Jen's Bookshelf

Stereotypes

2012-02-29T05:00:00.001+10:00

Stereotypes aren't all bad. No, really, hear me out. What I mean is that stereotypes are actually archetypes: a kind of mental shorthand for identifying characters and their purposes. And they've been around ever since some clever Ancient Greek said, "You know, rather than me telling you what happened, why don't I show you? Pretend I'm Alcibiades and this tree is Clytemnestra."

That was a helluva day in Athens, I'm telling you.

Where stereotypes become dangerous is when they package a value judgement with gender, ethnicity, sexuality or nationality. It's when a stereotype prevents you from seeing the individual. And those are the stereotypes that need to be challenged, and guess whose job that is?

Yep, it's ours.

And isn't that great news?

Your mission for the week: find a stereotype. Invert the hell out of it.

The Wishlist for the Week

2012-02-25T04:20:00.011+10:00

1. I wish the housework fairy would visit my place. There’s enough dog hair on my floor to knit another Labrador. You know, if I could knit. And I think I’ve already established my lack of domestic skills.

2. I wish I got more writing done. And I wish the writing I got done was better. Everything this week feels like meh.

3. I wish I could figure out what it is about those cooking shows that people like. If I want to watch TV, I’ll watch TV. If I want to cook, I’ll cook. What I don’t want is to spend an hour of my life watching someone else cook, and there not be any food for me to eat at the end of it. Don’t taunt me with your Roast Quail Ravioli with Portobello Mushrooms and Sage Butter when I’ll be having toast.

(Seriously, that exists. The recipe is here.)

(Toast also exists. I trust you don't need the recipe.)

4. I wish the state government elections were already over. I’m sick of their ads, their front pages, and the sheer amount of pamphlets that are getting shoved in my letter box. My letter box is a delicate ecosystem. I don’t want my letter box gecko crushed.

5. I wish I could remember why I’d ordered two pairs of flippers off the internet last week when I was sleep-deprived after night work. One pair seems reasonable for a biped like myself. Two seems excessive.

6. I wish I could go rally driving with OK Go.

***

What are you wishing for this week?

Say my name, b*tch

2012-02-21T15:08:00.000+10:00

How do you name your characters?

I used to worry about the naming of characters a lot. Hmm, do I really want my character to be called something that is Old German for Wolf’s Helm? What is a helm, anyway, and why would a wolf wear one? Does a helm have buckles? Wouldn’t they be difficult to manage without opposable thumbs? Then it occurred to me that I shouldn’t be naming my characters according to what I, their writer, or their god, if you will (and please do), thought would match their personality, or aspirations, or character arc. It only matters what my fictional character’s fictional parents would fictionally think.

Still with me?

If Hagert Dragonsbane, the hairy troll-slayer of Hwilfrstöll, had a firstborn son then of course he would call that son something that means Wolf’s Helm, or Victorious in Battle, or Bloodthirsty Scourge of the Saxons. But here’s the thing: so might Gerald Smith, manger of a grocery wholesale business in suburban Brisbane, just because he kind of likes the sound of the name, it goes well with Smith, and it was his grandfather’s. It doesn’t mean he expects the kid to grow up to become a rampaging Viking.

Names don't define us.

I am wary of naming characters after their personality traits, because when you look down at a red wrinkly screamy weirdy baby, you don’t think, Oh, look, I’ll call her Serena. Or, he can’t lift his head yet, but I’m sure he’ll destroy all his enemies. Casimir it is! Babies don’t have personality traits. Anything you call them is wishful thinking at best, and hopelessly misguided at worst.

My middle name means industrious. My mother is still laughing about that.

People don’t match their names, not in real life. In real life, your neurosurgeon might be called Candii and your stripper might be called Audrey. The guy who mows your lawn (not your husband, that other guy) might be called Fabian. And the guy you trust to do your taxes? Billy Bob. Why the hell not?

There are no rules about names in the real world. It should be the same in fiction.

***

How do you name your characters?

A random name generator? A baby names site? The phone book?

Share your tips here.

I am a Smart Cookie

2012-02-17T00:34:00.001+10:00

So, tonight when I was plugging in my laptop at work, in the deep dark cavity of power cords and hard drives and things that make buzzing noises, I suddenly had visions of my weeping co-workers saying over their tissues: “At least she died trying to do what she loved.”

And that’s not good enough.

If I’m electrocuted at work, I want it to be actually writing, not talking about writing or thinking about writing, which is what I’ve done lately, or even writing about writing, which is kind of what this blog is.It’s time to actually get to the writing.

I know. Revolutionary, hey?

I’m not the sort of person who believes I’m being held back by my innate fear of success -- I believe what’s holding me back is my innate all-encompassing laziness combined with my well-honed procrastinator’s “Meh, I’ll do it later” attitude -- but whatever it is, it’s time to look it in the face.

And then punch it in the face.

That may be the sleep-deprivation talking.

In other news, Rebecca Kiel has given me a Smart Cookie Award.

I am going to pass it onto these people:

Francesca from Zap's Lobster Tank.

Misty from Nothing Cannot Happen Today. If you haven’t read Cornerstone yet, what are you waiting for?

Lesann from Lesann Berry.

Madeline from My Capricious Existence.

Lyla from Lyla Writes Lyla Writes.

I’m also supposed to tell you something interesting, and I’ve decided to make it ~~cookie~~ biscuit related.

During the First World War, when the soldiers of the Australian and New Zealand Army Corps were fighting overseas, their families wanted to send them food that would survive the weeks-long journey without spoiling or crumbling. So here is the recipe for ANZAC biscuits:

1 cup of rolled oats

¾ cup of sugar

4 oz butter

1 tablespoon golden syrup (rumour has it you can use treacle at a pinch)

1 cup of plain flour

¾ cup of desiccated coconut

3 tablespoons water

1 teaspoon baking/bicarb soda

Method: Place dry ingredients in a bowl. Melt butter in saucepan with syrup and water, add soda, and then add to mixed dry ingredients. Roll in balls and flatten with a fork. Bake in a moderate over (180 Celsius, 350 Fahrenheit), for about 12 minutes, until golden brown.

They should look something like this:

Enjoy!

Given that I consider my oven purely decorative, don’t hold your breath for any more recipes.

***

What are you cooking up this week, either in the kitchen or in front of your computer?

I love words

2012-02-13T19:31:00.003+10:00

Etymology is the study of the history and origin of words.

Entomology is the study of bugs.

Therefore, etyentomology is the study of words about bugs.

I love words.

(I don't love bugs. I don't hate them, but if I was on first name terms with one he probably wouldn't be on my Christmas card list...You know, unless he sent one first, and I was guilted into reciprocating.)

Anyway, I love words.

I love this:

And I love this:

And even though it's Monday, I kind of love today as well.

***

What is making you happy today?

Everything Counts

2012-02-09T00:01:00.003+10:00

Do you know the best thing about being a writer?

Nothing that happens in your life is redundant.

Source

Boring queue? That’s imagination time. That’s description time. That’s figuring-out-how-to-write-a-scene-set-in-a-boring-queue time.

Boring job? That’s even better. That way, when you’re planning your next exciting plot point, choreographing that awesome fight scene, or wondering if you really need that supporting character, your boss is paying for it.

Other people waste hours on the internet looking up useless stuff. Nothing you look at is useless. Everything is research.

I’m not sure how I got started on my internet investigation of Spiritualism in the 1920s, but three hours later I was wondering if I could whip up some ectoplasm with eggwhites and cheesecloth. And oh yes, there are the bare bones of a story in the back of my mind.

Because everything counts.

Nothing is pointless. Nothing is meaningless. Everything we experience can be recycled into fiction.

We’re not scavengers. We’re bowerbirds. We make treasure out of the things that other people throw away -- moments, memories, and conversations that trail off into the air. We salvage those, reshape them.

Everything counts.

What do you like best about being a writer?

Forever ever?

2012-02-05T22:29:00.001+10:00

I love YA fiction. Always have, and always will. But what I don’t like is True Love in YA fiction. Whether that mysterious cute guy at school turns out to be a vampire, an angel, a prince or - gasp!- an ordinary boy, I’ll tell you one thing for certain: the guy you fall in love with when you’re sixteen is not the love of your life.

Source

Disclaimer: I don’t know, maybe he is. Maybe you and he will grow up in exactly the same direction and want exactly the same things. It could happen. It’s just that it probably won’t. The reason they call it first love is that there is usually a second. At least.

Think back to the boy/girl you loved when you were sixteen. If you were still together, would you be visiting them in prison? Or the drug rehab unit? Or the drug rehab unit in prison? Or was that just my high school boyfriend?

Disclaimer: I don’t know that for sure, but I feel like I can safely malign him here because I don’t think he reads this blog. I don’t think he can read.

I don’t hate romance in YA. I don’t even hate love. I hate True Love. I hate “omigod-you-complete-me-you-are-my-soul-and-my-destiny-and-we-will-be-together-until-we-die” obsessive kind of love. My point, which I promise I have, is that you spend enough time in your teenage years searching for yourself. You shouldn’t be wasting your valuable time searching for anyone else as well.

If, after you save the world / expose the conspiracy / fight the bad guys / kill all the humans, if after all of that you and your boy/girl are still standing shoulder to shoulder, then maybe that’s a beginning of something new. (I think The Hunger Games did this well, BTW. I think Twilight didn’t.) But chances are that somewhere along the way when you were saving the world / exposing the conspiracy / fighting the bad guys / killing all the humans, you grew up a bit. You changed, and change is good. Change is necessary.

Love is not an ever-fixed mark, despite what Shakespeare said. What the hell would he know? He ditched his wife and ran off to London to hang around with boys who wore tights. And isn't the world a better place for it?

This isn’t just hindsight, I don't think. I was this cynical at sixteen as well. Could I picture myself with my high school boyfriend five years from then? I couldn’t picture myself with him by the weekend.

Forever ever is a long time when you’re sixteen.

True love in YA. Are you too cynical to buy it?

