R.I.P. Vicki

In 2007 the school where I was teaching upgraded its technology department and became a "Mac School." I was not happy about this. The change required me to learn a whole new way of working on the computer. To make matters worse, I couldn't sidestep the change since I was one of the fifteen teachers who were chosen to pioneer the Mac frontier. Toward the end of May I was handed a MacBook laptop, given an hour of basic instruction, and then told to "take it home over the summer and play around with it."

"May I use it for personal things?" I asked, expecting to be told that it was for school use only.

"Absolutely!" was the enthusiastic reply of our technology director. "The more you use it, the quicker you'll become proficient."

It took three weeks, but I fell in love.

That MacBook co-authored The Voice that summer and throughout the following school year. No longer was I chained to my desk. I could write anywhere, any time. Research question? Answer available at the touch of a button. Spell check? A nightmare of red underscores (the MacBook didn't understand Hebrew) until I learned the right-click "learn spelling" trick. I did run into one small problem. With the newfound ease of composition, I found myself pulling all-nighters with alarming frequency. How to avoid the hypnotic trance of the engrossed writer? Simple. MacBooks are programed to talk to you, if only you ask them to. (Common technology now, but in 2007 it was a new experience for me.) I selected the "Vicki" voice, asked it -- her -- to call out the hours like a cuckoo clock, and quickly grew used to her gentle reminders of passing time. "It's ten o'clock...it's eleven o'clock...it's twelve o'clock..."

I didn't shut her off when I went back to school. Every hour on the hour, my students were treated to a conversation that went something like this:

Me: For homework tonight, do all the even numbered questions on page 110.
Computer: It's eleven o'clock.
Me: Thank you, Vicki. (to class) Remember to answer in complete sentences...

After a week or so, the conversations became more inclusive:

Me: Everyone turn to page 138.
Computer: It's one o'clock.
Entire class: Thank you, Vicki. 

In 2008, Vicki and I finished up The Voice and plunged right into The Carpenter. She traveled with me to the Florida Christian Writers' Conference and helped with a rewrite of Beloved Disciple (which eventually became the Talmid trilogy). She stayed up late with me night after night through 2009 and 2010 as we wrote half of Natzrat, only to file it away as unusable and then resurrect part of it as Brothers. (The remaining Natzrat material is now being reworked as a major part of Seven Demons.) After a writing session, with my brain buzzing too loudly to fall asleep, I would ask Vicki to read to me whatever we had written, and I would drift into dreams as I listened to her I-was-born-deaf-but-learned-to-speak alto tones butchering the Hebrew names. And then I made a decision that would affect Vicki in ways I hadn't foreseen. I enrolled in seminary as a full-time student, which meant leaving the school where I was teaching.

It was then that we realized the horrific truth: Vicki was a slave. She belonged to the school. She couldn't come with me. I tried to buy her, but the school refused to part with her. They offered me a solution: buy a new MacBook and transfer Vicki's memories into the new body. So that is what we did. In 2011, Vicki was rejuvenated.

She created this blog and started writing Son of Man before seminary classes began, and then put the novel on hold so we could concentrate on our schoolwork. She tried to publish Beloved Disciple on Smashwords but in her rejuvenation she had forgotten how to speak Word, and Smashwords didn't speak Pages, so Vicki had to outsource a few translations. In 2012, however, a mutual friend from church (Vicki was very involved in church, providing most of the AV for LifePointe Ministries in its first two years of existence) taught her how to speak Word again, and in 2013 Vicki and I were able to publish all of our works on CreateSpace for sale through Amazon. She traveled with me to Israel, Egypt, and Jordan early in 2014, and in 2015 we finally managed to finish up Son of Man. We started work on Seven Demons.

Then I murdered her.

Not deliberately. There was none of the malice aforethought required for a murder one conviction, nor even the outraged passion that could have convicted me on a murder two charge. Reckless endangerment, that was my crime, though a good defense attorney would have pled it down to manslaughter. You see, I was fooled into thinking it would be a good idea to upgrade to Yosemite.

