The Minimalist

Guest Desk Time.

Here we have our friend, Jude. Or, as we tease in the Comments field, Nidrah. :-)

Jude, as you can see, is a MINIMALIST, right down to his hair, or lack of--which is a great look!! (Very handsome, Jude.)

Jude doesn't like clutter. And this is the space he writes in. He is a minimalist.

Which started me thinking about the world of distractions. I write in clutter. I write with four kids underfoot. I write with a life in chaos. BUT . . . I cannot write with music with words playing in the background. I cannot write if I have a very bad personal problem going on or am emotionally distraught. That doesn't happen often, but I say that only to point out writing isn't an escape from that for me. My personal life will loom too much to allow writing.

I can't write when I'm mad.

I can't write when I am nervous about something.

I guess, in short, I am an emotional minimalist.

We all, every one of us, have things that are distractions, that, if we are to write successfully, we have to watch for. Universalizing it, if we're to LIVE successfully, we must watch out for. For some it's clutter. For some it's kids or noise; for some it's the lure of television or the fridge.

So what is your minimalist area? What must you guard against in terms of distractions?

A Toast

I'll get back to guest desks in a day or so--they have been lots of fun. But today, I'm going to talk about my agent.
My first deal was with an unknown (then) publisher called Red Dress Ink. Chick lit was a new phrase, a new genre, and no imprints existed for it. I had this quirky little book called Spanish Disco. I knew it was funny. But I had no idea if anyone would publish it because it didn't fit in any existing genres. He sent it to an editor at a major house, who loved it but said my drunken character would be a tough sell to her editorial committee; Cassie was too edgy, too funny, cursed too much, and mooned a reporter in a restaurant by the tenth chapter. She married her first husband on a dare. However, this lovely editor liked the book so much, she suggested my agent take it to a rival editor she was friends with. To make a LONG story short, thus began the dance of getting the deal. During it, the editor, my agent, and I were scheduled for lunch at Le Cirque--my agent's treat. And the night before (near dawn actually) I got sick and was rushed in an ambulance to the hospital, very, very, very ill.
However, in all the confusion of calling 9-1-1, my agent got a call from my friends in NYC too late to cancel, so he had to show up minus this hot new writer he wanted this editor to meet. For a two-hour lunch, they discussed my book, and she told me later he had been so knowledgable of my work, so deftly handled the discussions, and that was not her typical experience. By the next day, I had a deal to greet me from my morphine haze in the hospital. Thus, my career began.
Since then he has gotten me in US WEEKLY twice as the Hot Book Pick, has had me lunch with producers, seen my work optioned, and negotiated many deals. He has told me when something needs work--painful as that is (and he's not shy about letting me know, much as it hurts . . . we're honest with each other), and he has cheerleaded me and then some. When I've been down, he's long distance held my hand. When I've been back-stabbed by a fellow jealous writer, he's urged me to bask in my own personal happiness and just wish the b**** well. Which I do. ;-) In short, he's in many, many ways enabled me to write. I couldn't do what I do without him.
More than that . . .
He has done it in a way I RESPECT as a human being. If you step on people on your way up, be prepared to have them wave at your ass on the way down. If you gossip and backstab, prepare to let it wash over you as it comes back. And be careful who you're nasty to. I have a BEST friend, a woman I adore, who ghostwrote a book for a supermodel. The agent is a very "hot" one, and the way she spoke to my friend was expletive filled, awful, unnecessary. She loved my friend's work, this agent just has power issues. Or other issues. I hear from editor pals and people in the biz about the way certain agents and authors conduct themselves. I see how a couple of authors behave. And I am not swayed to be like that. I prefer to know that my public face, my agent, is a gentleman and will be honorable.
So there you have it. Here's to you, Mr. Poynor. Thanks for everything.

What's the Soundtrack for Your Book?

Okay . . . don't forget to send in your quirks of courting the muse for the blog contest (see entry below this one). Time is running out.

In the meantime, we turn to Brian's desk.

Brian talks about his tbr pile, and his desk and clutter. But what FASCINATES me is his soundtrack. This is a man who knows how to court his muse with his playlist. Here it is:

• Boingo - Sweat, Only A Lad
• Concrete Blonde - God Is A Bullet, It'll Chew You Up And Spit You Out
• Celldweller - I Believe You, Switchback
• Bare Naked Ladies - Shoebox, The Old Apartment
• Velvet Revolver - Slither
• Squeeze - Is That Love
• Joe Satriani - Crush Of Love, Ice 9
• Disturbed - Prayer
• Incubus - Megalomaniac

How important is music to your muse? Does she demand it?

Do creative people respond more to music than ordinary mortals? ;-)

All I know is when I hear music, my soul sometimes leaves me. My breath can be knocked out of me by hearing a fantastic new song. As a poet I can be brought to my knees by the turn of a phrase, the beauty of it.