Write This

2012-02-01T01:10:00.007+10:00

Need some direction for your WIP?
Here is all the plot advice you will ever need, courtesy of Mitchell and Webb:

What are you currently wrestling with in your WIP?

How to tell a story, or not. With Barbie.

2012-01-28T00:24:00.002+10:00

Once, when I was about seven or eight, my Dad invited a mate over. I think it was possibly an old army mate, but I’m not sure on the specifics. It was probably explained to me at the time, but I was busy thinking about protecting my bedroom from vampires (thanks to an older sister who swore they were coming for me), protecting my toes from gnomes (they hack them off if you sleep with your feet untucked, you know), and protecting my Playmo men from the dog.

Playmo Vikings. I seriously want these from Amazon

Anyway, Dad’s mate was coming to visit and he was bringing his daughter, and my sister Kath and I had to play with her. When she turned up with all her pristine Barbie dolls in her massive Barbie Camper Van, we knew it wouldn't end well. I mean, they all still had their original high heels.

Our Barbie dolls did not do Barbie doll things. Ours went to alien planets to hold back the invasion, or time-travelled, or busted open international crime syndicates, and they did all those things in high heels and sparkly halter-tops. Now that’s girl power. We suspected that the Interloper would want to play Barbies how most girls did: by using the pictures on the box as a strict instruction manual.

We were right.

The Interloper (Bronwyn, was it Browyn?) didn’t play like we did. It was excruciating. When I was seven or eight I probably didn’t know the word excruciating, but I sure as hell felt it every time Bronwyn began every sentence with “Let’s pretend!”

Let’s pretend Barbie is going to a fashion show.

Let’s pretend she has to drive the camper van there.

Let’s pretend Barbie meets her friend Barbie at the shop

Let’s pretend Barbie and Barbie go to the beauty salon where Barbie works.

(All of them were called Barbie. Every single one. Except the three Kens.)

Let’s pretend Barbie and Barbie are at the fashion show.

Let’s pretend Barbie and Barbie and Barbie and Barbie are in the audience.

Do you feel it yet? Your muscles clenching? Your skin crawling? That tic in your eyelid? That’s excruciating, and that’s not how you tell a story.

Lesson of the day: I don’t care how flash your Barbie Camper Van is. If I hate the way you tell your story I won’t play with you. I may even hit you over the head with one of your vaccuous, bimbo skank Barbies and my dad will smack me and send me to my room.

And it will totally be worth it.

***

What are your pet peeves when it comes to storytelling?

I am Kreativ!

2012-01-24T23:38:00.003+10:00

Krista at I Take The Pen has given me the Kreativ Blogger Award. Here it is:

So pretty! The rules are that I have to tell you 10 things about myself, and then pass the award on to 6 bloggers.

So now I get to tell you 10 ~~exciting~~ things about myself.

1. When I was four I got stuck in the middle of a dog fight. I still have the scars from where a neighbourhood dog called Oplika Spot bit me. The scars used to be on my thigh, now they are on my knee. How weird is that?

2. I wrote my first poem at about the same age. It went “I think mice are nice.” It was also illustrated.

3. I hate cucumber. There, I’ve said it. Except, weirdly, I love tzatziki.

4. I panic when I can’t remember the difference between amiable, amicable and amenable. I’ve just reread that sentence, and I’m panicking.

5. I once accidentally handcuffed myself to a chair at work. It was surprisingly easy to do.

6. I am addicted to Historic LOLs. Cos of stuff like this:

7. Some days I spend more time thinking about writing than actually writing. This is a pattern I hope to break sometime this year.

8. I am hopeless with maths. This is because I used to work in a bank, and I hated it so much that when I quit I jettisoned the part of my brain that could count.

9. In the back of my cupboard I have a pair of knee high purple Doc Marten boots. One day they will be cool again.

10. Once, in Italy, I accepted a ride off a total stranger. You know, sometimes your parents are wrong. Sometimes you won’t get abducted and murdered. Thanks, Francesco!

And now to pass this on to 6 bloggers:

1. Charlotte from La Scrittura Vita.

2. Guilie from Quiet Laughter.

3. Debbie at Debbie-Johannson.com - Debbie's got a giveaway going on at the moment! :)

4. T.B. McKenzie at Magickless - he's got a giveaway going on as well! :)

5. Caitlin at Logically.

6. Caroline at Caroline Wilson Writes.

***

Now get off the internet and get back to writing that novel. No, seriously, I mean it.

Well, okay, you can check your email, and Twitter, but that had better be it.

And you should probably leave a comment on that blog.

Ooh, what's everyone saying on Goodreads?

Omigod, I saw the funniest thing on Youtube, just let me show you...

When did midnight happen?

Do you read aloud?

2012-01-20T22:27:00.000+10:00

When I read, the words in my head are filled with expression and emotion and nuance and all that other stuff that I’m sure actors learn so they can deliver Oscar-worthy performances. It’s all there, and, without bragging, it would give Sir Lawrence Olivier as Hamlet a run for his money. It would bring tears to your eyes, I swear.

Sadly, my actual speaking voice was provided by the Monotone3000.

This is how I imagine the Monotone3000.
source

I’m not fond of reading aloud. Never have been, and never will be. When I read, I’m racing ahead to find out what happens, not savouring every syllable like a fine wine. Or a cheap wine. Or any wine.

Hmm, I think I might have a wine.

But reading aloud is good for your WIP. When you slow down, when you listen, you might pick up some things.

Like that gap where you left out a word that your brain auto-filled but your mouth didn’t.

Like that tongue-twister that shouldn’t be there.

Like how come your eyes know the word stymied but your mouth always mispronounces it? And don't get me started on cacophony.

Like the rhythm that falters, and the beat that skips.

(And especially like how every second word is like.)

But, most importantly, using your actual voice helps you to refine your literary voice.

***

Do you read your WIP aloud?

Does Stephen King Have Nightmares?

2012-01-16T06:00:00.003+10:00

There is a point to that question, I promise, and I’m getting there.

Those of you who’ve been following this blog for a while know that I have a secret identity as a writer of erotica. (This still makes me APML - a new acronym I’ve just invented that stands for Absolutely Piss Myself Laughing.)

So.

Book 2 got published a few days ago. I like it a lot more than Book 1, so that’s something, right? The thing is though, when Book 1 came out, I didn’t really know about Goodreads. Now I know, and with Book 2 I’m doing that thing that you should never do — obsessively watching the comments by people who are currently reading it.

This might be weird, but you know what else I find a bit weird? Stopping reading a book in the middle and then going online and talking about it. Maybe that’s just me, but once I’m reading, I’ve committed to it. Although it does give you an interesting insight into what people think.

Some background: Apart from being the story where I proudly retain the Aussie spelling of the word “arse”, Book 2 is kind of suspensy/espionagey. Well, as espionagey as I could make it after doing research by watching Spooks. Long story short, some pretty awful things happen to one of the characters along the way, the wouldn’t-wish-it-on-my-worst-enemy kind of things, there’s a twist I’m quite proud of, and it’s all resolved happily in the end. Because that’s what a story is, right? Conflict —> resolution.

What surprised me was the emotional investment evident in some of the comments on Goodreads. I mean, some readers were really worried about this character. One of them had to take a break between chapters because it was “so intense.”

My first instinct: For serious, you guys, it’s not real. It’s all made up. Never happened.

My second instinct: I am an evil puppet master, sadistically manipulating your emotions. Dance for me! DANCE!

Source

Which brings me back to my question: Does Stephen King have nightmares? Or is there a weird author/reader divide? Despite creating the whole situation, are authors strangely immune from its effects? Are authors immune because we created these characters and this world from scratch? Do we know it doesn’t really matter if we kill our darlings, because we’ve got another hundred clambering for attention in our heads?

Or am I just a sociopath?

Kind of a bike story, but mostly an analogy

2012-01-12T04:34:00.004+10:00

Once, when I was about ten, I was riding my bike home from school. We lived in Bundaberg at the time. No hills, so there wasn’t a lot of pedalling involved. Anyway, at the time I didn’t tie my shoelaces. This was cool for some reason. Very devil-may-care. Bitches, check my dangly laces, Danger is my middle name. Or something.

Lunacy, sheer lunacy.
Source

Anyway.

I was riding along Avenell Street when a strange grating noise told me something wasn't right. I looked down to discover both of my shoe laces were caught in my bike chain. Now I’m not an engineer, but it didn’t take long to see the problem: every time I pedalled, the laces wound tighter. Very soon I wouldn’t be able to pedal at all.

I’m not a physicist either, but I did understand that if I stopped moving forward I would fall over.

I was two blocks from home. This would go down to the wire.

I pedalled, and my laces were pulled further into the chain.

I turned into Harvey Street. My heart was thumping wildly.

I coasted as far as I could, and then pedalled again.

(Allow me to up the tension here by saying this occurred in the days before it was compulsory to wear bike helmets, and I was not wearing one.)

I’d just hit the corner of McLachlan Drive when it happened -- the chain jammed and I couldn’t shift the pedals.

I don’t know if all of the neighbours heard me screaming for my mother as I coasted down the street, but I had a decent audience by the time I wobbled onto our pebbled driveway -- Pebbles, I ask in my best Indiana Jones impression, why did it have to be pebbles? -- still screaming, desperately hoping my mother would hear me.

She did hear me, as it happens, and appeared out the front door just in time to see me topple over like a hysterical skittle. I don’t remember a lot about what happened next. I know it took a pair of scissors to cut me free from my bike chain, and more than a few Band-Aids to patch me up, and I remember my mother’s astute observation, delivered in a slightly sarcastic tone once she made sure I wasn't bleeding to death, that there is a good reason most people tie their shoelaces.

And now for the analogy bit. Because I promised it wasn’t a bike story, right? No, this is a writing story. It is how I’m feeling about my current WIP, and it might be how you’re feeling about yours as well:

1. Sometimes you’ll struggle like hell and get nowhere.

2. Sometimes, the harder you work the worse things get.

3. Sometimes you’ll reach the end only to collapse in a screaming heap.

4. Sometimes your Mum will have to patch you up.

5. Despite the grazes, the bruises and the laughter of your neighbours, you’ll get back on the bike tomorrow.

So let’s do this until we get it right. Helmet on, shoelaces tied -- because don’t say we don’t learn from our mistakes -- and we’re off. And you know what? We’ll get there in the end!