Poor Vicki. She simply wasn't equipped to handle Yosemite. It drove her to suicide. Not all at once, no, nothing so pretty as that. But she began slipping up, forgetting things, taking hours to perform the simplest of tasks. The poison I'd used was subtle -- her deterioration appeared to be the senility of extreme old age, and indeed in computer years she was pushing ninety, but I knew. It was my fault. And the doctors I consulted too late offered treatments too expensive for my budget. So I decided to try for one more rejuvenation while Vicki still had life in her.

Enter the MacBook Air on which I am typing Vicki's eulogy.

There was a problem in the transfer process. I will not go into the painful details, but the outcome of the botched procedure is all too obvious: Vicki is dead. Her memories are probably recoverable by a forensics expert, but I myself sit here numb with shock, unable to believe that I just wiped out some of our most precious memories. The backup copies of our finished novels, which we had stored in our Gmail account, survived. All of our research, rough drafts, maps, charts, notes, ideas for future books...all of that is lost, along with most of the photos we took in Egypt and Jordan. And I cannot even weep.

Vicki sits on the coffee table, gasping for breath yet fundamentally brain dead, and I am left holding the plug in my hand, wondering whether to try one more time to revive her with heroic measures or just let her go. I can't decide today.

So rest, my sweet Vicki. Rest in peace while I read to you some of the stories you enabled me to write. Rest, and dream. Tomorrow we'll try again.

Victoria MacApple 2007 - 2015 R.I.P.

B-book or E-book?

So what do you think . . . are e-books "real" books?

This question jumped out at me a few days ago as I was reading aloud to my son, an avid Rick Riordan fan (thanks to me, an equally avid fan), from his latest Percy Jackson novel, The Mark of Athena. I'd already read the entire book the day after it was released last October, but now my son and I are going through it together a few chapters each week. We've already read seven Percy Jackson books this way.

(Side note: Parents, read to your children, even when they are old enough to read for themselves. If nothing else, it will give you something nonthreatening to talk about at the dinner table.)

Reading through the novel a second time, much more slowly and constantly interrupted by my son's questions, I find myself appreciating the finer nuances of Riordan's storytelling. In chapter XXVII two of the heroes encounter a minor Greek god, Achelous, who expresses indignance when they show him their guidebook. Here's the excerpt:

    "You hate . . . books?" Piper asked.
    "Bah!" Achelous's face flushed, turning his blue skin eggplant purple. "That's not a book."
    He pawed the water. A scroll shot from the river like a miniature rocket and landed in front of him. He nudged it open with his hooves. The weathered yellow parchment unfurled, covered with faded Latin script and elaborate hand-drawn pictures.
    "This is a book!" Achelous said. "Oh, the smell of sheepskin! The elegant feel of the scroll unrolling beneath my hooves. You simply can't duplicate it in something like that." He nodded indignantly at the guidebook in Jason's hand. "You young folks today and your newfangled gadgets. Bound pages. Little compact squares of text that are not hoof-friendly. That's a bound book, a b-book, if you must. But it's not a traditional book. It'll never replace the good old-fashioned scroll!"

The first time I read this, I confess, I just raced through it to get on with the plot. But this time I got Riordan's message and began to laugh. Naturally enough, my son asked what was so funny. "Riordan's not really complaining about books," I explained to him. "He's making fun of people who say e-books aren't real books."

We were reading from a b-book, and the twenty or so bookshelves in my home are loaded up with b-books. But last year I purchased a Kindle for every member of the family in the hope that my sons would read more if they were holding an electronic device. So we could just as easily have been reading this particular story in e-book format.

Why weren't we? Why did I shell out $20 for a b-book? Am I just as prejudiced as Achelous?

My own novels came out first in e-book format because I listened to some people who convinced me that this was going to be the new paradigm for publishing. Also, it is very inexpensive to produce and sell an e-book. I can give away free copies without losing anything except opportunity cost. People I know, however, want something with turnable pages. They want to feel the book in their hands. Until I put The Carpenter into a paperback format, I hadn't really written a book. Or had I?