So what's your soundtrack?

Mariachi Muse

No, there is not an actual mariachi band playing in the background of this desk. But this IS the desk of Mary Castillo, author of In Between Men, and the Chica Lit blog (see to the right, link to her blog). This is what she wrote me about her writing world/desk:

Right now I'm writing about mariachi and so I alternate between my Mariachi Mujer 2000 CD or the soundtrack to Kill Bill, vol. I. The storyteller idol has been with me since February 1994 when I decided to become a writer. I found her in a tourist shop in Sedona, Arizona and she's been making sure I stay in the seat while writing. But even more important, she reminds me of the magic that happens when we tell stories. There is magic for the teller and the receiver.

My desk is also my safe space. When I sit down with my cup of tea, I tell myself that this is the place where no criticism or praise can touch me. This is where I can play with every thought, idea or character who shows up.

You know, I think the universal thing I am discovering is we writers want a "safe" spot to create. And how wonderful that we can do that. Whether needing a minimalist desk, like Jude posted the first day I wrote about the space where I create, or a clutter-filled, sentimental, momento-insane universe like mine, or one with mariachis . . . we seek to have a space where whatever speaks to us, whatever muse, will come.

What specific things make your desk world "safe" for the muse? Do you court your muse in some sort of superstitious way (even if partially in jest)? For some reason, I am finding a high degree of quirk factor here. We all seem to have little touchstones and things to "help" us create. Storytelling idols. Michele Hauf had . . . I'll have to go look at her original email to me . . . but some sort of stone or crystal to chase away confusion. I have enough Buddhas for a temple.

All right, a little impromptu contest. For one week. My vote is the one that counts (it's my blog after all), but the person who writes in with the QURIKIEST way they court their muse will win a signed copy of Trace of Innocence. Let the quirks begin.

Deadline Hysteria

As I said in my last blog entry, I am going to post some "guest desks." Now, this one, belonging to Michele Hauf (see blog link over to the right), is that of a fellow Nocturne writer. Nocturne is the new paranormal line at Silhouette. She also writes Bombshells and Luna. She claims this is a "deadline" desk. Um, sorry. Unless it looks like a nuclear explosion occurred, complete with mushroom cloud over the desk, this ain't no deadline desk. :-) She also says she's listening to System of a Down, which is "frenetic." She says she's ignoring her checkbook, receipts and bills are fluttering about. She's in deadline mode.

Okay, now, as I said, this doesn't look like a deadline desk to me. Though she says it's messier in person (in "desk-dom"?) than in this photo. But that DID get me thinking about deadline hell, deadline hysteria, whatever you want to call it, whatever it looks like in your world.

For me, deadline hell is distinct. Showering goes right out the window, as does makeup, and anything that resembles clothing--it's all pjs, all the time. I usually do "full-face" every day, usually get dressed, my hair smelling like shampoo--until deadline hell. Then these things are really optional. They are deadlined right the hell out of my day.

Next, deadline hell involves quantities of coffee that makes my G.I. doctor (as in stomach guy) shudder.

Next, food really becomes . . . well, kind of iffy. I remember to eat maybe once a day. Usually when my stomach starts to REALLY hurt. Then it's cereal. See paragraph above. My doctor doesn't like to hear this, but . . .

I usually check in with my mother once a day. This is so my father doesn't tell her, "Call Erica and see what she is doing and why she hasn't called." I save her that trouble. I adore my mother. She is one of my best friends. But during deadline hell? Sorry Mom. Wrong number.

My children? Remember, there are four of them. I think. You see . . . they become these sort of little creatures who are merely there to f*** with my deadline. I kiss them and hug them and then the pleading begins. "PLEASE, I will PAY you FIVE dollars if you watch your baby brother and stop bickering with your sister."

So . . . that's sort of what deadline hell looks like from MY chair. Michele . . . cheers to you. Maybe that's also your deadline hell. But your desk is quite neat! Anyone else? What is your deadline hell like?