Emotional Blackmail

2012-01-08T00:44:00.000+10:00

In real life, this is a bad thing. In fiction, bring it on.

Unleash the crazy.

Take me on a guilt trip.

Manipulate me.

Source

Whatever's on the next page, I don't want to see it coming.

*****

Do you like to ride an emotional roller coaster when you read?

Or did you stop at the gift shop on the way in to the emotional theme park and get a map?

There is no such thing as obsolete...

2012-01-04T13:04:00.000+10:00

I collect strange old books. For some reason, medical books. These can be difficult to find, particularly in a small regional city. I think, unfortunately, that a lot of old medical books are destroyed because the information in them is either obsolete, or incredibly dangerous. My British Pharmacopoeia 1932 might not be up to date with the latest gimmicks like...um, paracetamol, it does tell me how to mix up a medicinal tincture of cocaine. Mmm, sparkly goodness.

I am in love with Embalming, Theoretical and Practical by E. F. Scudamore F.B.I.E. I would love it slightly more if it was called Embalming for Fun and Profit, but you can’t have everything. This is the book that taught me that eyeballs liquefy three to five days after death. Invaluable stuff!

The oldest book I own is called Elijah the Tishbite. It is from the 1860s, and has been handed down in the family for ages. First, I guess, because someone was religious, then from habit, and now because you can’t throw out a book that old. I’ve tried to read Elijah the Tishbite a few times, if only to see what a Tishbite is, but I can’t do it. This book has defeated me. I get a few pages in, and am suddenly overcome by the urge to do harm to myself and others. Nobody can veer from dull religious pomposity into casual racist bigotry like the Victorians.

But that’s what I love about old books. The “facts” might be laughable, but in a century or two ours will be as well. Old books are a snapshot in time, part of the zeitgeist, and a window into a very different world.

Mum once said those old encyclopaedias were just collecting dust. But, really, how can we get rid of them? Where else are you going to see a cliffhanger like this:

What's the most impractical, wonderful book you own?

New Year's Evolution

2011-12-29T13:26:00.000+10:00

2011 is the year I became a writer. I think it is, although it’s hard to pinpoint exactly, since I’ve been writing ever since I could pick up a crayon. 2011 is certainly the year I became a published writer, although not in a genre I could have predicted in a gazillion years. Life’s kinda funny like that.

2012 is going to be the year when I think hard about becoming a professional writer. By that, I mean actually setting some goals: finish the first draft in x weeks, edit in x weeks, finish the second draft in x weeks rinse, repeat. I might even get a year planner for my wall — I’m that motivated. Anyone who knows me will tell you that’s as serious as it gets for me.

In 2012 I’m going to treat writing like a job, and I’m going to act like a professional. In 2012 I’m not just going to pour a glass of wine, plug into iTunes and dive straight in. Well, I’m still going to do all of those things because that’s how I write, but the difference is I will be working towards a goal.

In 2012 I will finally get my shit together.

Mind you, I’ve been saying that for years.

***

What are your resolutions?

Will you keep them?

Barry Christmas (A Challenge)

2011-12-24T13:26:00.001+10:00

I dare you to watch this and not laugh:

And here's festive Barry:

Have great holidays, everyone!

Genre is bunk

2011-12-20T07:00:00.005+10:00

I don't read books with aliens and spaceships in them, he said. So he didn't read

I hate Westerns, she said. So she never looked at

Isn't that a romance? he asked. He never picked up

Autobiographies don't interest me, she said, and never got to read

That's a kids' book, he said, so he didn't borrow

***

Have you ever discovered something wonderful in a genre you don't usually read?

Genre is great for telling bookshop employees where to shelve products, but don't ever let it tell you what to read.

7x7 - with a twist

2011-12-16T19:52:00.002+10:00

Yay! I have been given the 7x7 Link Award again, this time by Marian Allen. Thanks, Marian!

For those who don't know, you are to link to the following:

- Your most beautiful post
– Your most popular post
– Your most controversial post
– Your most helpful post
– A post whose success surprised you
– A post you feel didn’t get the attention it deserved

– The post that you are most proud of

Because I did this one quite recently, the answers haven’t actually changed. Here they are again.

So instead of just reposting them here, I thought I’d bend the rules and do something different. Instead of telling you about 7 of my posts, I thought I’d tell you about 7 things that I’ve discovered that I love.

1. Tiddly Wiki. Claudie got me onto this. It’s like a tiny personal Wikipedia for your WIP. Really, it’s a godsend for people like me who believe they can remember every character’s name, date of birth, and third aunt removed, and then find out weeks later in editing that they don’t even know who the hell this character is. Tiddly Wiki is fabulous for creating your story Bible. A word of caution though -- it is way too easy to spend so much time creating and linking entries that you forget you were supposed to be writing that novel in the first place.

2. Edit Minion.Everyone wants a minion, right? This minion will help you find weak words, passive voice, often misspelled words and more.

3. Wordle. I love making word clouds or, as I’ve discovered they are called, wordles. Not only do they look pretty, but they show you what words you overuse and how prominent your characters and themes are. (If you are writing steamy romance though, do not do this. The results will only scare you.)

4. Free personality tests like this one at HumanMetrics.I love to answer these in character and let the crazy shine through. It’s fun, and it just might just give you a little more insight into your characters. Or pause for thought about your own mental stability.

5. Can't get a fix on your character's physicality? Try sites like this one, where you can search for faces based on age, sex, height and more.

6. Scrivener. No joke, if you're not on the Scrivener band wagon yet, let me help you up! It's fantastic, it's cheap, and it's available on Mac and PC. Just download the free trial, and I promise you, you'll fall in love.

7. Dictionary.com. Nuff said.

***

What are you packing in your writing arsenal?

This blog is brought to you by...

2011-12-11T22:09:00.001+10:00

Okay, so I had this whole post typed up. No, seriously, promise, cross my heart, true god and no gammin.

Lies. All lies. I had half a post typed up, and then I remembered that it’s been ages since I posted anything, and I was going to blame work and Christmas and “Omigod, I was supposed to get Kath something really nice when I went shopping today, and I got myself bookshelves instead.”

So instead of a proper post, here are two ads that have been making me laugh this week. They’re both from New Zealand, and I love them even though the first one is making fun of us Aussies.

Needless to say, “Bro, Monique says you’re dumb” is now the standard comeback to anything in our family. As is, “No surprises there.”

What’s making you laugh this week?

Me no speak Americano...

2011-12-07T16:05:00.001+10:00

Dear Americans,

Youse are a weird mob, ay. *

Most of the time we speak the same language, then suddenly we don’t. We have cultural differences as wide as the Pacific Ocean that divides us. Or the Atlantic, if you’re coming that way. I first realised this when I had a discussion with MC about wheelie bins here.

And now that I’m working with an editor and publisher in the US, it’s gotten interesting. I can handle American spelling. No worries, mate. I’ll cull the “u” from “colour” and switch the “re” around in “theatre” and swap the “s” for a “z” in civilisation, and she’ll be right. Or, if you will, bonzer.

(NB: I have never used the word “bonzer” in real life.)

Translation: Come on, Australia!!

I’ve seen enough TV to know that you Americans go to the bathroom instead of the toilet, eat cookies instead of biscuits, and you walk on pavements or sidewalks instead of footpaths. But there were a few little things that my ripper line editor caught for me.

Did you know that you go forward, backward and toward? You don’t go forwards, backwards and towards. Struth.

(NB: I have also never used the word “struth” in real life.)

A bit of background first. The book I have just finished line-editing has an Australian protagonist, which was bloody grouse.

(NB: I have never used the word “grouse” and neither has my character. He’s not a bogan.)

To start off with, the entire thing was told from the POV of the Aussie. Then my editor suggested alternating POVs with the love interest. Who is American.

Um.

I’d like to take this opportunity to thank Google Maps, Wikipedia, and the internet generally. Seriously, mention that a character’s dad likes to go fishing, and suddenly you realise you should probably be able to name the fish. Thanks, Fishing Minnesota!

My line editor also saved me from making a real clanger, when I had my American character mention a car park. “An American would use the term parking lot,” she told me. Of course you would! I knew that one, and I'm kicking myself for it!

And the best thing about my editor? She let my Aussie protagonist keep the word "arse". (As in, pig's arse, mate, you're having me on! Or not.) Because, I'm sorry, you can take my "u"s out of my "our" endings, and you can make me write "er" instead of "re", and you can take my "s"s and make them "z"s (which is pronounced zed by the way), but I have to draw the line somewhere. I drew it around my arse.

(Image not available.)

***

Ever found out that English is not the universal language it's cracked up to be?

Or, can you make any sense out of this pearler?

This arvo, Robbo the garbo -- he’s a bit of a yobbo -- come a gutsa on the lino and now he’s off on compo. The drongo.

* Yeah, not just the Canadians that do that!

What Bert Hinkler taught me about writing.

2011-12-04T15:27:00.002+10:00

Who is Bert Hinkler, you may ask? He's this guy:

Source

Bert Hinkler was the first person to fly solo from England to Australia and he came from a town called Bundaberg on the Queensland coast. I lived in Bundaberg for a few years as a kid, and Bert Hinkler is their most famous export. Apart from the rum, I suppose, and they must have figured it was more edifying for school children to visit Bert Hinkler's house than the rum distillery. Shame.

Anyway, going through a stack of old primary school stuff, I found a Bert Hinkler-related writing exercise. It could be Grade Six or Seven. I'm not sure, because the cover has fallen off and, frankly, my handwriting was always that bad. But I'd like to thank whichever teacher it was who set this exercise, because this is good stuff.

Although I obviously didn't get into it at the time. My map of Queensland isn't even coloured in properly, Hinkler's house appears to be in the ocean, and there is no way in hell that plane would get off the ground.

***

Do you run through what your character sees, hears, feels, fears or enjoys in each scene?

How much makes it into the scene?

