The Saga of Summer Lost

Summer’s rolling to a crushing halt. Pressing all the golden sunshine into a few last precious hours. Did I get enough. Beautiful blue sky, white sun, ocean curl. Did I sit poised in front of a computer screen too long, waiting for words that wouldn’t come.

Wouldn’t. Come. Words.

Days slip by, blue fades to black and the buzzing of lightning bugs turns into the whisper of autumn wind.

It. Comes. Soon.

The winter sky will hang bleak, my soul will be pressed against the brown earth and I will long for just one more minute of perfect summer. I will press my palm against cold window, longing for warmth.

Sky. Pale. Skin.

White and black and brown will replace my summer garden. My heart will thunder less and my flesh will grow thick. Longing for the lean days of gentle breeze. I will walk less and eat more, burrow into a cocoon.

Need. Summer. Heat.

Live from the Hugo Awards

The 2009 Hugo Awards are being announced tonight:

The Big Heart Award goes to Andrew Porter.

The Campbell Award goes to David Anthony Durham.

Best Fan Writer goes to Cheryl Morgan.

Best Fan Artist goes to Frank Wu.

Best Fanzine goes to Electric Velocipede.

Best Semiprozine goes to Weird Tales.

Best Related Book goes to Your Hate Mail Will Be Graded, John Scalzi

Dramatic Presentation: Long Form goes to Wall-E.

Dramatic Presentation: Short Form goes to Dr. Horrible's Singalong Blog, Joss Whedon.

Best Editor: Long Form goes to David G Hartwell.

Best Editor: Short Form goes to Ellen Datlow.

New category, Best Graphic Story goes to Girl Genius, Kaja and Phil Foglio.

Best Professional Artist goes to Donato Giancola.

Best Short Story goes to "Exhalation", Ted Chiang.

Best Novelette goes to "Shoggoths in Bloom", Elizabeth Bear.

Best Novella goes to "The Erdmann Nexus", Nancy Kress.

Best Novel goes to The Graveyard Book, Neil Gaiman.

Congratulations to all!!

The Story Contest

Steve Parolini, over at Novel Doctor, just announced the winners in his short story contest.

Woo hoo! I was one of the winners.

All of the top three stories are posted on his site today--you should stop over and take a look. And there will be more stories posted throughout the week.

Then, when these stories have all been posted and the festivities are over and the confetti lays scattered on the cyber-cement, well, then you should keep checking out his site.

He's a master writing teacher. You could learn some mad skills over there. And there might even be an alien or two, because this guy likes sci fi.

Book Covers in YA

In honor of SCBWI, which is being held this week, I decided to do a post on what’s going on in YA. So I went to the local Barnes & Nobles and took some photos of the book covers that line the shelves.


If you haven’t strolled through the YA section lately, you’ve been missing out on the latest trends.


Why go through the YA section, especially if you’re writing for adults? Because if there’s anything fun going on right now, it’s starting here.


These readers are going to grow up and they’re going to be hungry.


I’ve never seen such an explosion of imagination. Yes, there are copycat stories and similarities in theme. But, honestly, you can write almost anything here right now.


Keep it clean (my recommendation) and exciting (their demand) and if at all possible, write about fantasy (we both advise that).


These covers all caught my attention. If I was buying (I was meeting a friend for our own writing adventure), I’d have purchased every single one of these books.


But after writing this post, I think I’ll go back. And buy them all. And keep them for myself. For that little girl in me that never grew up.

How to Make Stuff Up

If you want to learn how (not) to write dialogue, how to make stuff up at the last minute, or even why Stephen Parolini's alter-ego is named Pedro, then you should check the recent post at Novel Doctor.

And then again, you could drop by any time. It's always fun.

Oh, I almost forgot. There's a contest too. At Novel Doctor. Go on, you know you want to...

Star Light

The words come and go. Start somewhere in the future, zip on their hellbent road to the past and somehow, somewhere between here and there, they get trapped in my fingers, tangled on the page.

They try to shoot across the barrier, diamond bright comets with trails of brilliance and pain.

And then they get stuck in my palm.

Before they know it, they are falling out of the mouths of my characters, weaving plot thread shuttles across a computer screen loom. Garments made from sun and moon.

Starlight, star bright, I wish I may, I wish I might create another tale tonight. One that keeps the children awake, that burns in the gut and twists like a snake.

All Systems Go . . .

Getting ready to write.

New Sylar screensaver: check

Plotpoints and scene shortcut: check

Edgy steampunk beginning: check

Strong romance subplot: check

Bad boy shape-shifter: check

Now if I can only figure out how to turn on this steam-driven laptop...