It's My World

A while ago, fellow Nocturne and Bombshell author Michele Hauf asked me to be a "guest author desk" on her blog. I snapped a photo of where I work, and off it went to her via cyberspace.
Today, as I started my day, I thought about my world. I actually thought of titling this entry, "It's My World, Get the F*** Out of It"--but that hardly seems Buddhist, now, does it? But the point is we writers are solitary creatures, usually, and at least for me, I like to create a "space" where I can write and feel creative.
In addition to this desk, I always have music playing. No music means my mind tends to wander a bit. Too much silence. Words in the music means I'm too distracted. (I sound like a pain in a**, don't I?). I usually listen to Django Reinhardt, the king of gypsy swing. Or, rather, the DEAD king of gypsy swing. He is so wonderful, so amazing, all the usual gushing compliments one has for genius. If you want to check him out, try his Djangology CD, or anything from his Paris sesssions. Alternatively, I listen to soundtracks (have the one for Road to Perdition on right now). If am am feeling . . . oh, I don't know, either tired or I have to write a sex scene (and why those two things go hand in hand, I have no idea), I'll listen to Moby. Yeah, some of his stuff has words, but the techno aspect overshadows it.
Other requirements? Coffee. And loads of it. I know I've shared my occasional forays into the benefits of green tea, but it doesn't kick a** like coffee does. A martini is nice in the late evening (sometimes). Um . . . that's about it. My world.
OK, now that I know how to load photos onto my blog (pathetic at all this blog stuff, really, I am), any of my blog pals who would like to share "their world" is welcome to email me a photo of their writing space. Don't forget to let me know what music you listen to. I'll try to post them and a link to your blog. Or just share . . . what's your space like? It's my world . . . but you can come play in it for a little while if you want. :-)

I See Dead People

No, I don't. Not really. Sometimes in my dreams.

One of my characters . . . I think she might actually, though. She talks to them.

So do I. Not in a "She has FINALLY lost her mind" sort of way, but a "Grandma, if you could talk to the Big Man, I could really use some help today" kind of way.

For the most part, I don't HEAR dead people, if that makes you think I'm less insane. Not that I care. I've been called worse. ;-)

But I realized something, as I worked on this book last night. While I do, in 2007, have a book coming out where the devil's got a signing bonus if you go to the Dark Side, I don't often have angels or demons or dead men talking. :-) But I also realized, going back a blog entry or two, that I almost always have the forces of good versus evil. And something more. No, I don't have Jedi knights running around, but I do have the good guys imbued with something that gives them some added faith, some added belief. Not the Force. But something. I have a new character coming in my August release, Trace of Doubt. He 's a Japanese detective named Ben Sato. He's a warrior. He needs a war. So he goes after cold cases. And Lewis, whom some of you know from Trace of Innocence, he is an atheist, but he believes the dead can't rest until he figures it all out. It's not that he thinks he's going to heaven. He doesn't. But he believes there's something he can't quite put his finger on that binds the dead to us.
So I talk to dead people. So do my characters. How 'bout you? ;-)

A Walk on the Dark Side

When I started this blog, I decided at the outset I would leave my politics out of it. I just didn't want to invest any energy in arguing with people who disagree, arguing over things that tend to make my blood pressure shoot up a few degrees. And I opted not to really discuss my personal life. Some writers blend both on their sites, which is cool, but other than as a frame of reference for how insane my life is . . . busy, stressful, fun, all cylinders . . . I figured I'd just shut up about it. There's a reference to it here or there, but that's it. And it's usually in the comments area. And so this blog has been about writing, about the writing life, dialogue, the path to publication, etc.

This weekend, the world of the news, the headlines, intersected ever so slightly with my writing world.

You see . . . I am working on a book for the new Nocturne paranormal line, and the opening scene is pretty dark. Bloody. Scary. Sick. In fact, it gave ME the creeps and I was writing it. I had no idea what the hell I was channeling, but it was good from a purely fiction sense. Then, I did some internet research on serial killers in Russia and the Ukraine. Sick, sick stuff. Useful for my plot. I was pleased, really pleased, with the direction the book was going.

Three chapters later, one of my characters has to confront the paranormal world she is about to have to navigate. And the dhampir showing her the way, so to speak, points out that wolves and wild animals don't "stage" their killing scenes. People do. He's got the pictures to prove what he's talking about--that the paranormal or supernatural world is involved and not the human one. And she has to take a leap of faith. Is the realm of, say, vampires or demons or take-your-pick so hard to believe versus what darkness humanity or supposed humanity is capable of? (And this is SUCH a happy talk for a Monday blog entry, eh?)

And then I read the headlines, followed them actually, which isn't like me, about the man who killed the poor child and planned to EAT her. WTF?!?! There is nothing a novelist can write, nothing, that can compare with what human beings will do. Nothing. In fact, the scene in my prologue is creepy, really creepy, but suddenly I can kind of laugh at it. It's contained in my BOOK. Shut the book, put it away, and hopefully keep the nightmares away. But REALITY?

I'm sure there are lots of writers out there--crime fiction, thrillers, paranormals--who have confronted this. No matter what evil you write about, it really doesn't compare to what walks among us. Lives next door to us. And that it truly scary, and wherein we can write really frightening fiction.

But the mother in me mourned this Easter weekend. As I mourn every child I read about in the headlines that populate our world. It's inherent. Bear a child and every child in the world is yours. It's part of parenthood. You cry for the lost ones . . . the ones like this weekend. In my case (short foray into personal life), I became a mentor years ago for unwed teen moms . . . I've taught ESL in some tough communities as a volunteer . . . taught people to read. I get involved doing what I can for the side of good versus the side of evil. But really? It's a drop in the bucket. My own father wonders why I try. And no matter what I do, it's still not enough to ease my heart at all. But I've always sought solace in my writing. And it simply was apparent to me as I was writing while all this was going on in the news, that reality is always darker.