Do you ever wish you could illustrate your own stories?

Are you jealous of my plane drawing skills?

Lie To Me

2011-11-29T19:55:00.001+10:00

I’ve been thinking a bit about my main character Danny this week. Mainly because it feels like ages since I paid him any proper attention and, like a neglected pet, he’s making himself known by ripping the couch cushions apart while I’m at work. Hmm, I’m not sure when that veered off into a weird analogy, but you know I don’t mean he literally rips the cushions apart. I understand that Danny’s not real, despite the number of prickly conversations we’ve been having lately.

Huh. Why can I imagine myself trying to explain that to a sympathetic psychologist in the future?

Anyway, Danny is an evasive one. Unfriendly, untrusting, and, as last week showed, unwilling to mingle at social gatherings. He's hard to pin down, and I think it’s because he’s full of lies.

There is the lie he tells his superior officer: It doesn't matter.

There is the lie he tells his friend: I’m good.

There is the lie he tells the bully: I’m not scared of you.

And there is the lie he tells himself: I can make it home in time to save them.

***

Tell me about your main character.

What secrets do they keep?

What lies do they tell?

Love or money?

2011-11-24T23:12:00.001+10:00

“Writing is like prostitution. First you do it for love, and then for a few close friends, and then for money.” - Moliere

I’m currently picturing myself wearing a feather boa, a corset, and a hard look on my face. I’ll be the scariest madam in all Dodge, and I can't wait!

Source

Get me a whiskey, straight up.

***

Do you have a favourite quote about writing?
What about some invaluable writing advice stuck above your workspace?
Or perhaps an ambition to be a madam?

Sharing is fun!

Plotting vs Pantsing - Now With Salty Plums!

2011-11-19T16:17:00.005+10:00

You know when they say if you can’t make your mind up about something you should write a list of pros and cons? Yeah, that’s crap advice. It’s right up there with putting money away for a rainy day. Because that way you just end up spending your money on lifejackets and ark-building supplies instead of awesome stuff like Angry Birds stickers and a phone case that looks like a cassette, and salty plums, which you haven’t tried since you were five and oh my god, how did you ever eat them, they should come with some sort of health warning. Like this one: Salty Plums. May induce feelings of nostalgia. Do not eat.

Anyway, apart from my corner shop selling salty plums now, the big news this week is that I have been once again wrestling with the plotter/pantser issue. And I did one of those lists as well. I came up with a heck of a lot of pro-plotting anti-pantsing reasons, and only one anti-plotting pro-pantsing reason. But it’s a doozie.

Warning: Do not eat

Remember my happy place WIP? The one that, if finished, will be dedicated to the good people at Banrock Station? It gave me this:

Anti-plotting pro-pantsing Reason One

On reading back a scene I wrote, I just said “Holy hell, I did not see that coming!”

And I kinda like being surprised.

So as much as I want to be a good plotter, I don’t think it will ever come naturally. Like a half-sucked salty plum it will stick in my craw while I panic about whether or not I can actually stand the taste, and whether or not I can actually force myself to finish.

When it comes to plotting I’ll keep to the barebones of an outline thanks to the corkboard in Scrivener, but that’s as far as I can plan ahead without driving myself insane, and it’s further than I ever used to plan, so that’s progress right?

Meanwhile, I’m going to walk to the corner shop and buy some more salty plums, because I live in a state of denial and I refuse to believe I can’t eat something that I lived on when I was five. Also, I'm stubborn. I will not be defeated by salted fruit.

***

Are you a plotter or a pantser? Are you happy with that?

Salty plums, yay or nay? (This is not a euphemism.)

Salty plum analogies: disturbing, yay or nay?

Come in, come in!

2011-11-15T02:30:00.002+10:00

So, you’re the main character in a WIP. How exciting! I do love to meet fictional people.

My main character, Danny, is skulking around here somewhere. By the buffet table, probably. He's going through a difficult phase. You know teenagers. Every day it's You don't understand me, and I didn't ask to be born, and When our nightmares hit the Wall, I hope they kill you first. Well, that last one might just be Danny.

So, tell me a little about yourself!

***

How would your main character introduce him/herself to new aquaintances? With a smile, a snarl, or something else?

Winner of Shine, and a blog award!

2011-11-10T19:55:00.000+10:00

Okay, so I said I'd draw Shine by Lauren Myracle in two weeks. That was three weeks ago. I have the time management skills of, um, let's say a jellyfish. I'm fairly certain jellyfish have no concept of time, right? Just washing back on the forth on the tides, floating in the warm waters of the world's oceans, weird, gelatinous, occasionally distracted by the howling screams of agony from unwary swimmers.

Random fact: Oceans confused me as a child. I thought they were a rort invented by cartographers. How can they have borders and different names? Water doesn't respect geographic boundries. IT'S ALL THE SAME OCEAN!

My random fact was entered way too late to win Shine. Miss Cole's wasn't.

Congratulations, Miss Cole, you've won a copy of Shine!

Also, today Magpie at Magpie Writes gave me the One Lovely Blog Award. Thanks, Magpie!

I am passing it on to:

Cally at Cally Jackson Writes

Shannon from The Warrior Muse

And if you guys don't know Shelley from Dark Writes, you should head over there!

In other news, I am completely obsessed by this song at the moment:

Completely obsessed.

What songs are stuck in your brain this week?

The Uniqueness of Place

2011-11-08T10:23:00.003+10:00

I’m guilty of neglecting place when it comes to writing. A couple of broad brush strokes, and I’m straight to the action. But place is important. We are all products of our environment, after all, and that includes our characters.

It doesn’t matter if your novel is set inside a cardboard box. You have to make me feel like I’m seeing a cardboard box for the first time. You have to own your setting. You have to make it unique by showing it to me in a new way.

I’ve been working on developing place lately. For me, this is using what I know: humidity, saltwater, the dry rip of a heavy palm leaf tearing from the tree, the scream of a bat, the heart-stopping crash of a mango on a tin roof in the middle of the night, and the smell of a hot road the minute before the rain hits.

I’ve been getting out more, and taking notes, because this is my cardboard box and I want to show you guys what it’s like.

I said to my sister (and co-author for my current WIP) Kath the other day: “I’ve got a great idea.”

I laid out the bare bones, and she agreed it had potential.

“The only thing is,” I said, “we need to do a field trip.”

I tried to explain about place. It would be very important for this story, which so far is made up of these as yet unconnected elements: A Picnic at Hanging Rock; paranormal; a ghost -- probably; an unhappy ending -- almost certainly; and (inspired by last month’s Monsterfest) a very scary and, as far as I know, uniquely Australian phenomenon called the Min Min Light.

“A field trip?” Kath asked. “To Boulia?”

Actually, the old Min Min Hotel is 73 kilometres west of Boulia.

The old Min Min Hotel. It burned down in 1912 or 1918, depending on which source you believe.
Source

And Boulia is 961 kilometres away from Townsville.

Source

My maths skills are hopeless, but however you add it up that comes out to a very long, very boring drive. I have a feeling I might be on my own.

Having said that, I’ve got a few months to convince her, because there is no way I’m heading west in the wet season. Research is one thing -- getting stranded on the side of the road for days, possibly weeks, waiting for the rivers go back down, no thanks.

How far have you gone to research place?

A Wet Season Retrospective

2011-11-04T15:10:00.001+10:00

It's that time of year again: the wet season. The days are humid, and the clouds are rolling in. They're bringing a sense of unease with them this time, because we've been once bitten. This time last year the wet season began with Cyclone Tasha. Then, the floods that devastated central and southern Queensland. Then here in the north, Cyclone Anthony. Four days later, the big one: Cyclone Yasi. Yasi made landfall almost exactly between Townsville and Cairns, the two most populous cities in north Queensland. Lucky for us. Not so lucky for the many smaller towns in between:

Cardwell post-Yasi. Picture from The Brisbane Times

Port Hinchinbrook. Picture from The Brisbane Times

Tully. Picture from The Guardian

There are more photos here:

So this year, please Nature, we'd like less wind with our wet season. And less water.

Here is southern Queensland in January:

Sometimes we forget how precarious our dull, everyday lives can be. We forget that not everything goes according to the plans we make. When we're reminded, we're shaken to the core. But we keep going, because that's what people do.

What is the weather like in your corner of the world?

***

I blogged about the Queensland Floods back in January, here.
I blogged about Yasi here.

That Time of the Year Again...

2011-11-01T08:00:00.004+10:00

It's NaNoWriMo season!

I'm not doing NaNo this year, for various reasons that include, but aren't limited to:

1. The day job. Some stuff going on here that needs my attention.

2. Editing. My pseudonym is working on her Second Book That Cannot Be Named, and getting into final content edits and line edits.

3. Private life. Oh yeah, I'm trying to have one of those.

But to everyone doing NaNoWriMo, this is for you:

Killer Characters Blogfest: Antagonist

2011-10-28T14:00:00.001+10:00

This week I am participating in the Killer Characters Blogfest, hosted by Deana Barnhart and E.R. King. Today it is the Antagonist. The role of the antagonist in fiction is to oppose the goals of the protagonist. The antagonist can take many forms -- a villain, a boss, that girl who always does better than you in exams -- but the greatest antagonists are those who are deeply enmeshed with the protagonist. You don’t get more enmeshed than Edward Hyde.

Source

Dr Henry Jekyll is a man struggling with dark impulses who strives to be a decent, morally upright man. By drinking a potion he separates himself from his baser instincts becoming -- literally -- a different man: Edward Hyde.

Source

At first, Jekyll doesn’t try to fight Hyde. Hyde is free from conventional morality; free to be violent and lustful, and wanton. Jekyll is working on a theory of moral dualism: if Hyde holds all the wickedness, then Jekyll will hold all the goodness. It spirals quickly out of control. When Hyde starts appearing without the aid of the potion, Jekyll realises Hyde’s true strength. By then Jekyll has lost the battle.

Source

Hyde, as a facet of Jekyll, is one of the most frightening antagonists in literature. Because if Jekyll has a Hyde just waiting to burst out of him, don’t we all? Am I my own worst enemy? Are you yours?

