Thanks again, JOYFULLY REVIEWED!

Raine at Joyfully Reviewed has graciously designated my Ellora's Cave fantasy, Prince of Glacier Glas, a Recommended Read. Thanks so much, Raine, for this and past reviews.

JR has also given me the "big pink button" (way better than the big pink finger) for Wing and Tongue, which is the first book in this fantasy cycle, as well as Cemetery Dancer (a paranormal from EC), Obsessed (m/m erotic romance from Changeling Press), and Two Out of Three Ain't Bad (a contemporary romance from Cerridwen Press).

How can I not love these people?

"This is bad!" I heaved.

EDITED TO ADD: I have another post, from June 14 of this year and also tagged "language," about dialogue itself--in this case, sex-scene dialogue, which people actually wrote. Really, truly, actually wrote.

My previous blog was, in part, about winning a book when you don't get to choose the book you want to win. Oh, my. I was recently the recipient of a historical romance, issued this year by a major print publisher. Not only was it riddled with anachronisms (e.g., yuk, as an exclamation of disgust; two cents' worth; the last straw), it had the most stupendous, dizzying array of dialogue tags I've ever, EVER seen between two covers, paper or electronic.

What I found most annoying was how seldom characters "asked." Almost invariably, they "queried."

Where have all the good editors gone? Into e-publishing?

As you peruse the list below, keep in mind that each of these words was used as an indicator of a character speaking (like the way I used one of them in my post title). I kid you not. Comma, end quote, tag -- in that order. Many were followed by some rip-roaring adverbs, too, which put extra kinks in my occipital cortex and temporal lobe.

I have to confess I've employed many of these tags myself. Most authors have. "She asked" and "he answered" and "she said" don't go far in the descriptive department. Said-said-said can also wear on a reader's nerves. But . . . but . . .

Well, just check out the list. I doubt it's complete; I surely missed some because, frankly, I did have better things to do. By the way, I didn't bother jotting down the more common and acceptable tags, like "whispered," "murmured," and "replied."

Fellow e-authors: hold your heads high! Keep in mind this attractive trade paperback came from a big, snazzy New York house. Now go get a supersized beverage and settle in.

acquiesced
admonished
advised
affirmed
agreed
announced
apologized
applauded
averred
barked
beckoned
bellowed
beseeched
bit out
blazed
boomed
breathed
cajoled
called
ceded
chastised
chided
chimed in
choked out
chortled
chuckled
commented
concurred
confirmed
continued
corrected
countered
cut in
declared
demanded
denied
derided
elaborated
encouraged
enjoined
exclaimed
explained
exploded
expostulated (Wow!)
faltered
fired back
gasped
greeted
growled
grumbled
heaved
hesitated
hissed
imparted
implored
inquired
insisted
interjected
interrupted
invited
maintained
mewled
mimicked
mused
needled
nodded
offered
ordered
panted
persisted
petitioned
placated
praised
pressed
pressed again
probed
proceeded
prodded
promised
protested
pronounced
purred
pursued
queried
questioned
reasoned
refuted
reiterated
rejoined
remarked
reproved
responded
returned
roared
scoffed
shrugged
sighed
smiled
snarled
sneered
snorted
sobbed
spat
sputtered
stammered
stated
swore
supplied
taunted
tried to agree
vowed
warned
whimpered
yawned

Contest Conundrums

Aside from being a wonderful word you won't likely see in text messages (and that alone is reason enough to make it a wonderful word), a conundrum is often what I face whenever I consider either entering a contest or running one.

Entering Contests. I don't have too much time to enter contests, unless it's quick 'n' easy to throw my name into the hat and/or I really want to win a particular prize. Often, contests just end up pissing me off . . . or making me feel guilty.

That mess now being run at Samhain seriously pissed me off. One day, when I was between chapters of my WIP, I thought I'd give it a go. Shit almighty.

I ended up feeling like the victim of a fraternity hazing. This is supposed to be fun? I kept asking myself as I trolled through fifty effing websites, looking for a certain icon. Worse yet, whenever I found that icon, I usually couldn't read whatever damned title was printed on it!

It was definintely not fun. In fact, it put me in a boycott mood. Before I knew it, I'd wasted many irreplaceable hours and darkened my sunny disposition.

Authors who are cunningly manipulative -- i.e., bury their clues or answers in the bowels of their sites and make entrants click . . . and click . . . and click through endless book lists, blurbs, excerpts, buy links, testimonials, photos, buddy links, blog posts, chuggedychuggedychug -- are not doing themselves any favors. I assume they figure that by trapping entrants within their online labyrinths, said entrants will gobble every word on every page and salivate over covers and be swept into the Land of Awe by that parade of "4" and "5" reviews. NOT. The inconsiderate assumption that readers have nothing better to do with their time than spend it spelunking through linked caverns of self-promotion is, purely and simply, offensive.