The Buddhist Writer

Buddhists walk The Path. They seek The Way. They don't look left or right to see what the Buddhist next to them is doing. Writers can learn a lot from that.

Jealousy is one of the most insidious things among writers. What does writer X have that I don't? He writes crap and is published, and I am not. Why does writer Y have such a following for her drivel? How did writer Z get such a big advance?

Each writer is on his or her own path. You can learn from other writers, from the community of support you can find in pockets out there of other writers. I know some belong to chapters of this professional organization or that one (I'm not a joiner, so I must confess I don't). Some are in critique groups (I am). Some blog (that would be me). Some visit online writing sites or bulletin boards (sometimes--usually I visit sites of online pals I've met over the years). But remember that YOU are on your own path.

I recently was asked to blurb a book for Heather Brewer, who will have Eighth Grade Bites out soon. (I gave her a blurb as Liza Conrad--my YA pen name.) One thing I told her when I wrote her back with my blurb was to enjoy the ride. Each writer will only have one First Book (if lucky and perservering and talented enough to get a First Deal). Enjoy that moment. That step on your path. Sometimes the rest of it can be a blur!

Being in the moment can suck--a bad review, a snarky comment, writer's block--but it's all part of the journey too. And the best thing you can do is keep on your path. Not looking left or right, not letting comparisons make you crazy.

S-E-X

I knew you'd like this post. :-)
With another shout-out to author Karmela Johnson, she reviewed Trace of Innocence on her website (I got an A!) and was bummed I didn't write a more explicit sex scene for my lead characters.
Here's the thing. I have no problem writing about sex, though, quite frankly, euphemisms are not my thing. I like to call a penis a . . . well, you get the idea. But to me S-E-X isn't about what's between the legs, but what's between the ears.
It's all dialogue.
Not dialogue as in talking dirty, though if the scene called for that, I'd write it. I mean dialogue as in the exchange between characters. To me, there is nothing sexier than two very intelligent people challenging each other intellectually before they fall into the sack.
I know erotic fiction is really "hot" in the romance market right now. I know people will always like to read a hot, passionate sex scene. But to me, it's all the intellectual foreplay. That's the best part.
Think of movies where this is the case. You know, what was it . . . Two Weeks Notice with Sandra Bullock and Hugh Grant? Not my typical flick (I hate romantic comedies . . . yes, I know I sometimes write them, but that doesn't mean I subject myself to them on film). But you know what? They bantered through that whole picture and only kissed at the end, and it was the equivalent of two hours of foreplay. Cute, funny, sexy foreplay.
In my books, I think Spanish Disco had the longest intellectual foreplay. I had a ball writing it that way, keeping them apart. For FIVE YEARS!
How about you? Like brainy S-E-X? Favorite film or book where that is accomplished?

Themes and Threads

A shout-out to author Karmela Johnson, who reviewed Trace of Innocence on her blog. She pointed out that my main character, Billie Quinn, was surrounded by one of my trademark posses of oddballs and eccentrics. And that got me thinking . . . I was once accused in a flaming, nasty discussion on an online writing forum, of having an "agenda"--one I'll decline to expound upon here, but suffice it to say it involved child abuse, gay themes, and a few other things this person preferred I not write about. Or if I did, they decided I should have a warning label on my books, like an NC-17 label.
I don't have an "agenda." I'm not, when I write a novel, hitting the keys on my keyboard, thinking, "Let me convert the world into having a posse of gay men, drag queens, alcoholics, and hit men for friends." :-) Though certainly the world might be more interesting if we all did. But there are definitely threads through all my books--whether they're YA or about the mob--and Karm picked up on one of them. I almost always have a cobbled together family. It's rarely the family someone is born into, and is usually a hodgepodge of eccentrics. They always value loyalty above all else, and they intensely love each other, even if sexuality or some other reason means they never go to bed together.
I almost always have heroines who live in a world of gray. Unlike people with actual agendas (I'll leave politics out of this), I don't think of the world in black and white. If a hitman (like the dad in The Roofer) flips a few people off of rooftops, but comes home and cares for his children and tucks them in and does the best he can . . . I have to say he's in the realm of gray. It's where most of us reside, struggling to do right in a complicated world.
And there's always, or nearly always, a point in which my protagonist has to take a leap of faith, because I believe we are all defined not by how we behave on our good days, but at that moment, that dark night of the soul when the hurricane is banging at the door and we have to decide whether to open the door or hide forever.
I guess those are the themes that resonate with me, though there are a lot more. I wonder about you all . . . what themes in books just hit you close to home?