voyager is one of my favourite books in the series because we get to hear from Jamie. And considering the way this book deals with Jamie and John's friendship, I thought it was a very good idea for Gabaldon to have it told from both viewpoints rather than just John's. There's a running theme through the book about the two of them meeting as equals, and by sharing the narraitve rather than it being strictly from John's only really gave that a strong resonance. I enjoyed that. It also gave plenty of opportunity for warm fuzzies between Willie and Jamie, which considering the state of their relationship by the end of An Echo In The Bone...ooh, yeah, fluff is handy right now.

So, John and Jamie. Brilliant. But their supporting cast is wonderful -- Tom Byrd, I just want to squishle. And it says something for Diana's writing -- and perhaps my own gross stupidity -- that I fully thought Tom was going to die in Ireland. (I say "gross stupidity" because I've already read an extract of Plague of Zombies that says Tom is alive, and I know that happens after Prisoner.) I was very, very sad. And then very, very happy. I also have a thing for John's brother Hal, who is a stubborn son of bitch with an honourable streak a mile long; Jamie makes a comment towards the end of the book that he envies the brothers their company, and I can see why. Hal and Johnny are just...Hal and Johnny. As someone with two brothers and one sister, I can safely say that there is nothing in this world quite like a sibling who has your back. And though Jamie still has Jenny, it's...different. I love my brothers, but my sister is the one who knows me best. I imagine it to be much the same with men and their brothers and sisters.

Hal's wife, Minnie, is also a revelation in this book -- although I was fond of Minnie anyway. Harry Quarry is a force unto himself -- a very poetic force, albeit one best suited to the saucier imprints of Mills and Boon -- and I had a little snicker when John Hunter turned up again. Oh, that man is a prick and a half; when I was in London earlier this year I went to the Royal College of Surgeons and saw his collection. Tsk, tsk. I've seen "interesting" anatomical collections before, being that I spent so much time wandering in and out of the Lindo-Ferguson Building at Otago, but even I was taken aback by what the man had. (I was particularly revolted by the half-child's head, which says a lot as my previous "worst ever" was the conjoined twins who did not look to me like they'd died at birth; they seemed far too old in my admittedly limited experience.) But it was a nice touch to bring him back for the concluding duel of the story.

As to the story itself...it was actually a good deal easier to follow than some of John's other stories. That may be just because I'm an idiot, but there you go. It flowed like a river, picking up pace and flotsam along the way, and then hit a dam before spilling over into a very nice conclusion. I did have one complaint, but the more I consider it...well. A month or so back I made a smart-ass remark on the compuserve forum that my wilful brain has a happy-ever-after scenario that involves John running away to Germany to live with Stephan von Namtzen where they can raise sausages ever after. Said sausages referring to dackels (dachshunds), naturally, but only on the surface of the matter. Ha ha ha. I have a particular fondness for dachshunds, you see; ever since I was eleven or twelve I've been of a mind to acquire one and name it Colin. Which is entirely the fault of Prince George. ...ironically enough set in the same time period as this novel. Ha. So you can imagine I was overjoyed when Stephan reappeared.

Weirdly enough, I wasn't a hundred percent satisfied with it, but it may be because I am, in the words of Jamie Fraser, something of a "wee pervert" myself. I wasn't quite satisfied with the change in Stephan and John's relationship, and at first I thought I was just being a jerk because of a lack of detail. (I've been rereading the other stories in Red Velvet and Absinthe the last few days, you see; explicitness is the name of the game there!) I then realised that for all John was clearly over Percy, I was not getting the same sense of intimacy between John and Stephan that we were treated to with Percy and John in Brotherhood. And I don't mean in the sense of sex -- the emotional intimacy wasn't the same. And for a bit I couldn't decide if it was because John was pulling back, or if it said something else. From the lovely scene in Brotherhood it's very clear that John and Stephan are emotionally close, and the end of the book sorted it for me. Stephan sent John a dackel, and invited him hunting. And I grinned. Not just because I mentally named the poor creature "Colin," but also because I realised what it was. I love Stephan, and I love him with John, but they strike me as friends more than anything else now. And not in a bad way. Much as I wanted them to be something more, I think they are best as friends. Not that I'd object to being proved wrong, but it's all good. They're friends, but not exactly confidants in the way John was with Percy, or even with Jamie.

The relationship between Jamie and John was particularly lovely to watch develop anew. I was particularly struck by the ending, where Jamie, John and Willie are watching the horses and John opens with the Torremolinos Gambit. It was a wonderful callback to the first time their friendship went balls-to-the-wall in Voyager, and it also put John, Jamie and William together. I've always been fascinated by that triad, particularly as it is one of the things that I believe ties John and Claire together much much later. While John is no-one's "woman," neither is Claire -- they're both partners to Jamie in terms of his two children, and this lovely little scene almost has them as a peculiar little family. Yet they're all unaware of it, which gives it a nice echo we'll see later. I love that sort of thing; I think that's what makes both reading writing prequels and supplementary material so much fun.