I write, therefore I am

I write, therefore I am

Otherwise known as

I sit in front of my computer screen for hours and hours, therefore I am

Or

I continually rewrite and belabor this same stinking paragraph, unable to move onto the next chapter, therefore I am

And

I get a snack, drink some diet soda, stare out the window, contemplate the meaning of words and the vagaries of communication, therefore I am

AKA

I pretend this dratted book is finished, that I am finally a SUCCESS, that everyone loves me and buys all of my books, and that I have PLENTY of time to write said sequel to dratted book, therefore I am

But

I decide to write in my blog, which I have neglected for MONTHS because it is just a bit of fluff and nobody reads fluff nowadays (except ME when I’m supposed to be writing, then I LOVE blogs and FLUFF), therefore I am

And then

I sigh, take something for my headache, vaguely wish that I was a dog instead of a human, wish that all I had to say were things like WOOF and BARK and HOOOOWWWWLLL, because I’m sure I’d be done with this project by now if my vocabulary was so limited, therefore I am

Unless

I HAVE TO TAKE MY COMPUTER INTO THE SHOP BECAUSE I MESSED AROUND FOR SO BLASTED LONG THAT MY CAPS KEY GOT STUCK, THEREFORE I AM

The pursuit of all that glistens

It flickers up ahead, something that moves through the mist, catching and reflecting.

Light.

I chase it, ever onward. Sometimes stumbling, sometime crying, often numb and weary.

Starbright.

I think I will, I think I might. Catch the beam that burns so bright. Or maybe

Not.

Breathless and bruised and now ever so dangerous, tooth-and-claw strong.

Fight.

To be on top. To win. To have that mirror relect all that glistens, all that is beautiful, all that is—

Me.

The Kiss

the hum and flutter
the joy and stutter

I-love-you

love and glisten
stop and listen

I. need. you

Heart, beat faster
Mouth, press closer

I, want, you

On the job

I'm working.

But in my heart I'm sleeping.

The Other Side

I know it’s dark
Not quite what you expected
But it’s beautiful
No?

Yes, he breathed
in my ear, soft
and slow
It is
beautiful

I let the trace
of a smile tease
my lips, tease him
too.
You see it?

He nodded, enchanted.
A world away, on the
other side of
the black and
white

page

In a quiet room, roaring with
the music of staccato
words. He was
reading

My book
My heart
My soul

And he swore that
it was
his. I let the
trace of a smile tease
his lips

Black and white, wrong
and right, day and
night

Dark and light
On the other side
Of the black and
White

Page

Music

Do you hear it?
Music. Driving me
To my knees, with the breeze
Holy spirit, holy song
Calling me, soaring free.
I want to stretch my
Wings, silver bright, water tight,
Want to fly through sun and
Rain, joy and pain.
Do you hear it, do you, do
you
hear it on your knees?
Forehead to the floor
Knocking on the door
Of heaven.
Music. Driving me.
Do you hear it?

Page 99

Outside the wind shivers and blisters.
Rips through the leaves, tears down walls inside me.

Page 99

Why is it always page 99, why don’t I push through the barrier? Silken skin like a womb. I want to soar through.

Not for me, not today, I want more.

Much more. Can taste it, on the back of my tongue. Sweet and thick, rich as blood. Bite on the skin, piercing my way into the womb of words.

Go ahead.

Let everybody else fight their way out. I’m gonna win this battle on the inside.

Where I belong.

2008 ACFW Book of the Year Winners

Below is the list of winners from the recent ACFW Conference. Congratulations to all! And a special cyber hug to pals, Sharon Hinck and Camy Tang! Way to go, girls!

Debut Author
Sushi for One? (Camy Tang) – Zondervan, Sue Brower

Contemporary Novella
Finally Home (Deborah Raney) – Barbour Publishing, Susan Downs

Historical Novella
Love Notes in Love Letters Anthology (Mary Davis) – Barbour Publishing, Rebecca Germany

Lits
Splitting Harriet (Tamara Leigh) – Multnomah Books, Julee Schwarzburg

Long Contemporary
Within This Circle (Deborah Raney) – Steeple Hill Books, Krista Stroever

Long Historical
Veil of Fire (Marlo Schalesky) RiverOak, editors Jeff Dunn/Jon Woodhams
Where Willows Grow (Kim Vogel Sawyer) Bethany House, editor Charlene Patterson

Mystery
Your Chariot Awaits (Lorena McCourtney) – Thomas Nelson, Amanda Bostic

Short Contemporary
The Heart of Grace (Linda Goodnight) – Steeple Hill Love Inspired, Allison Lyons

Short Contemporary Suspense
Caught Redhanded (Gayle Roper) – Steeple Hill Love Inspired Suspense, Krista Stroever

Short Historical
Canteen Dreams (Cara Putman) & Golden Days (Mary Connealy)
–Barbour/Heartsong Presents, JoAnne Simmons

Speculative
The Restorer’s Son (Sharon Hinck) – NavPress, Reagan Reed

Suspense
Black Ice (Linda Hall) – WaterBrook Press, Traci DePree

Women’s Fiction
Remember to Forget (Deborah Raney) – Howard Books/Simon & Schuster, Philis Boultinghouse

Young Adult
In Between (Jenny B. Jones) — NavPress, Jamie Chavez

inside

Did you know he’s been courting me for what, like a year now? He’s been watching me from all those secret places. The ones we’re not supposed to know about, but honey, we know. All of us know. That’s why we do the stuff we do.