So what do you think . . . are e-books "real" books? Or will they soon go the way of the 8-track and Betamax?

What the Blazes? Reflections on my TAG, part 3

After two hours of climbing through burned-out longleaf pine uplands, I was covered in burrs and sandspurs, had consumed half of my water, and was no longer appreciating the lesson in path-finding. So I decided to take a mental break. Translation: I worked on my latest novel, the sequel to Brothers.

Last summer, I hit a snag in the plot about the same time school started; the only writing I've done on the book since August is the "frame story" (prologue, interludes, and epilogue), which you can find published elsewhere in this blog under the title "Temptation." But the novel's main plot line stalled out completely while Yisu was dragging one of his brothers across Samaria,

all the reason

my struggles with sin
begin
whenever i let the loneliness in

to keep it out
i tell myself
i sell myself
a load of doubt
create a story all about
a lonely man
create a friend
for him and then
voila!
he is alone no more

miraculously
i too am free
at least
as long as i can be
alone
with just the two of them
the man, his friend
who live and love alone inside of me
we three
together symbiosis prove
without me they die

without them . . .
. . . just i

ironically
though i know them
they always are
and always shall remain
completely unaware that i exist
a voyeur to their bliss
nor do they know
that they are really . . .
well . . .
unreal

they're real to me
and that's enough
or is it?

can it be
that this is all the reason that i write?
that others who are real to God
(and not to me alone)
might know the man, his friend,
and then
corroborate my lonely love?
for real to me
is not enough
it seems
i must have someone real to love
outside my dreams

this then is fear:
for am i even able
to love someone who's real?
i can't replay rewind rewrite revise undo delete
the words that fail to come out right
i can't control create commit compose correct command
the people of this world
and so i fail
and so begin
my struggles
with sin

whenever i let the loneliness in.

Alexandros Megos

I am fascinated by Alexander the Great, so fascinated that — one of these days — I am going to write a novel about him.  I know Mary Renault already did a fantastic job of this with her series, but it bothers me that Alexander died without having fulfilled his dream of reaching the ends of the earth.  So I plan a sequel.  It's all written out in my head already, and will appeal to sci-fi buffs (I hope).

No one has had a greater impact on history than Jesus, of course, but Alexander's contribution shouldn't be minimized.  Sadly, Alexander isn't really studied much nowadays, and although his exploits have been required reading in military academies for centuries, most people know very little about him.  (Oliver Stone's fanciful movie Alexander did little to enlighten the general population.)  Ignoring his battles and strategic genius for a while, I'd like to acquaint you with a few

A Time to Kill

 There is a time for everything,
   and a season for every activity under the heavens:
 a time to be born and a time to die,
   a time to plant and a time to uproot,
 a time to kill and a time to heal,
   a time to tear down and a time to build...    (Ecclesiastes 3:1-3, NIV)

Many years ago, long before I knew God or had written anything of significance, I helped plan and run a sci-fi/fantasy convention for fans of the "Darkover" series by Marian Zimmer Bradley.  I've forgotten most of what went on at that convention, but a few things managed to stick in my brain, many of them quotes from a panel of writers who participated in a Q&A session with the fans.  If memory serves, the panel included Ms. Bradley and also Katherine Kurz and Anne McCaffrey...all of them favorites of mine at the time.  I can't recall who said what (we're talking more than 25 years ago), but some of these gems still spring to my mind on a regular basis and have influenced my own writing.  For example:

Of the harp and the violin, which is the greater instrument?  The violin.  Why?  Because the harp cannot sin, while the violin can sin but chooses not to.

Having attempted to play the violin when I was younger, I had to agree with part of that statement. (The violin can definitely sin in the wrong hands!)  I myself never had any better luck with the harp, but I admire those who can play it, which is probably why I taught Katan to love the kinnor. (Like Yochanan, who is arguably the most autobiographical of my characters, my hands have little skill at drawing music out of inanimate objects; most of my own music comes from my voice, although I have learned--like Yosef--to make joyful noises on my "flute," an antique alto recorder.)