Of course, I have the brain of an idiot and I was watching The Venture Bros. earlier yesterday, and for some reason as Jamie and John began to work together I started mentally picturing them as Brock Samson and Rusty Venture. Which is perhaps a bit of a disservice to John, because he's nothing like Rusty. It was just the juxtaposition of the huge guy ostensibly working for the much smaller man and yet the two of them having a laugh together as the relationship's more equal than that...although yes, I do have days when I mentally picture Jamie as a red-headed Brock. ...nice ass, Samson. But that's the heart of it; I absolutely adored how John and Jamie went from John's hilarious "I wouldn't piss on him were he burning in the fires of hell" comment to playing chess again by the end of it. And it was believeable. Though we already knew it was a given, they had to work for it. And they did. That's what I liked so much about this story; as I said above they came together as equals, and that was what allowed them to work through their issues with one another and part as something very much like friends. For being the one to set that up and make it possible, I wish Hal would take me on the hearth rug. Ha.

The particular stand-out moments to me were Jamie rescuing John from the castle, which was a lovely bit of irony considering there was some vague talk of Jack Randall through the whole thing. I've always wondered how much John knew, you see; I couldn't imagine Jamie ever telling him, but John does know something happened in Jamie's past and I can't help but wonder if he'll ever put it together. After all, John's not stupid -- and I liked how he came to realise why Jamie stayed at Helwater. I actually thought it was a bit cruel of Jamie to lead John to think it was for Betty, because while I harbour no belief that Jamie would ever want John the way John wants Jamie, I thought lying about something of that nature was a bit unfair. But John was a lot more magnanimous than I was, and it was a nice way to lead him to realise that Willie was Jamie's son. I also liked how Isobel, Jamie and John became connected through Wilberforce, as it says a lot to me about how John came to wed Isobel and why Jamie was a bit apprehensive about it considering the circumstances. Also, Lord Dunsany arranging for John to become Willie's guardian even before John weds Isobel was nicely done. These people are connected, in so many ways. One of my favourite Stephen King novels, Bag of Bones, talks about how the TR-90 (a "town" of a sort) is filled with people connected by "underground cables" you can't see but you feel, and that's what I got here. Heartstrings, strung out between them all. And even though you already know these people will be connected to one another long into the future, you can see why even now. I read the first book as Cross-Stitch rather than the US title of Outlander, and though I like the latter better for the series as a whole it feels like a callback to the former title to me. It's a tapestry, and the threads move in and out of the weaves of the others. I love that. That's why I read these books.

There are a lot of other things I could say, but my brain is dying this afternoon. And like I said, I need to reread the book anyway. But there's just...a richness to the story that I enjoyed. I must unashamedly admit that John is my favourite character, but I think it was because John finally got to do something with Jamie that was meaningful. Because they were equals. I liked John from the moment I first started reading from his POV in Voyager (I don't recall thinking much of him in Dragonfly In Amber), and I can assure you that I remember very well reading that book in Christchurch. I all but shrieked at him when he made his Torremolinos gambit after the chess game and reached out for Jamie. I knew it was not the time. It put them on an unequal footing that went beyond the standard governer/prisoner thing, and although we knew they worked through it we never knew how. And to finally see it, all these years later...I feel quite privileged, somehow. It's such a vital and strong part of John's character, this constant love for Jamie, and seeing how the two of them can deal with it to the point that they can be friends...

The duel struck me deeply. I loved how it was told through Jamie's eyes but with John's words in his mind; they were principle and second, and almost in a way they were one body in that moment. Considering they can never be one in the way John might wish -- and my heart broke for him when he heard Jamie calling for Claire and ached to be someone who could give him solace -- this did my poor bruised heart right in. There's a lot of things in this book, in terms of the different relationships between people and the reasons for it -- love, honour, duty, filial association, that sort of thing. John gets brotherhood from Hal and a more physical kind of love from Stephan, but from Jamie...it's an understanding. It's not romantic, but it's not platonic either. It's something else entirely. It acts, actually, as a very strong reasoning behind the oddity of John and Claire's consummated marriage, but that's entirely another discussion.

But yes, this is all getting very disjointed. I just loved the little details of this book, too; John's repeated motif of the master couplet said so much for the theme of equality, and I also had a good little snigger at the poem Jamie was reading early on about the woman scorned. I tended to read it as his quiet unease about John; as far back as my reading of Voyager I could see Jamie held a concern about John's intentions towards him for a long long time. And I mean that in the sense Jamie didn't realise for quite a while the nature of John's honour. Fair enough, considering his experience at the hand of Jack Randall; it was no wonder Jamie would believe John's fake impossible "love" (you can't hear my sarcasm in the written word, believe you me) could turn just as easily to resentment and hate. Which is why I loved how Jamie refused to let Quinn kill John. And I also understood the last bit with the names. I loved how John suddenly got annoyed and demanded that Jamie stop calling him "my lord." And the fact that Jamie wanted to but knew it was better not to...it was lovely and sad and made me think of their meeting all those years later in Jamaica. That was where the equality truly began. But it was there earlier, just...it was never quite the time.

So, I am looking forward to In My Own Heart's Blood in a couple of years. I love Jamie and John, and I love them together. Even though my slash fangirl self will always wish John could have what he wanted, I do love them as friends. It's such a rich and fascinating relationship, one once again in tatters, and seeing how it was between them the last time they patched it up...it gives me hope for this time. It also makes me slightly philosophical; much as I wanted Stephan and John together, I think they're better as friends. It's the same with John and Jamie. They have their own paths, but they're just...there are heartstrings, as I said. They stretch out between us and all the people that we love. And I particularly like how a Scot and a Pom had to go to Paddy-Land to become friends. Something about that just amuses me deeply.

In other news, I should probably go and do something like writing myself. I have LOTS OF FEELINGS about writing, mostly something between despair and hope, but that's for another day. In the meantime...just write. As they say.