Lesson: From now on, as soon as I see a "Scavenger Hunt" that will make me feel like I'm Dumpster diving, I'm gone.

Winning Contests. Over the years, I've won maybe four book giveaways. Total. Only one win, Blind Eye's Tangle anthology, made me sing "Celebration Time." The other three titles weren't of my choosing but were picked -- randomly, I assume -- from groups of books being offered in mass giveaways. (You know how that goes.)

When I have no interest whatsoever in the title I end up with . . . my heart, it sinketh. I always feel obligated to try reading my prize. The least I can do is give it a chance. But I'll tell ya, I've ended up with three stinkers out of four wins, and not being able to get through even the first chapter of a book fills me with guilt.

Lesson: No more entering giveaways unless they're for titles that have piqued my interest or by authors I know are good.

Running Contests. Almost invariably, this is a depressing exercise. I've been doing it on and off for several years now, usually on my publishers' chat loops but sometimes in other places (e.g., TRS, various Yahoo groups, and the like). Two of the three books I've offered through The Romance Studio's Book-a-Day Giveaway were never claimed, even after I sent the wieners big ol' upbeat congratulatory messages. And never once has any winner through any venue emailed me with any kind of feedback -- good, bad, or indifferent. I feel as if I've shot these downloads into black holes.

Lesson: As yet undetermined.

For Your Holiday Pleasure

I'll be guest blogging December 5 at Jenyfer Matthews' place. Jen's a fellow Cerridwen Press author. I've published three contemporary romances through Cerridwen, so, given the time of year, I decided to focus on Mrs. Claws, a romantic comedy that touches on some serious (hell, even philosophical) issues.

Mrs. Claws isn't about glamorous people. No billionaire sheiks or rock stars. It's just a very romantic, funny, and (I believe) thoughtful story about an ordinary woman's attempt to overcome the holiday blues.

For what it's worth, this novel received five angels from Fallen Angel Reviews and five blue ribbons from Romance Junkies. Please join me! (Click on the post title to find Jen's blog.)

The World of Utopia-X

The Utopian Metroplex of Regenerie, at the center of my Loose Id novel Looking for Some Touch, is the hub of the Utopia-X series. It's one of many urban centers established in the wake of a global catastrophe known as the Great Event or, by people who don't like to mince words, the Darkening. (The nature of this cataclysm will be revealed in the third book of the series.) Each metroplex is a sovereign city-state, an autonomous entity, and nominally defines itself through its primary product(s) or services.

Thus, Regenerie takes pride in being a clean, green, progressive metroplex, a model of humanitarianism and environmentalism. Its most important export is energy, entirely derived from renewable sources. "Living" medical products (e.g., laboratory-grown organs for transplant) run a close second. Regenerie's closest neighbor, the Iron Metroplex of Villius, is quite different -- a grim, dirty, rough-around-the-edges mining center. Villius figures prominently in Book Two, Seeking Something Wicked, coming February 24 from Loose Id. Perhaps the strangest metroplex of all, the Pleasureplex of Xanandru, will take center stage in Book Three.

Between these city-states are vast and largely undeveloped wilderness regions called Interzones. Humans and Otherbeings who dislike urban bustle have gravitated to these expanses, which aren't under the jurisdiction of any government. Interzone denizens live either in small settlements or isolated dwellings. Not many highways cross interzonal areas. Vehicular traffic is mostly restricted to the metroplexes; interurban travel and commerce take place via sophisticated air and water craft and high-speed, often elevated trains. More radical modes of transportation are on the horizon, thanks to the efforts of scientists and engineers in Specula and Venturus.

Aside from its political organization and advanced technology, this future world isn't terribly different from the world in which we live. After all, it has its roots in the 21st century, when the Great Event took place. Enough people, materials, and documents survived to allow civilization to pick up -- with great effort, of course -- where it left off. Languages, scientific knowledge, religious beliefs, cultural practices, and other 21st-century systems and paradigms were preserved and passed on by the planet's surviving inhabitants. Larger, more mysterious forces, working behind the scenes, were also at play in global renewal. They, too, will be discussed in upcoming books.

The series name, Utopia-X, is a kind of condensed commentary on the often misplaced optimism and enthusiasm that infect this brave new world and Regenerie in particular. The main characters in Looking for Some Touch will continue to discover that the quirkiness of thinking creatures, whether human or nonhuman, has a way of undermining the loftiest visions and best-laid plans for a perfect society . . . and a perfect self.

My next post will be on the unique beings known as hybrids and their role in Utopia-X.

Tribes

The longer I'm in this business, the more tribal the writing community seems. I don't yet belong to a tribe. I'm the Happy Wanderer (or, sometimes, not so happy). Occasionally, temporarily, I sneak into tribes. Usually, though, I just circle around or amble past them.