***

Who is your favourite literary antagonist?

Killer Characters Blogfest: Protagonist

2011-10-26T10:00:00.000+10:00

This week I am participating in the Killer Characters Blogfest, hosted by Deana Barnhart and E.R. King. Today it is the Protagonist, and I’ve picked a literal killer: Alex from A Clockwork Orange by Anthony Burgess.

***

Alex is one of the most complicated, most unlikable, and most intriguing protagonists in fiction. Is he an irredeemable rapist and murderer, or a fifteen-year-old victim of political machinations? The disease or the symptom? He’s both. He’s a monster, and also a kid. He is our guide into the underbelly of a very unsettling world. Alex says, “O my brothers” and we listen.

Source

Alex doesn’t justify himself. He doesn’t have to.

“But, brothers, this biting of their toe-nails over what is the cause of badness is what turns me into a fine laughing malchick. They don’t go into the cause of goodness, so why the other shop?”

Source

“But what I do I do because I like to do.”

The genius of A Clockwork Orange is that it makes Alex an almost-sympathetic victim. When the government uses a behaviour modification technique that makes Alex physically sick when he thinks of violence, when Alex jumps from the window to escape the torture of music he once loved, we recognise this as an atrocity. We know this isn’t just about Alex. This is about free choice, and Alex should be free to choose to be a monster.

Source

Even Alex’s redemption -- his realisation that he is growing up and growing out of violence -- is tempered by his belief that the cycle of violence will, and must, continue as the natural order of things.

"But you, O my brothers, remember sometimes thy little Alex that was. Amen."

***

Who is the protagonist that gets into your head and won’t get out?

Killer Characters Blogfest: Supporting Character

2011-10-24T22:20:00.004+10:00

This week I am participating in the Killer Characters Blogfest, hosted by Deana Barnhart and E.R. King. Today it is the Literary Supporting Character. I have chosen Sam from The Lord of the Rings trilogy.

***

Source

Samwise Gamgee isn’t particularly brave, or particularly clever. Sam just got roped into this whole walk-into-Mordor malarkey because he wanted to hear a good story. In the beginning Sam has modest ambitions (glimpsing another Elf and maybe seeing an oliphaunt) and fussily worries more about Frodo’s wellbeing than Middle Earth’s. He’s the most homesick of all the hobbits, but it never once occurs to him to turn back because Sam is, above all things, loyal.

Source

His loyalty and his love for Frodo push Sam further from home than he has ever been before. They take him right into Mordor, and right into heartbreak.

"Don't leave me here alone...Don't go where I can't follow!"
Source

But hobbits, as Gandalf reminds us, can still surprise us. And Sam does the most surprising thing of all: he becomes a hero. When Frodo finds the weight of the Ring too great to continue, Sam does the only thing he can: he carries Frodo and the Ring, all the way to the end.

Source

Sam saves the world.

***

Who is your favourite literary supporting character?

Monsterfest: A Yowie Hunt

2011-10-22T15:17:00.003+10:00

I've been on a yowie hunt. No, not running around the bush blindly with a torch, a bad camera phone and no sense of equilibrium. I thought that for my final Monsterfest post -- and my second yowie post -- I would tell you all about chocolate yowies. And they are as magical and mysterious as their namesakes, I promise.

When I was at school and at uni, you could get chocolate yowies everywhere. They were like Kinder Surprises. You ate the chocolate, cracked the plastic egg open, and ended up with a cheap toy whose legs fell off in five minutes. It was usually some sort of dinosaur. I got a minmi once -- they were very Australian. I seem to remember a vague environmental message as well -- there were comics and colouring books for the younger fans, but I just wanted the chocolate. Okay, and the toy.

This is Squish. Because he was purple, he was my favourite. Hello, Squish!

Anyway, in order to investigate why yowies were no longer on our supermarket shelves, I joined the Cadbury forums. Really, there's nothing I won't do for research:

I was eager to track down the yowie, but I wasn't the first explorer who'd blazed this trail. No, others had been here before me. Others had sought the very answer I burned to know.

YowieLuva wasn't buying that corporate schtick, and neither was I. I turned to Facebook, only to find that the page was losing momentum! I was too late, again!

Defeated and helpless, I turned to YouTube. Could it be? A rare yowie sighting!

Success! (And that environmental message I was talking about. Careful it doesn't hit you over the head. Apparently yowies don't do subtle.)

What mythical creatures -- or chocolates -- would you like to hunt down?

***

This post was brought to you by Sommer Leigh's MonsterFest2011. Check it out here: MonsterFest

3rd Campaigner Challenge: Flash Fiction

2011-10-18T17:37:00.003+10:00

This is my entry for the Third Campaigner Challenge. Here are the rules:

Write a blog post in 300 words or less, excluding the title. The post can be in any format, whether flash fiction, non-fiction, humorous blog musings, poem, etc. The blog post should show:

• that it’s morning,

• that a man or a woman (or both) is at the beach

• that the MC (main character) is bored

• that something stinks behind where he/she is sitting

• that something surprising happens.

Just for fun, see if you can involve all five senses AND include these random words: "synbatec," "wastopaneer," and "tacise." (NB. these words are completely made up and are not intended to have any meaning other than the one you give them).

And here is my entry:

Source

Survivor: Honeymoon

     Paul trails along like a beachcomber. His feet sink in the sand. Tiny waves race to fill the footprints he leaves behind. They glisten like gold in the morning sunlight all the way up the beach, and I play join the dots in my head and resist the urge to look at my watch.

     It’s broken anyway. I should have got a Synbatec like Paul’s.

Honey, look! He shoved it in my face that first night. Not even scratched!

I write swirls in the damp sand with my finger, and ignore the stench behind me. Paul was going to bury that fish head, wasn’t he, or use it as bait or something? I wasn’t really listening when he told me. I watched his mouth move, but I was hearing a different conversation: Of course I can sail a yacht, honey! It’ll be a great honeymoon, I promise!

The Wastopaneer juts up out of the brilliant blue ocean, wedged on the reef, mast snapped.

Time passes. The waves whisper back and forth on the beach. Paul’s got a stick in one hand and his shirt in the other. God only knows what he thinks he’s doing, and how showing off his pecs will help.

I’ve got the GPS beacon here somewhere! If I can just find it, we’ll be set!

I lick my lips and taste the tacise sting of salt.

I could have married Lionel. Lionel’s a nice guy. Not rich, but nice. Nice is nice.

My fingers close around the cylindrical object buried in the sand. The GPS beacon.

The fish head behind me belongs to a puffer fish.

Want some breakfast, honey? Paul beamed with pride.

I demurred with a regretful smile.

I’ll activate the beacon this afternoon. Maybe Lionel will comfort me when I’m back in civilisation.

***

If you like my entry, please vote for it at Rach Writes.

My entry is # 25.

Monsterfest 2011: The Yowie

2011-10-15T14:00:00.007+10:00

The yowie is one of my favourite types of monsters: one of the ones that maybe, if you hold your head at the right angle and squint into the sun, you just might see in real life. The yowie is another Australian monster, or, more precisely, a cryptid -- a creature that like Bigfoot, or Nessie, or the Yeti probably isn't real, but there are just too many eyewitness accounts to write them off as imaginary quite yet.

Wikipedia tells me that the yowie legend is sometimes interchangeable with that of the bunyip, but I've always understood them to be two very different creatures. Yowies are a sort of Australian Bigfoot, a hairy ape-like creature that lives in heavy bush and is shy and fast. Bunyips are shape-changing howling monsters that live in billabongs and drown people. Also, bunyips don't get caught on blurry home video:

The above footage is probably the most famous yowie footage, but I don't like it much. It's a little derivative. It's got a real Bigfoot vibe to it. An ape lopes through some trees -- we've seen it a hundred times before, and we've stopped caring. If you're going to fake yowie footage (and let's face it, they probably did) you should do it in a cool, unexpected way:

Source

I'm a sceptic. Really, I want to believe in strange and fantastical beasts, but I just can't. Well, maybe ones under the ocean because that goes down for miles, you know, but not ones that are just hanging around in the bush and popping up randomly to scare picnickers. Because we've had video cameras and phone cameras for a really long time now, but I've yet to see any footage of any cryptid that someone with an ounce of technical knowledge can't debunk. I'm like that poster in Fox Mulder's office. I want to believe. Really, I do, because the world needs mystery and imagination, and undiscovered corners, but you've got to give me something a little more substantial than the sort of video my four year old niece accidentally makes when she's looking for Angry Birds on my phone.

In the meantime I'll keep watching fuzzy Youtube videos of monster sightings and alien autopsies, and I'll keep squinting into the sun, because the world needs things that go bump in the night. I do, anyway.

What do you want to believe in?

***

This post was brought to you by Sommer Leigh's MonsterFest2011.

Check it out here: MonsterFest

Blog awards, a random question and a book giveaway!

2011-10-11T14:57:00.004+10:00

Margo from Urban Psychopomp has given me the 7x7 Link Award. Urban Psychopomp is closing down but you will still be able to read great tips there on the craft of writing -- particularly on plotting and structure. You will still be able to find Margo every Wednesday at Wicked & Tricksy.

For this award, I need to come up with the following:

Most Beautiful: The post isn't beautiful, but the Bislama words are. Read them here and then say them aloud!

Most Helpful: Let's not get carried away. I don't know that I've actually written anything helpful, but this might come close: Evil in Fiction. It's a reminder that evil isn't created in a vacuum, and you're doing your story a disservice with a mwah-ha-ha villain.

Most Popular: I've judged this on comments alone. It's my second flash fiction entry for the Write Campaign: Mirror Imago.

Most Controversial: I don't think my post was controversial, but the topic was. It was the "dark YA" thing. Ooh, dark, scary...won't somebody think of the children?

Most Successful: I have no idea how to judge this. I think my most successful post was this one on POV. This scored me a guest post on the lovely Tahereh Mafi's blog. I was a very new blogger back then, and delighted that anything I'd written could actually be useful to anyone else, so that definitely counts as a success.