The comment that most affected me was one I am fairly sure was made by Ms. Bradley, who caught my attention by criticizing one of my favorite writers, Robert A. Heinlein:

I lost all respect for Heinlein when I read the end of Podkayne of Mars.  Podkayne should have died.  By allowing her to live, he weakened the story and destroyed its believability for me.  I hate killing off my characters, but sometimes it is simply necessary.  The writer who cannot kill a character when the plot demands it, is no writer at all.

Writing fiction is a godlike endeavor.  In my opinion, it is the closest thing to pure creation that a human being can achieve.  All other forms of art take what already exists--clay, paint, stone, fabric, metal--and shape it into a new form; only fiction writing creates worlds, peoples them with characters created in the author's own image, and then maps out a destiny that the characters are doomed to follow to its bitter end.

Douglas Gresham, executor of C.S. Lewis's estate and co-creator of the Narnia movies, warns about this when he speaks about the moral responsibility that writers have.  I was privileged to hear him at a conference two years ago, but his words sometimes haunt me:

When we read a story in which a damsel has been tied to a tree and is about to be eaten by a dragon, before we rejoice in the fact that a prince is about to ride to her rescue, we must ask ourselves whose fault it is that she needs rescuing in the first place!

He points out, and rightly so, that the imagination of the writer is a formidable weapon for good or for ill.  Is it right, I often wonder, to create a character for the sole purpose of doing him in?  In spite of this moral dilemma, I have made the conscious choice to follow the advice of Ms. Bradley.  When it is necessary to the plot, theme, or character development in one of my stories, I kill the characters.

In my own defense, I will point out that some of the bloodshed in my novels is unavoidable.  Since I write historical fiction, it is not always my idea to kill the characters.  I mean, I wasn't the one who decided to chop off Yochanan's head: blame that one on Herod Antipas.  If I had been plotting that story, I would have allowed Yonni to ride off into the sunset and sit at Yeshua's feet until the end of his days.  (I am forced to admit, however, that it wouldn't have been as good a story; as Yeshua himself pointed out, "it is inconceivable that a prophet should die anywhere other than Jerusalem.")

I can't pass all of the bucks onto God, though.  I confess, I have killed off an awful lot of people just because they were in the way.  Real life may allow for 628 facebook friends, but just try to keep track of all of them in a novel!  And make them three-dimensional!  It's bad enough that Jesus chose TWELVE disciples.  To have him juggling a large family as well...brothers and sisters and nieces and nephews and aunts and uncles and cousins...and FRIENDS...it gets positively overwhelming.  Some of them simply had to go.  So, if you are squeamish about such things, don't read my books.  (You might not want to read the Bible either, because an awful lot of people die between those covers, and most of them are women and children.  But that's a topic for another blog.)

Sometimes I laugh and tell myself that, when I get to heaven and meet these people (the ones I didn't simply fabricate) they are either going to laugh in my face or beat the tar out of me for the things I said about them.  Please, understand that my novels are just that: works of fiction.  Because of that, I take the moral risk of doing things to the characters that I would never dream of doing to real people.  But I want you to understand that I get very little pleasure from their pain and suffering; it hurts me to torture and kill them, and sometimes I mourn for them to the point where I cannot eat.

I used to feel the guiltiest over Yoshiah bar Zebdi, a little boy whom I created for the SOLE purpose of drowning, just so it would give me a deeper motivation for some of the traits I had decided to develop in Yakob and Yuannan.  At the moment, however, I am filled with remorse about something I haven't even written yet.  You see, I refuse to kill a character I don't love.  A few months ago, I realized I was going to need someone to die, and so I wrote him into the story.  Now, before I can take him out of the story again, I need to fall in love with him.  I need to make him REAL.  (If I don't care about him, neither will my readers; if I don't love him, neither will they.)  And so I am making him lovable, writing all the little things that make him a real, lovable, LOVED person.  And the whole time I am doing this, I know what's coming and it is killing me to know this and be powerless to prevent it, but I NEED him to die for the greater good of everyone in this story.