So what constitutes a tribe? A group of writers and/or readers who are bound by a common interest or faithful to a particular leader. (Tribes have a lot in common with high school cliques, it seems.)

There are likely tribes within RWA--frequently warring tribes, no doubt. An entire stable of authors at a particular publishing house can be a tribe if that publisher is small enough. If a publisher is larger, there are tribes within it (like writers who band together to form group blogs or critique circles, or authors who've been with a company since its inception and are the revered "veterans"). Individual authors can have their own tribes, and industry bloggers have tribes of supporters and tribes of detractors. Subgenres are also spawning grounds for tribes.

It isn't easy to break into many of these close-knit communities. In fact, sometimes it's impossible. But if you want to be part of a tribe that does admit new members, you have to work at it -- earn your body art, so to speak. This is a delicate process. You can't just burst into a tribal council meeting and shout, "I want to be part of this tribe!" Oh no.

Every tribe has its own unique standards for acceptance. Maybe you have to be exceptionally sharp and witty. Or exceptionally level-headed, a natural mediator. Maybe you must demonstrate selflessness, or a happily blind devotion. Maybe you simply need to be docile but persistent. On the other hand, maybe you must shine, brilliantly and irresistibly. Sometimes, a limitless talent for schmoozing does the trick.

I've seen and read about such tribes in action, and their dynamic continues to mystify me. Maybe we writers (and some readers) are like clubby high schoolers, with our need for approbation and our silly sensibilities and our conviction of a superiority that never gets recognized quite enough. It's as if we're constantly crying, "Leave me alone to pursue my art!" -- and then, in a pathetic whimper, add, "But don't leave me alone too much for too long."

Oh, GOD, that face!

My heart-throb (or something-throb) on the cover of Anna Campbell's Tempt the Devil. Damn. I mean, really . . . holy hot freakin' damn. I look at him, and I feel as if I've spent the last twenty years in a women's prison. Know what I mean? Fuckshitdamn, Nathan. Phrew!

Nominate yourself, then beg for votes.

Man, this bugs me . . . along with words like trope and meme. I fully understand the impulse to tout one's achievements. Hell, we all do it, since precious few others tout our achievements for us, unless there's some kind of symbiotic promo-stroke going on. So anyway, what's up with these contests where authors not only nominate themselves but then buzz all around the Internet, intruding on loops and blogs, screaming VOTE FOR ME! VOTE FOR ME! For some reason I've seen a lot of this in the past couple of weeks, and it's worked its way under my skin like a chigger.

My immediate response to "Vote for me!" is "Why?" Or maybe, "Is there at least a free beer in it for me?" WTF? I can forgive politicians for vote trolling -- hell, it's what they were born to do (you didn't actually think they were born to govern, did you?) But when writers do it, BLECH. Absolutely the last person I'd ever vote for in any kind of contest is the one who acts like s/he is entitled to my damned vote.

This is only the second in what's shaping up to be a series of rants. Blame it on November. I've always hated November, and I especially hate it this year because I'm facing a goldanged spindly-legged Cornish game hen stuffed by Pepperidge Farm for Thanksgiving. Oh, fly me to the moon!

Ponder this.

I lifted the following couple of paragraphs from "The Naughty Bits," an excellent blog and review site overseen by the incomparable TeddyPig. (To visit it, click on the post title.)

When I was in the military, they gave me a medal for killing two men and a discharge for loving one.

~ Inscription on Leonard Matlovich’s tombstone

TeddyP goes on to explain, "On June 22, 1988, just a month before his 45th birthday, Matlovich died of complications from HIV/AIDS. He was buried in the Washington, D.C. Congressional Cemetery because no military graveyard would [allow his interment]."

That simple, breathtaking inscription summarizes some of the incomprehensibly twisted attitudes that dominate this culture. Killing (the right people) is praiseworthy; loving (the wrong people) is damnable. And there are far too many religious, civic, and governmental groups determining who the "right" and "wrong" people are. Not only are fundamental human rights routinely swept away by these bullydozers, but most individuals either sanction the madness or just don't give a rip.

Persecution doesn't only occur in the broad abstract, in public arenas. If we look hard enough -- or even not so hard (just turn on the damned tv!) -- we can find evidence of it in our personal and professional lives, as well. I've seen that evidence on a former lover-become-friend, Paul, whose wrists bore the scars of a teenaged suicide attempt. I've seen it in a talented transgender silversmith named Fran whose pain was almost palpable because s/he couldn't afford appropriate medical procedures or drugs. Hell, I've seen it in the writing community, where even erotic-romance publishers are loath to stand up and speak out, and professional organizations stink of bias against GLBT fiction.

