Thursday's Children Blog Hop: The Luck Of The Draw

Just a short post today.  I'm getting ready for the official launch of my book this Friday.  So much to do!  So many last-minute loose ends to tie off!  But I wanted to share this:


Doesn't that perfectly describe the writer's soul?  The yearning at the heart of the creative impulse.  The repetition of the daily grind.  The terrifying gamble of releasing what we've created into the world.

"Write our fire in the sky"- I don't know about you guys, but that about captures the reason I do this.

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All Hail Burlesque Wednesday!

Happy Burlesque Wednesday, everyone!

Just so you all know, the hotness is scheduled to take a break next week. I'm putting together a special blog series in honor of my book launch this Friday! I hope you'll stop by anyway. It's going to be epic.

For now, though, here's something to enjoy with your coffee...

Thursday's Children Blog Hop: Traditional Inuit Drum Dancing

Inuit- and specifically Inupiaq- culture plays a large part in my novel.  The heroine is half-native, and a large chunk of the story is devoted to her rediscovering her heritage.

Tradition is still strong in the North.  Inuit of every tribe still practice traditional festivals, eat traditional food, dance traditional dances.  It's a beautiful way to honor those who have gone before, and allows people who are often misunderstood and disenfranchised to be part of a human timeline that extends back into history.

The young play an equal part in preserving these traditions.  As this video clip illustrates, however, Inuit heritage is far from static.  It is a vibrant legacy that everyone can embrace and leave their own stamp on.



Excerpt from All That Glitters

The drummers began to play, an ancient, pulsating sound.  A troop of dancers shuffled out.  Their feet pounded the ground in time to the beat, their hands and arms dusted the air in rhythmic circles. 

      Ethan looked down at Ava.  She was transfixed, eyes glued to the dancers.  Her body swayed slightly.  She felt him watching her and looked up.  Ethan smiled.  “We survived.”

      She chuckled.  “So we did.”  She turned back to the dancers.  Ethan was about to as well, when she threaded her arm through his.  He stared at her, surprised.  She didn’t look up.  “Thanks.”  The corners of her lips lifted.  “You know.  For today.”

      In front of them, the dancers dipped and circled, their shadows long and flickering under the low-slung sun.  Ava leaned into him, her warm, soft weight a comfortable pressure at his side.  Ethan laid a hand over hers and tucked her close.  “My pleasure.”

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The Importance Of Having A Face

Thanks to Zen Mateyka for designing such a beautiful cover!  I couldn't ask for a better graphic designer, or friend.

A book cover is never just a book cover.  It's a billboard, a press release, a PR opportunity.  It lets the reader know what's in store for them.  Is your book a mystery?  A romance?  A thriller?  We should know as soon as we look at your cover.

If you're planning on writing more than just one book, here's something to keep in mind: you are now a brand.  Your book isn't your brand, it's just a product of it.  You are your brand.  Your name.  Your face.  Your style.  Which means your book cover doesn't just represent the book it covers, it represents you.

Now would be a good time to start thinking about what you want your brand to be.  What kinds of books do you want to write?  What is the overall tone going to be?  Who is your target demographic?  Perhaps most importantly, what parts of yourself are you willing to market to the world, and what are you going to keep private?

If these sound like big concepts, they are.  But they're worth thinking about, especially if you're standing at the edge of the pond and contemplating taking the plunge. 

Thursday's Children Blog Hop: Gut Poetry

Every once in a while, I come across a piece of writing that finds its way into my soul and lodges there.  This is one such piece.  I first discovered in back in 10th grade, and it has hovered around the edges of my mind ever since.  The feeling I get when I read it is the same feeling I try to capture in my own writing.

"The Spell Of The Yukon"

by Robert W. Service

 

I wanted the gold, and I sought it;

   I scrabbled and mucked like a slave.

Was it famine or scurvy—I fought it;

   I hurled my youth into a grave.

I wanted the gold, and I got it— 

   Came out with a fortune last fall,— 

Yet somehow life’s not what I thought it,

   And somehow the gold isn’t all.

No! There’s the land. (Have you seen it?)

   It’s the cussedest land that I know,

From the big, dizzy mountains that screen it

   To the deep, deathlike valleys below.

Some say God was tired when He made it;

   Some say it’s a fine land to shun;

Maybe; but there’s some as would trade it

   For no land on earth—and I’m one.