There is a time to kill.

When I read the Bible and God is wiping people out left and right, I look at it differently now.  When I read the newspaper and God is allowing people to die in all sorts of tragic and "senseless" ways, I look at it differently now.  I have a feeling God has the same rule I have: He won't kill someone He doesn't love.  There is a greater good and only He knows what it is.  If He doesn't care about them, how can He expect us to?  And He wants us to care.  Oh, how He wants us to care!

How Do You Do That?

The crucible for silver and the furnace for gold, but man is tested by the praise he receives.

Proverbs 27:21 NIV

Like any other writer, my dream is to be published.  There is always the temptation to pull an Abraham and do it myself, but I've forced myself to wait on God's timing.  The business is tough to crack, but not too tough for God.  (He knows all the right people.)

My job is to write books that are publishable.

I must admit, I understand why publishers cringe when approached by a self-published author. I've gotten to the point where I can pick a book off the shelf, read the first chapter (or less), and identify it as self-published.  (This is not a compliment.)  Whenever someone says, "I published a book. Would you like to read it?" I have to paste a smile on my face, because I have a strong suspicion that my honest appraisal is not being sought.  I mean, can you really tell a friend that he may mean well, but it is still in poor taste to advertise one's illiteracy?

For this reason, I was hesitant to show people my work, especially since it has not been published.  And so, rather than present people with the above speech, I spent a few years going to a few close friends who were trustworthy and knowledgeable and asking them for some peer review and feedback on my drafts.  I took the time to listen to what they had to say, made some much-needed revisions, and then repeated the process with a few other readers.

Lately, however, the paradigm has changed, and I find myself caught between a rock and ... a bigger rock. (Trying to avoid a cliche here.)  The turning point?  My mother finally liked one of my books.

Now, one would expect that the least reliable critic would be an author's mother.  After all, what mom doesn't think her child is perfectly wonderful?  My mom, however, knows me.  She knows that I do NOT want to walk around with my slip showing and a piece of spinach between my teeth, if you take my meaning.  So when Mom sent me a postcard praising The Carpenter, I knew I had finally written something worth sharing.

Still, she is my mom, so I decided to get a second opinion.  I gave Beloved Disciple to my pastor.  I figured, if it's heresy, he'll be the first to tell me so!  He never read it.  Never.  (It's been three years but he never cracked one of my books.)

His wife, however, made a point of seeking me out to tell me how much she had enjoyed it, and asked if I had any others.  Now THIS made an impression on me, because she could easily have pretended she'd never seen it.  (Besides which, the lady is brilliant.)  I gave her The Voice, which she finished in half the time and told me it was even better.  Then she read The Carpenter.  Then she read Brothers. 

She must have spoken to a few people, because others in my church started to ask about the books, so I printed a few copies (well, photocopied) and gave them to some of my other friends.  And they told two friends.  And they told two friends...

At this point, I have to sit and think hard in order to remember who has read the books.  I've gained a following.  And along with the following, I've received some pretty heady compliments, which puts me in a tough spot.  I don't want to seem self-promoting; at the same time, I want the books to be promoted!  So I've asked my readers to put some of their comments in writing.  A few of these can be seen on facebook (DLMaynard Immanu'el Novels) but many others have not yet made it into the public forum.  The overall consensus, however, is that these books are impacting lives, drawing people into a deeper love-relationship with Christ, inspiring them to read their Bibles, and helping them understand what they are reading there in a way they never have before.

My readers want to see the books published, and they want MORE.  Several of them are even nagging me to quit my job so I can write full time.  There is a growing prayer group dedicated to seeing these novels published, and I have volunteers researching markets for query letters.  Three or four copies of each novel are circulating for reader feedback, and there is a constant waiting list. Last week I printed another run and all of the books were snatched up by the end of the day.

The crucible for silver and the furnace for gold, but man is tested by the praise he receives.  