Most Underrated: How am I supposed to choose this? A post that didn't get any comments, because I didn't have many followers? A post that I felt was helpful but nobody else did? Or a post that got some comments, but could have got more? Yeah, I'm going with that. Check this out. It even has pictures. The End of the Affair.

Most Prideworthy: This one, because I'm finally starting to recognise the traps my brain sets for me, and work through them. But I'm also proud of this one because it turns out in a natural disaster my first instinct is to write it all down!

I also need to pass this award onto 7 blogging friends:

1. Cally at Cally Jackson Writes

2. The always informative and entertaining TF Walsh

3. Shelley Koon at Dark Writes.

4. Debbie Johansson, who has some great writerly advice.

5. The Patient Dreamer at Writer & Dreamer at Work

6. Trisha at WORD + STUFF

7. Liza Kane at Redeeming the Time

Also, Sheri from Finding Joy in the Journey has awarded me an Irresistibly Sweet Blogger Award! Thanks, Sheri!

The rules for the award are:

1. Link back and thank your givers.

2.Share 7 random things about yourself.

3.Choose some awesome people to pass the award to and leave a comment on their blog so they can claim them.

Here are seven random things about me.

1. A policeman just knocked on my door. He was doing neighbourhood enquiries because a car got broken into next door. He is new and didn't recognise me. "Hello," I said, "I'm Jen, I work in Comms." Then his sunglasses fell off and broke on my garden path. They looked expensive. He'll remember me now.

2. I have a very specific phobia about being trapped inside a sealed room that is filling with water. This is probably from some movie I shouldn't have watched as a child.

3. I can't do basic maths. This is a psychological issue. I once worked in a bank. I hated it. When I quit, I told myself I would never have to do maths again. And now I can't.

4. I hate snakes, jellyfish, crocodiles and cyclones. I don't know why the hell I live in North Queensland.

5. My car is blue. That random enough?

6. I can't decide whether or not to buy myself an iPad for Christmas, or chickens. My gut tells me that chickens, although they have less apps, might actually be more fun.

7. I can't hold a grudge. Not because I'm a nice person, but because I get distracted and can't remember why I shouldn't be talking to you.

I'm passing the Irresistibly Sweet Blogger award onto:

1. Rachel Bean

2. Aldrea at Thardrandian Thoughts

3. Adam at Author's Echo.

And now, the book giveaway...

In the spirit of today's post, why not tell me something random about yourself in the comments? The randomest comment will be chosen by a random number generator, and I will send you a copy of Shine by Lauren Myracle.

I accidentally ordered two off Amazon. Sleep deprivation is a wonderful thing! Let's say I'll draw it in about two weeks? Or when I remember. Whichever comes first.

Over to you: hit me with the random.

Monsterfest2011: Evolution

2011-10-07T21:18:00.001+10:00

As part of the evolution of monsters in storytelling, we defang them, declaw them, and demystify them. We humanise them, which isn’t always a bad thing.

It gives us werewolves who are just high school guys who want to play basketball. Or lacrosse, according to latest incarnation.

Source

It gives us witches with boyfriend troubles and day jobs.

Source

And, tragically, it gives us vampires who drive Volvos and have prettier hair than me. Edward Cullen, I’m looking at you, you sparkly wuss. (I think I am most offended by the Volvo. Really, because a vampire needs the most famously safe car on the planet? If living forever and a predisposition for feeding on the blood of the innocent doesn’t entitle you to a classic Porsche Spyder, I don’t know what does.* God, why didn’t they just given him a Prius and be done with it?)

Hello, I'm a vampire. You'll have to take my word for it that I'm a predator because nothing that I say, do, or even drive will actually give an impression of danger.
Source

The same has been done with the bunyip. I did a post on bunyips last time here. What once was a scary drag-you-down-and-drown-you monster has been...domesticated? Emasculated? Whatever the word I'm looking for, the bunyip has been made cuddly.

Alexander Bunyip was my friend. I know this because he had a TV show back in the eighties, and the theme song went "He's Alexander Bunyip, and he's our friend". I can’t actually find any of it online. Apparently bunyips shun media attention. I did, however find his Facebook page:

Alexander was the first non-scary bunyip I remember. He was pink and fuzzy and had fun adventures. I also remember a song they sang on Playschool that went "Bunyip, bunyip, YIP YIP YIP!" Those were the days...charged up on fruit cordial and Vegemite sandwiches, rampaging through the house screaming "YIP YIP YIP!" Actually, I might try that later on...

It's not always a bad thing to humanise our monsters. Maybe looking for the human inside the monster is also a way of looking for the monster inside our human selves. It's a way of looking at a story from another side, and that's a valuable lesson to learn. Do you remember the first time it occurred to you that Frankenstein was the real monster, not his creation?

And it's not always a bad thing to make a monster cuddly. For every bunyip who chases you under the bunyip moon, there is an Alexander to save you. Just, please, for the love of all that's unholy, whatever you do to your monsters, just don't let them drive Volvos.

* "Oh my God! Help, police! I'm being chased by a soulless blood-sucking monster driving a...a...holy crap, it's a Volvo. Yeah, it's definitely a Volvo. Don't worry about coming out. I can handle this myself."

***

This post was brought to you by Sommer Leigh's MonsterFest2011.

Check it out here: MonsterFest

MonsterFest2011: The Bunyip

2011-10-03T21:13:00.011+10:00

We need monsters.

Monsters teach us not to stray from the group.

Monsters teach us not to go into the woods.

Monsters teach us to sleep with one eye open.

Monsters teach us to stay away from dangerous places.

The bunyip is an Australian water monster.

The bunyip lives in waterholes, and creeks and billabongs. Like the Celtic kelpie, the bunyip drags its victims into the water and devours them.

The bunyip is an evil spirit.

Descriptions of the bunyip are as varied as the indigenous tribal groups who tell the bunyip's story. The bunyip is not a dreamtime creature. The bunyip is still here.

Source: National Library of Australia

Source: State Library of Victoria

Don't go near the water, or the bunyip will get you.

This clip is taken from a old cartoon called Dot and the Kangaroo. An otherwise charming show, it was responsible for freaking out an entire generation of Aussie kids.

This post was about authentic bunyips. Next time, cuddly!

***

This post was brought to you by Sommer Leigh's MonsterFest2011. Check it out here: MonsterFest

Genre Mashups

2011-10-01T15:29:00.002+10:00

Sometimes mashing up two genres is a great idea. Sometimes it's so great it produces an entirely new genre. Spec Fic + Historical = Steampunk.

But sometimes you should leave well alone, as Vince and Howard from The Mighty Boosh know:

(Although every time I watch it seems a little less crazy, and a little more so-crazy-it-might-just-work.)

I'll be back in a few days for MonsterFest 2011. If you haven't joined that yet, you really should. It's gonna be scary fun! You can join up at Tell Great Stories or by following the link down on my sidebar.

Bored + Wine = Pantsing

2011-09-27T22:52:00.000+10:00

My family is in China. My mum, my sister, her husband, and their kids. My sister is also my co-author, so I'm kind of at a loose end. (Although, I did completely rewrite our WIP with a different setting to see if it's better. I think it is, and it was important to do this now. Kath will probably sensibly think it could have waited until edits.) So I'm bored. The other night, feeling the urge to write something new, I sat down with a glass of wine. Then another glass of wine...you know how this goes! Anyway, the next morning when I read through what the alcohol fairies had written, this is what I found:

Source: Flickr

Mitchell can’t walk since they cut his hamstrings. The bandages have been on for three days now. The blood has soaked through them. They are brown like sepia, like coffee filters, like they are streaked with shit. They stink. He stinks. The whole shed stinks.

The wounds have turned septic.

That’s what you get, the Captain said, for trying to run.

I knew Mitchell’s face from Home. He ran with the pack from under the railway bridge. We had a truce with them. They were okay. I didn’t know Mitchell though, not until we got caught in the same hunt.

It was a moonless night. Those were always the most dangerous. It was cold as well, but my growling stomach drew me out to the water’s black edge, to the jagged skeletons of the jetties and the warehouses and the shipping containers; to the sharp smell of rust and saltwater.

The Men have electricity. They’ve got it in their guns.

When I heard the crunch of a boot on the gravel I spun around. I felt a pinch like wasp stings on my skin, and the moonlight caught on the wires that twisted back from me to the Man, that caught me like spider’s silk, like fishing line. My breath snagged in my throat, then click click click and the electricity ripped me apart.

My body wasn’t my body. Electricity sliced through every nerve ending. My muscles contracted. Pain tore through me. First it dropped me, then it held me tightly, and then it shook me. I made noises like an animal with a cut throat. I thought the Man was killing me.

Even when it was over, when I was lying on the gravel and the man was tying my wrists and ankles, I couldn’t stop twitching. Like the old man from the T-House whose fingers trembled like every day was winter.

I blinked away hot tears and looked up at the Man in the darkness. He wore a helmet with protruding black goggles attached to it that took up most of his face. The top half of his face was an insect’s face, a robot’s face, a nightmare’s face. The bottom half was smooth and angular, and his lips were curled into a smile as he reached down for me.

I couldn’t struggle. The electricity had broken me.
I couldn’t even look around to see if Pax had got away. Had the Man seen her? Fizz would never forgive me if Pax got caught because of me. Not Pax. She was our best thing ever.

I whimpered as the ghost of the electricity teased my jerking muscles and bit at my shocked nerves.

The Man dragged me to the truck and hauled me into it, and I lay on the floor in the back and shook. Mitchell was already there. He wasn’t called Mitchell then. They put our names on us when they drove us back to the Settlement.

When the truck engine roared, my leaking hot tears became a flood.

At least they didn’t get Pax. At least Pax is okay.

There were four Men in the back of the truck. The one who had caught me, I learned later, was the Captain. Even when I didn’t know that I knew that he was the most important Man in the group. The other Men looked to him.

Shafts of torchlight burned my eyes.

The Captain gazed down at Mitchell first, at his rust-coloured hair that hung in thorny tangles halfway down his back, and at the big, scared eyes that stared out of his dirty face.

“Mitchell,” he said, and then said it again. “Mitchell.”