There's plenty of prejudice to go around, no doubt about it. All kinds of prejudice against all kinds of people for all kinds of reasons. It slithers continuously beneath the skin of our society. But I firmly believe that sexual prejudice is the one remaining form of contempt that's widely and openly tolerated . . . and, often, encouraged. Even the hippest comedians feel comfortable joking about queers.

If more people were aware of Leonard Matlovich's epitaph and took the time to ponder it (fat chance, sayeth the cynic in me), this might change. If more people pulled their heads out of their asses and tried breathing in the mind-clearing air of reason (ditto), this might change. Those are, however, enormous IFs.

I hate feeling like some sour misanthrope hunkered down in a little house in rural Wisconsin . . . but, hell, I just keep seeing more and more reasons to love and admire my dogs.

Owners and editors . . . as writers?

I've pondered this subject on and off and still haven't lit on an attitude I'm comfortable with. (Yeah, okay, so I dangled a preposition.) I've been an editor at two different houses: first, the august Llewellyn Publications, known for serious nonfiction works on every aspect of occult studies, e.g., astrology, witchcraft, high magick, divination, the afterlife, psychic powers, etc.; second, a micropublisher that specializes in regional, local, and family histories. Whenever I wrote anything during my tenure at either company, it had to do with my my job.

Since I started publishing my own fiction several years ago, I've noticed that many e-pub owners and editors are also writers. I can't speak about larger print houses, because I have no experience with them, but a lot of peeps in e-publishing seem to like working both sides of the desk.

Is this good or bad? Is it neither good nor bad? Can it be both?

This situation does have distinct pros and cons. There've been some notorious instances in e-publishing of owners allegedly writing under multiple pseudonyms and giving themselves preferential treatment. Teddypig, a reader and reviewer, recently posted on this topic at his blog. Other companies have been accused of the same shenanigans. I suspect it's damned tempting to further one's own writing career in this manner ("Hey, I'm the owner of this sandbox!"), but it certainly isn't ethical.

On the other hand, many owner-writers like Tina Engler (aka Jaid Black) at Ellora's Cave, Margaret Riley (aka Shelby Morgen) at Changeling Press, and Treva Harte at Loose Id have done little or no spotlight-grabbing beyond what's necessary for promotion -- and I mean the promotion of any title. In their stadiums, or sandboxes, the playing field is level. Margaret Riley has said that her experiences as an author have helped her be a more responsible, and responsive, e-pub owner, and I don't doubt her one bit. She's a marvelous lady.

The issue of editors who are also published or aspiring authors is a bit thornier. On the plus side, a writer understands other writers . . . or should. We all have similar aspirations, fears, concerns. There is, I believe, such a thing as a creative mindset. So far, so good. We're cut from the same cloth. We're simpatico.

BUT.

What happens if a writer-editor starts imposing, however inadvertently, her authorial voice and/or viewpoint on the work of her "editees"? It's always a possibility.

Then there's the matter of prioritizing. I know how rabid I am about writing. When I'm on a roll, I often won't bother answering the phone; I resent cleaning and cooking; I don't venture outdoors or even watch television. Coffee, potty, and letting the dogs in and out are about all that can drag me away from the computer. This isn't a good place to be for editors, however. To excel at what they've been hired to do, they can't put their own projects first. Emails need promptly to be answered; paperwork, shuffled; manuscripts, evaluated or edited; batches of material transferred to scores of different people. Any delays or mistakes resulting from an editor devoting too much time to her latest and greatest brainchild are . . . well . . . inexcusable.

I've often considered getting back into editing. I have the credentials, and I sure as hell need the money. For the reasons mentioned above, I've invariably scrapped the idea. The impulse to fashion my own stories is too strong. I'd be guilt-ridden as hell if I started neglecting my obligations on either side of the desk . . . but one side, at least, would certainly suffer.

RIP

One of my books is no longer in the left column--an old-school, sweet romance that's always been near and dear to my heart and touched some readers, as well. Wha' happen?

Well, you see, I'd been selling Silvermist through an outfit called eBookLove. It was kind of like a microscopic version of All Romance eBooks, except the rights for all titles posted there had reverted to the authors (meaning there was no publisher behind them). I'd contracted directly with eBookLove to sell Silvermist. Since I'd received no statement in recent months, I hopped on over to the site . . . only to discover it no longer exists!

This is no big deal, really. Silvermist, as it stands, is too much of an anachronism for today's market, and the rights to it are still mine. But I was rather disappointed to realize that the site's owner, my first editor in e-publishing, never bothered to alert authors about eBookLove's demise. It's rather embarrassing to tell readers a book is available when it has, in fact, evaporated from cyberspace.

Anyway, I'm curious about what other writers do or have done with earlier works that aren't under contract. Ditch 'em? Rewrite them to bring them more in line with today's tastes? Cannibalize them and use characters, settings, and/or descriptive passages in other works?