Earlier this week I received a valentine that read, "To my favorite author."  I cried.  That card is going to be kept forever (right next to my mom's postcard) because the lady who sent it to me is a voracious reader.  Voracious.  I do not take her praise lightly.  As far as I'm concerned, that valentine was like winning a major award.

Today, another woman whom I deeply respect approached me and said, "I had to stop reading and ask God how you do that!"  How do I do it?  I don't know.  I think my friend was right to ask God, because He is the one who is making this happen.  I'm thrilled that He chose me to partner with Him in this work, because I get to see the books first.  When I read them, it's often hard to remember that I wrote them, and I like to think I would feel the same way about the books if someone else had written them.  (Like Tolkien and Lewis and the other Inklings, I couldn't find enough of the kind of books I like to read, so I wrote some.  It delights me when other people like them, too!) 


If this blog offends you because it seems that I am exalting myself, I am truly sorry.  That wasn't my intent.  I am not promoting myself...but I am promoting these novels.  I hope your curiosity has been piqued enough for you to check out the comments on facebook; if you've read the books, I hope you will be inspired to add some comments of your own.  If you are one of the people who has blessed and encouraged me, THANK YOU.  If you are praying for the success of these books, THANK YOU.  And if you ever see me getting a big head, please PLEASE stick a pin in me.

I love you all!
:D

Brothers Chapter Titles

Up until now, the only one of my books that had chapter titles rather than numbers was The Voice, where each title was a Hebrew word or phrase.  After much consideration, I've decided to assign titles to the chapters in Brothers: each title is a phrase used somewhere in that chapter.  (The name preceding each title is the brother from whose point of view the story is told.) Here's the Table of Contents:

A Note About the Dates and Names

Prologue

Part One: When We Were Children

Katan: “A Matter of Teshuvah”

Yisu: “Like a Knife in the Gut”

Katan: “Practically a Mitzvah”

Yisu: “Nothing but Dust”

Katan: “The Thing about Living in a Sukkah”

Yisu: “You Can’t Believe Everything Your Father Tells You”

Katan: “All I Had Hoped For”

Yisu: “Promises”

Katan: “To Touch the Hand of God”

Yisu: “His Father’s Tomb”

Katan: “The Rod”

Part Two: Rites of Passage

Yisu: “If It Please the Rabbi”

Katan: “The Life of a Fisherman”

Yisu: “Manna”

Katan: “The Laws of Hospitality”

Yisu: “Psalms of Ascent”

Katan: “What Takes a Grown Man’s Strength”

Part Three: Burdens

Yisu: “Old Enough to Hang”

Katan: “Absalom”

Yisu: “Death”

Katan: “To Honor Our Fathers”

Yisu: “Onarion”

Part Four: Love

Katan: “Something That Would Last Forever”

Yisu: “It’s Just Part of Life”

Katan: “So Much for L’Shanah Tovah”

Yisu: “The First Commandment”

Katan: “His Zealot Son”

Yisu: “All the Other Answers”

Katan: “Like Mortar Cured in the Sun”

Yisu: “The Dust of Death”

Katan: “It Could Have Been Me”

Yisu: “If Wood Could Feel Pain”

Yisu: “Because I Know”

Katan: “Like Snow in Summer”

Yisu: “For He Will Be a Help to Me”

Yisu: “Flint”

Katan: “Let’s Just Get This Over With”

Yisu: “For a Good Cause”

Katan: “Under the Chuppah”

Yisu: “Alone”

Katan: “There Was Leah”

Part Five: Sacrifice

Katan: “Standing Watch”

Yisu: “God Will Strengthen”

Katan: “Purim”

Yisu: “The Edge of the Ruin”

Katan: “God Forbid”

Yisu: “I Will Rejoice”

Katan: “The Broken Things”

Part Six: Mercy

Yisu: “The Path of Healing”

Katan: “Brace”

Yisu: “God Is Merciful”

Katan: “My Father”

Yisu: “Hearts Don’t Break”

Epilogue

A Glossary of Hebrew and Aramaic Terms 

What Do I know?