Mitchell shrank back against me. We knocked against each other as the truck bounced over the broken-up road.

I didn’t know what the Captain was doing until he turned his narrow gaze on me. He shone a torch in my face, and smiled. “Ryan. Ryan.”

That’s not my name, but I learned to answer to it.

It took less than a day.

God, I love pantsing. I've been trying to be disciplined, and going back to wild abandoned pantsing was like stumbling across a packet of cigarettes a week after I quit. So bad, but so very, very good.

Pantsing, my secret love.

Anyway, I have no idea where this one is going, but I'm not going to ask it difficult questions. It's going to be my happy place when my brain aches from plotting.

Blogfest: What I Did On My Summer Vacation

2011-09-24T03:00:00.001+10:00

Blogfest time! Today it is "What I did on My Summer Vacation" which I entered despite it being winter! Hey, there was no timeframe on it. You're not the boss of me.

My summer holiday was back in January, when it was actually summer here in Australia. I went to Melbourne. I saw penguins and trams. Not at the same time, sadly, but I can dream.

If only the world was this awesome

While all of you in the northern hemisphere have been having your summer vacations, I have been enjoying a tropical winter. A tropical winter is like any other sort of winter, except you only need a light jacket.

Winter. Brr. Chilly.

While my extended family is holidaying in China, the dog and I have been enjoying walks on the beach. Well, I’ve been enjoying them. Cleo’s not so sure.

Why have you brought me to this place where my feet might get wet?

Winter in Townsville means sunny days and cool breezes. The nights can get cold, but when we say cold we mean about 5 degrees Celsius. That translates to 41 degrees Fahrenheit, apparently.

Townsville

Don’t be jealous, top-siders*. Karma will get me back in summer when my brain is melting, I feel like I am trying to sleep in a slow oven, and the only respite from the humidity and the clouds of dengue-carrying mosquitoes is the monsoonal rain. Then this:

Ah, the Wet Season

So, what did you do on your holiday?

Check out all the entries via Michael's blog here: What I Did On My Summer Vacation.

*this is my new slang term for people who live in the northern hemisphere.

Campaigner Challenge: Imago, Miasma, Lacuna, Oscitate and Synchronicity. OMG.

2011-09-22T19:22:00.005+10:00

Here is this week's Campaigner Challenge, and wasn't it a doozy! There were the rules:
The Challenge is:

Write a blog post in 200 words or less, excluding the title. It can be in any format, whether flash fiction, non-fiction, humorous blog musings, poem, etc. The blog post should:

include the word "imago" in the title
include the following 4 random words: "miasma," "lacuna," "oscitate," "synchronicity,"

If you want to give yourself an added challenge (optional and included in the word count), make reference to a mirror in your post.

For those who want an even greater challenge (optional), make your post 200 words EXACTLY!

And here is my effort:

Mirror Imago

The explosion brought us running.

A greenish miasma hung over the workshop floor. The place was quiet, the silence as laden as a protracted lacuna in an orchestral piece.

“Uncle Tiberius?” I peered through the fumes. “Uncle Tiberius?”

“Oh, sir,” squeaked the maid. “Is he dead? I know he’s dead!”

“If he’s not, Aunt Constance will murder him.” My jaw dropped at the sight of the smashed mirror. The empty gilt frame leaned against the wall. And, dear Lord, the grandfather clock! Cogs and weights and springs littered the floor.

“Don’t oscitate, m’boy!” a cheery voice exclaimed. “Bally bad manners, wot!”

He rose up out of the green mist like a phantasm.

“Tiberius!”

My uncle was not the same man I’d seen at breakfast. He was young and ruddy-faced. He was wearing a grin from ear to ear. The only things that remained of his familiar elderly features were his large sagging ears and tufty white hair.

He studied himself in a shard of the broken mirror, and tugged ruefully at a floppy lobe. “Ah, a success, all in all, apart from a few issues with synchronicity!” He beamed. “Lead on, m’boy, what’s for luncheon?”

***

Check out the rest of the entries here at Rach Writes.
If you liked mine you can vote for it. I am number 3 on the list.

I am workshopped, confused and versatile!

2011-09-20T22:22:00.003+10:00

Workshopped

On Saturday I attended a workshop called “From Cleanskin to Crime writer” with the lovely PM Newton, author of The Old School. The workshop was organised by the Queensland Writers Centre.

You can buy The Old School here.

It was a very interesting and informative day, and reminded me that I really should sign up for every workshop opportunity that presents. There is nothing better for your motivation than to be in a room full of people who are passionate about writing. It was a full day and we touched on a lot of things. Most of it is applicable to all types of fiction. Here is the stuff I underlined:

Social enquiry: what does good crime fiction say about society, politics and culture?

Location is vital: Time, sense of place.

Place: does your character relate to place as an insider or outside? Does the landscape provide solace or provoke stress?

Creating scenes: In late, out early! A scene should always reveal something about the character, not just advance the plot through exposition. If nothing happens, why is the scene there?

Grief: respect it. A body is not just a plot point. A victim is the most important character, even if defined by absence.

And, as PM said: “Land the plane.” Just get that first draft down on paper.

Confused

Scrivener, bloggy friends. What do we think about Scrivener? I like what I see so far, but I am still more confused than impressed -- my fault, I haven’t played with it much. I have the trial version on my Mac and it seems okay, but I also do a fair amount of writing on my PC. I understand that Scrivener is only in a beta version for PC, so I’m wondering if it would be simple enough to switch between using the two platforms. Is anyone else in this position?

Versatile

Thanks to the The Patient Dreamer for awarding me a Versatile Blogger award!

The rules for accepting the award are as follows:

1. Thank the person who gave you the award and link back to them in your post.

2. Share 7 things about yourself.

3. Pass this award along to recently discovered blogs and let them know about it.

So here are my seven things:

1. When I was five I left Sunday School and refused to go back. This is because I had an asthma attack and Jesus, who they told me was in charge, didn’t even apologise. My mother didn’t respect my theological position much, but she did feel sorry for the teenage girl who read us Bible stories so she didn’t force me to go again.

2. I want to buy two chickens. Not because I like eggs, but because I like chickens. The only reason I haven’t is because I am afraid chickens will attract pythons.

3. I own too many books to fit on my bookshelves, but it is still not enough books.

4. I have a BA. It is called a BA because it qualified me for Bugger All.

5. I have worked in the same job for eleven years. I’m not sure how this happened.

6. I don’t have a favourite book, or even a favourite genre because I love too many to pick, and it all depends on my mood. I can’t even commit to a favourite colour.

7. I am faking being an adult. The only reason I bought my own house was because I wanted a puppy.

And here are some newly discovered blogs that I am loving (and you should too!):

Mr Thompson's Guide to Never Getting Published

Munk Davis

Magickless
TF Walsh
Pauline's Prose

Check them out, and share the love!

Age Inappropriate

2011-09-17T17:00:00.005+10:00

I was cleaning out my study today -- an event as bizarre and freakish as a rainfall of frogs -- when I came across a little gem called "Lullaby Land", published in 1898. The front cover has been missing for as long as I've had the book, but the title page is still intact. Most of the poems are meh. There's a lot of talk about going to sleepy land and saying your prayers and someone called the Hushaby Lady from Lullaby Street. It's all very cloying. But there's one poem called Little Boy Blue by Eugene Field, and it's not the nursery rhyme about the kid falling asleep while the cow's in the corn. This one traumatised me as a child, and it still does. So, if you don't know it, now I'm going to traumatise you. All you have to do is remember that this is a bedtime poem for small children:

Little Boy Blue

The little toy dog is covered with dust,

But sturdy and stanch he stands;
And the little toy soldier is red with rust,
And his musket moulds in his hands.

Time was when the little toy dog was new,
And the soldier was passing fair;
And that was the time when our Little Boy Blue
Kissed them and put them there.

"Now, don't you go till I come," he said,
"And don't you make any noise!"
So, toddling off to his trundle-bed,
He dreamt of the pretty toys;

And, as he was dreaming, an angel song
Awakened our Little Boy Blue---
Oh! the years are many, the years are long,
But the little toy friends are true!

Ay, faithful to Little Boy Blue they stand,
Each in the same old place---
Awaiting the touch of a little hand,
The smile of a little face;

And they wonder, as waiting the long years through
In the dust of that little chair,
What has become of our Little Boy Blue,
Since he kissed them and put them there.

Of course, it doesn't help that Blue looks like some sort of creepy soulless china-doll-come-to-life:

I think I was about eight when I first read this poem, well above the intended age. I remember telling Endors, my stuffed elephant, that if an angel tried to kill me in the night that I wouldn't leave her behind. I might have been eight but I knew one thing: how could it be heaven if they didn't let you bring your toys?

(I've always had very strong ideas about theology. I once walked out of a Sunday School class when I was five, and I refused to go back. Not until Jesus apologised. He knows what he did.)

But the point is -- I'm almost certain there was a point -- why are we worried about what our kids are reading? At least in modern stories, however terrible, however scary, we're not letting kids go quietly into the night. And we're not telling them that the things they love will wait for years, wondering, hoping, until they turn to dust.

I was similarly disturbed by The Story of Ping. I blogged about that here.

Any literary childhood traumas you feel like sharing?

Winner of Possum Magic, Blogfests and Writing Groups

2011-09-14T13:12:00.000+10:00

Drumroll, please. The winner of Possum Magic is:

Lindsay Currie!

Lindsay - I hope you enjoy these fictional possums much more than I enjoy the real thing!

In other news, I may be suffering blogfest madness. I have signed up for three, and I think you should join me! First up is What I Did On My Summer Vacation, hosted by Michael at In Time... I like this idea because I'll get to know more about my fellow bloggers without having to ask intrusive questions!

Join up here: What I Did On My Summer Vacation.

I have also joined the Killer Characters Blogfest, hosted by Deana and Emily. This is a fun blogfest with some awesome prizes. Check it out!

And everyone should sign up for the Monsterfest, hosted by Sommer Leigh at Tell Great Stories. You get to pick what monsters to post about, and what dates to post throughout October. I've picked some Australian monsters that aren't very well known in monster lore, so I'm hoping to boost their profile a little. Sigh. All the famous monsters are European.