It’s all for the hidden cameras.

Jenny, she’s been acting up for weeks now, trying to get him to look at her. But I can tell all the mirrors is pointed right at me. Can feel ‘em, even at night, when the dark sky presses against the barred windows.

What he gonna do, that’s what I ask. He gonna come in here, in front of all his ladies and say that he wants me? I don’t think so.

It’s all a big show. A game. Like all the others. Like the ones we used to play on the street, back when I was free.


Baby, that was a long time ago, but I can still taste the city air. Sharp. Strong. I can still see the glitter of my own blade, the one that got me out of more jams than I can count. That was the first thing he took, you know. You thought it was my heart, didn’t ya? You thought he made me fall in love with him, then lured me back here to this high-rise trap in the sky.

But I was the one breaking hearts, don’t ya know. Back on the street. He didn’t catch nobody but she really wanted to get caught. And that includes me. I wanted inside. Here where it’s warm and safe. Yeah, there’s bars on the doors and windows. I ain’t blind, not yet. I see ‘em, sure enough. But there’s food on the table too, and something to take the sharp edge off the night. Something that helps me sleep.


Couldn’t sleep outside.

Couldn’t close my eyes knowing what was out there in the shadows.

Sometimes I stand at the window, when all the others are asleep, and I stare out into the black streets. Trying to see if it’s still there. If it’s still looking for me.

Some might say I’m paranoid, or that I just think I’m all that and way more. But I know what’s true. There was something out there, hunting me down. And the same goes on in here, only now the one that caught me is watching. He’s trying to figure out what the outside monster was wanting.

And, believe me, I ain’t gonna tell him.

I got my own secrets and they ain’t for sharing.

why

I write to know that I’m alive
I run to know that I can walk
I scream to know that I can breathe

If I only I could slow down
Peace would follow
For sure, for sure

I sing to remember that I believe
I pray to see the face of the Divine
I dig with fists closed
I fight with eyes blinded

I fall
on
my
knees

And I write
to know that . . .

Black on White

Sing and think about what comes next. Words touch page and worlds begin. The start of something lovely. The death of something awful. It all starts with a series of black and white, a trail, rabbits hop. Not obedient. They disobey. Run their own way, burrow through soft brown dirt, cast a mist of clay into the air.

Flow.

Go with it. Let the dream roll over your mind. Let the words take you away to somewhere else. Not here. Never here. Must escape. Would pay any price to get away, to be free.

To be. Black on white.

Clear and precise. Not like life. Red and flesh and bone. All put into rhythm and song, made pretty so someone will stop. And look. Read. Become the story. Become the character. Wear his flesh, turn around, look in the mirror.

Smile.

Stay.

In the black and white world of words. Longer and then longer still. Put the world on hold. Forget to eat, to sleep, to work. Let the phone ring, the door knock, the bills pile up. Cut the contacts with outside. Crawl inside where it’s oh so . . .

Safe.

The Hurting

They say that pain doesn’t hurt, when they lure you closer with sweet words of praise. They each say, my blade is not sharp. This is only the way of the world, my love.

And then you turn and spin, turn and dance. Then you sing a pretty song and turn your face away from the hurting beneath each word.

Each word. Hurting. Each spin. Pretty.

They watch and say, this is easy, this is necessary. It is the way of the world, my pet. They each say, my words are true and pure. This is the path that you should walk.

And then you turn and run, turn and hide. Then you stumble far away and cover your face from the hurting beneath each lie.

Each word. Hurting. Each lie. Pretty.

They say that love doesn’t hurt, when they leave you alone with sweet wounds of praise. They each say, my bite is not sharp. This is only the way of death, my sweet.

And then you turn and fight, turn and bite. Then you swing a pretty fist and turn your face away from the stinging beneath each slap.

Each kiss. Hurting. Each glance. Pretty.

All That Glitters

Gatekeeper, gatekeeper, sing me a song. Something light and airy.
Something sweet.
Give me hope. Give me a dream so I can sleep.
Tonight.

All that glitters isn’t cold. I don’t believe the lies you tell so easily.
Swing the door open for me. Please. Pretty please.
Smile and say, come in. Come.

Gatekeeper, gatekeeper, write me a poem. Something dark and edgy.
Something real.
Give me peace. Give me a drug so I can write.
Tonight.

All that glitters isn’t old. I don’t believe the truth you tell so easily.
Swing the door open for me. Please. Pretty please.
Smile and say, come home. Come.