You come to get rich (damned good reason);

   You feel like an exile at first;

You hate it like hell for a season,

   And then you are worse than the worst.

It grips you like some kinds of sinning;

   It twists you from foe to a friend;

It seems it’s been since the beginning;

   It seems it will be to the end.

I’ve stood in some mighty-mouthed hollow

   That’s plumb-full of hush to the brim;

I’ve watched the big, husky sun wallow

   In crimson and gold, and grow dim,

Till the moon set the pearly peaks gleaming,

   And the stars tumbled out, neck and crop;

And I’ve thought that I surely was dreaming,

   With the peace o’ the world piled on top.

The summer—no sweeter was ever;

   The sunshiny woods all athrill;

The grayling aleap in the river,

   The bighorn asleep on the hill.

The strong life that never knows harness;

   The wilds where the caribou call;

The freshness, the freedom, the farness—

   O God! how I’m stuck on it all.

The winter! the brightness that blinds you,

   The white land locked tight as a drum,

The cold fear that follows and finds you,

   The silence that bludgeons you dumb.

The snows that are older than history,

   The woods where the weird shadows slant;

The stillness, the moonlight, the mystery,

   I’ve bade ’em good-by—but I can’t.

There’s a land where the mountains are nameless,

   And the rivers all run God knows where;

There are lives that are erring and aimless,

   And deaths that just hang by a hair;

There are hardships that nobody reckons;

   There are valleys unpeopled and still;

There’s a land—oh, it beckons and beckons,

   And I want to go back—and I will.

They’re making my money diminish;

   I’m sick of the taste of champagne.

Thank God! when I’m skinned to a finish

   I’ll pike to the Yukon again.

I’ll fight—and you bet it’s no sham-fight;

   It’s hell!—but I’ve been there before;

And it’s better than this by a damsite—

   So me for the Yukon once more.

There’s gold, and it’s haunting and haunting;

   It’s luring me on as of old;

Yet it isn’t the gold that I’m wanting

   So much as just finding the gold.

It’s the great, big, broad land ’way up yonder,

   It’s the forests where silence has lease;

It’s the beauty that thrills me with wonder,

   It’s the stillness that fills me with peace.

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Burlesque Wednesday Strikes Back

An homage to les hommes

Write What You Know?

Source: google.com via john on Pinterest

"Write what you know." -Mark Twain

It's one of the most famous lines of writing advice out there, by one of America's greatest writers ever to hold a pen.  Unfortunately, it's also one of the most misunderstood.

What do we know, after all?  I mean, really?  If we only write about those things we've had direct personal experience with, where does that leave us?  What about imagination, that crucial spark that gives life to what is otherwise just words on a page?  If we only write what we know, is there room for what we can imagine?

I look at writing advice the same way I look at the Bible.  There are two schools of thought.  There's the school that insists on fundamentalist purity: every word should be read and understood exactly as it was written.  And there's the school of informed interpretation, that holds there are multiple lenses through which you can view a given statement, and it's up to intelligent people to determine which lens to use.

I'm no fundamentalist, and I'm hardly pure, so I guess that leaves me with option B.

To me, "writing what you know" means writing from a place of truth.  What is truth?  Tough question.  I'm no great philosopher either, and there are many kinds of truth to choose from.  Emotional truth, spiritual truth, existential truth, whatever. 

Some experiences are universal.  What do your everyday experiences feel like?  What kind of response do they generate inside you?  How can you take those core vibrations and translate them into your writing?

Right around Christmas, my toddler had a seizure while my husband and I were out at a Christmas party.  One minute, I was sipping Champagne, the next my husband was dragging me down our hosts' driveway at a sprint, saying he'd gotten a call and something was wrong with our son.  The babysitter didn't know what.  We drove home at breakneck speed, imagining the worst the entire way.

To cut a long story short, our son was fine- the seizure was the result of a sudden fever, and after a long night in the hospital, he was right as rain by the next morning.  But that experience got me thinking.  

I might never face down a killer, or be trapped in a sinking ship, or dodge a hail of bullets while running down a dark alley, but thanks to that experience, I know what real fear is.  I know what it tastes like.  I know what it feels like as it lumps in the pit of my stomach.  I know the surge of adrenaline, followed by the quiet, deadly calm.  Fear is now something I can write truthfully about.

Live mindfully.  Find your own truth, and you'll find your starting point.