And this Saturday, after some judicious shuffling of my work roster, I am going to a Writers' Workshop! Yay! I'm reallly looking forward to it, because I haven't been to one of these for a gazillion years, and it also takes away some of the sting of not making it to the Brisbane Writers' Festival. Look at me, being all professional!

Flash Fiction is Fun! And I learned something...

2011-09-11T14:26:00.001+10:00

How much fun was this week’s flash fiction challenge for the Platform Building Campaign? 200 words was the biggest challenge for me. My first draft was 648 words. So, yeah, a teensy little bit of editing was required. And it was hell. I really had to work hard to cull the last fifty words, but I’m glad that I did it. It forced me to strip the story down to the bare bones. I tore through my writing like a razor gang, and what I learned will become one of my new rules for writing:

Cull every unnecessary word.

This isn’t a new rule, of course. It’s only new for me. Until I had a word limit that forced me to try harder, I just assumed every word I wrote was necessary. Now I know better!

In other news, my entire extended family is in China for the next three weeks. Instead of seeing this as an opportunity to wallow in abject loneliness, I’m using it as an opportunity to write for three whole weeks with no familial obligations hanging over my head. All I have to do is keep this jade plant alive for my nephew Tom:

And write!

In other, other news, I’ll be drawing the winner of Possum Magic in a few days. If you want to enter, leave a comment letting me know either here, or on the original post here. I will be using a random number generator (bits of paper in a hat) to pick a winner.

So, what’s everyone else up to this week?

And what did you learn from the flash fiction challenge?

First Campaigner Challenge - Flash Fiction!

2011-09-06T15:00:00.007+10:00

Here is my entry for the first Campaigner Challenge! It's 200 words, it starts with "The door swung open", and (because I'm in the Dystopia group) it's a bit of a tribute to the best Dystopian novel ever - Nineteen Eighty-Four.

Aftermath

The door swung open.

Where did you get this book?

Just an old hardcover book with a faded green cover. The title had worn off.

Matt’s hands shook, rattling the cuffs against the metal table; his body’s delayed reaction to the bombing. He was sweating, nauseous. He could still smell the blood, still see where Carter finished and that red, screaming thing began, and they were showing him a book.

Where did you get this book?

A book. Matt looked at the book, at the men in suits, at the blacked-out windows and the water-stained ceiling. Every time he blinked he saw how the vehicle in front of his had landed crumpled, burning, on the side of the road.

Where did you get this book?

Shh, Elodie had whispered when she’d slipped the book into his shirt, but Matt didn’t understand. He couldn’t hold his fractured thoughts together. He couldn’t stop shaking. He watched his fingers twitch like spiders’ legs across the table.

Elodie, he murmured, his secret incantation, his strength and consolation, his now and always. Her name on his lips was only ever worship: Elodie.

Realisation came too late.

The men thanked him.

Elodie.

The door swung shut.

***

You can view all the entries in the first challenge via Rachael's blog here: Rach Writes

I want to send you a book!

2011-09-04T17:18:00.001+10:00

This week I was very excited to pass 100 followers. All credit goes to Rach Harrie at Rach Writes and my fellow Campaigners. But, in honour of reaching this landmark, I'm going to give someone a book. Nobody panic, it's not my book. But I did want something that reflected the ongoing theme of this blog, so here it is, the fantastic, whimsical, Australian children's classic:

Possum Magic is the reason why, despite my hatred of my own possums, I can't possibly be cruel to them. Possum Magic is why I look at little Sid Vicious squeezing through my kitchen shutters and go "awww". Possum Magic is why I secretly want to domesticate all of the possums who have tortured me over the past few years. It wasn't Stockholm Syndrome after all, it was their damned cuteness. And nothing is cuter than Hush.

Grandma Poss uses her best bush magic to make Hush invisible. But when Hush longs to be able to see herself again, the two possums must make their way across Australia to find the magic food that will make Hush visible once more.

So, if you have a small child, if you know a small child, or you still listen to your inner child, all you have to do is be a follower of this blog and leave me a comment letting me know you would like to be included, and in a week or so I will use a random number generator (bits of paper in a hat, probably) and draw a winner. I'll also post internationally. So, to recap:

1. Be a follower of this blog.

2. Leave a comment.

That's all. You don't have to Tweet it, but it would be awesome if you did. And you don't have to recommend me to your friends so they can enter as well, but you might do that anyway, because you're already awesome.

I know this, because this week I got given the Liebster blog award! Twice!

Thanks, Krista, at I Take The Pen, and TB McKenzie at Magickless.

The goal of the award is to spotlight up and coming bloggers who currently have less than 200 followers. The rules of the award are:

1. Thank the giver and link back to the blogger who gave it to you.
2. Reveal your top picks and let them know by leaving a comment on their blog.
3. Copy and paste the award on your blog.
4. Have faith that your followers will spread the love to other bloggers.
5. And most of all - have bloggity-blog fun!

To I would like to share the bloggity love by pointing you towards a few more Aussies and Kiwis hanging around the traps:

Pauline at Pauline's Prose - she loves her history as well!

Aldrea at Thardrainian Thoughts is a fantasy writer, and

Jolene at Everything is Possible, who is full of inspiration!

Who said that? Dialogue Tags.

2011-08-31T22:40:00.001+10:00

Whether you know them as tag lines, dialogue tags, or identifiers, the “he said”s and the “she said”s are the necessary evils of writing dialogue. Overused, and they sound weird and repetitive. Underused, and things get very confusing. The last thing you want is for your readers to lose track of who is talking. Unless that’s the point of the scene.

This is from Jasper Fforde’s brilliant Thursday Next series. It’s the second book in the series, Lost in a Good Book.

‘So one of you is fictional,’ I announced, looking at them both.

‘And we have to find out who it is,” remarked Tweed, levelling his pistol in their direction.

“Might be Yorrick Kaine-’ I added, staring at Kaine who glared back at me, wondering what we were up to.

‘-failed right wing politician-’

‘-with a cheery enthusiasm for war-’

‘-and putting a lid on civil liberties.’

Tweed and I bantered lines back and forth for as long as we dared, faster and faster, the blows from the Beast outside matching the blows from Raffles’ hammer within.

‘Or perhaps it is Volescamper-’

‘-Lord of the old realm who wants-’

‘-to try and get-’

‘-back into power with the help-’

‘-of his friends in the Whig party?’

‘But the important thing is, in all this dialogue-’

‘-that has pitched back and forth between-’

‘-the two of us, a fictional person-’

‘-might have lost track of which one of us is talking.”

“And do you know, in all the excitement, I kind of forgot myself!’

There was another crash against the door. A splinter of steel flew off and zipped past my ear. The doors were almost breached; the next blow would bring the abomination within the room.

‘So you’re going to have to ask yourselves one simple question: Which one of us is speaking now?’

Buy Lost in a Good Book at Amazon

There is a way around using direct dialogue tags, and that’s by interspersing action with the dialogue. I do this a lot. Too much, probably. There are only so many times a character can play with their hair, or stare at the floor, or sigh, before you realise they’re so full of themselves that you want to punch them in the head.

As in all things, it’s about the balance. Because if you forget whose turn it is to talk, things just get confusing. And hilarious:

And maybe I wrote a whole post about dialogue just to share that video with you.

Scenes I hate writing: Sex Scenes

2011-08-28T18:00:00.017+10:00

At the moment it's a real relief for me to be working on YA. My YA might be gritty and violent and nasty, but nobody is having sex. Nobody in my main character's tiny circle of friends anyway, because they've got more to worry about than hormones. Bless 'em, because I hate writing sex scenes.

Wanna know something scary? I think I'm good at writing sex scenes. Those of you who have followed my blog for a while know my awful secret -- I've got a book published under a pen name that is (clears throat and checks my mum isn't watching) naughty. Hell, let's be honest, it's erotica. And it was probably a weird thing for me to attempt because I don't like writing sex scenes.

Now, after having written what feels like a gazillion sex scenes -- people in naughty books are insatiable -- I like them even less. I've realised there are three reasons why I hate them.

1. There are only so many times you can describe a sex scene in new and creative ways without relying on euphemisms. And I hate euphemisms.

2. The choreography. Just like in fights scenes, you have to remember where every part of every person is at every time. And I thank my editor for pointing out to me in one of my earlier drafts that if that couple was doing what I said they were doing, there was no way they could be looking one another in the eye. Whoops. For my next book, this guy:

3. The Shame Factor. If I write about torture or war or bloodthirst and violence, I do it safe in the knowledge that my family and friends can read it without thinking that I'm a bloodthirty, violent war-mongering torturer. However, when I write about sex, and let's say it's particularly inventive sex, I'm frightened that the the first thing they'll wonder is How does Jen know that? And this is why I have a pseudonym, and why I can never tell my mother what it is.

How do you feel about sex scenes? Do you avoid them like the plague, or do you dive in headfirst? So to speak.

Scenes I hate writing: Battle Scenes

2011-08-25T18:17:00.002+10:00

Battle scenes. I can't write 'em. Particularly not big ones. There's way too much choreography going on in those. I cheat when I need to, by bringing it back to one single, skittish POV. And that guy will probably get knocked face down in a heartbeat, because the concussion that makes him vague and confused makes my job easier.

See this guy on the ground? Sure, he might look dead, but in actual fact he's my POV guy. All he can see is mud and smoke, so that's all you'll get to see as well.

Waterloo. My guy is wishing he took the day off.

I like to think I'm bringing a personal touch to a battle scene -- a sense of immediacy -- but really it's because I get confused if there are too many pieces on the board. Also, I hate the idea of historians scoffing at me. Well, really, I imagine them sneering over their port and cigars, even a child could tell you the wind was blowing from the northeast so the Prussian banners can't possibly have been streaming out behind them, what!

It's true what they say. War is hell.

Are there any battle scenes you've read that were brilliant? What about god-awful?

Are there any scenes you hate writing?

(And in a few days we're talking about the biggie - sex scenes!)