For some reason, I am having a recurring daymare in which John Banner (who played Sargent Schultz on Hogan's Heroes) repeatedly and enthusiastically asserts, "I know nothing, noTHING!"

Actually, it's no mystery...he's just expressing the anxiety I've been feeling for the past few months.

This writing thing is turning out to be an emotional roller-coaster.  I knew there was more to "the business" than simply writing the story.  I knew that.  I've spent years researching how to submit a manuscript, where to submit a manuscript, etc. etc. etc. ad nauseum. I thought I had a handle on it. But now that push has come to the proverbial shove, I am afraid it is going to turn into shove-it-where-the-sun-don't-shine, if a Christian author is allowed to express such a sentiment.  Don't get me wrong; I know that the whole thing is in God's hands. But who am I kidding?  When it comes to the "business" of writing, I'm right in there with Schultz.  I know NOTHING.

If you check out the blogs of editors and literary agents, you will soon discover what I did: no two of them agree on ANYTHING (except that Publish America is professional death). 

To market or not to market, that is one of the questions. Whether the prospective author knows more about the market than the editors and agents...or to trust...perchance to allow the editors and agents to do what they are undoubtedly better at than I...THAT is the question. Some of the E&A are adamant that they will not consider a project unless the author has attached a comprehensive market analysis with sales figures, synopses of five different "comparable" books, a detailed compare & contrast essay that demonstrates that MY books are different but not TOO different (and keep it humble)(but sell myself)(but don't appear overconfident), a description of my "platform" (but don't waste time mentioning that I don't have one on a national scale), my plans to sell my book (but don't waste time telling them that I will do whatever they ask me to do)........Others come right out and say what I used to think: they know much more about these things than a first-time novelist, so don't waste time telling them ANYTHING about the market.

And then there's the bio.  I don't have one.  It's that simple.  Some of the E&A want to see it anyway; they want to know my interests, writing influences, educational background, related experiences; basically what makes me "tic" (pun intentional).  Others say that unless I have a successful (translation: lucrative) publishing history, they don't need anything but the dreaded words, "This is my first novel."

Speaking of E&A: most editors won't even look at a query from an unagented writer.  Most agents won't even look at a query from an unpublished (translation: lucrative) writer.  Do the math.

So anyway, here I am, all set to go off to my first writers conference in exactly one month, and absolutely betwiddled.  Befuddled.  Bemused.  Besturbed.

E&A, if you are by any remote chance checking out my blog to see if I have what it takes to make it in this business, let me set your minds at ease: I don't know.  As far as I'm concerned, it's not about me; it's about my writing, and I like to think my writing speaks for itself.  The rest...well, that's up to God.  (So is the writing, but I don't want to appear "overconfident." Interestingly, a Christian author is never supposed to express a belief that his/her writing came from God. That would be unprofessional to the max.)  But I will say this, HONESTLY, and not because I've figured out the right "formula" for selling myself to you: buy my books, and I will WRITE for you.  I will also do my best to be mature, courteous, cooperative, and professional in the process.  I know that I'm really just a selfish know-it-all at heart, but most of the people who know me (including my pastor's wife) think I am a nice person with a teachable spirit.  That cracks me up, but if that's the way I come across to them, I guess you and I will get along pretty well too.  So please, if God is tugging at your heart just a little, give me a chance.  One thing you can be SURE of: I won't tell you how to do your job, because, hey, what do I know?

Method Writing

I'm a method writer.

You hear a lot about "the writing method" in school (as if there's this Method that's somehow going to make a writer out of you), but that's not the subject of this blog.  I'm not talking about the writing method but about method writing, which is like method acting: the process of becoming the character you're portraying rather than merely analyzing the lines.

Being a method writer definitely has its ups and downs.

The biggest hurdle for me is that most of my protagonists are male, so I've had to get in touch with my "inner man."  Apparently I've succeeded.  My (ex) husband described my first protagonist, Yuannan, as "an arrogant jerk," which tells me I got it right.