A picture is worth a thousand words…

…or in my case, close on 4,000.

I wanted to write something for Karen’s story prompt.  And it started out as flash fiction.  But when I finished it, it felt flat.  There was something missing.  Cue the washing up to bring a flash of insight, and now I know what to add to glue the whole thing together.

So, since the entirety of the piece is beyond the original prompt challenge, here is the first scene instead.  I hope you enjoy it, and do drop in to Karen’s blog and see what other people have written.

The Prize

Rama coughed, spat grit and salt water, then flailed at the sand as a wave foamed over her.  The water’s cold grasp dragged her back into the crashing surf, tearing at her bruised limbs and aching back.  It played with her like a cat with its victim, until once more it tossed her onto the sand.  She struggled to her knees, crawled up the beach as the sea rushed for her once again.  When she was clear of its grasping claws, she lay down on the sand.  Behind her, beneath the churning waves of the bay, her ship rested, its cargo of riches now forever beyond her reach.

She slammed a fist into the sand.  To be so close, and be denied.  Through the fading rain she could see the dark outline of the hill.  She thought she saw lights moving slowly up the winding road to the summit.  More supplicants, come to tempt him with their offerings.  Slowly, painfully, she pushed herself to her feet.  She had one gift left, but she wasn’t certain of its value.  Would it compare with the riches heaped at his feet?

The rain washed the salt from her, leaving her skin chilled but clean.  The storm faded as suddenly as it had appeared and the sun, bleaching the sky of colour, warmed her skin.  The sand beneath her feet turned to grass as she made her way towards the hill.  Low bushes scraped against her pants. She pushed her hair out of her eyes, wincing as her hand brushed a graze on her cheek.

Amusement twisted her lips into a grimace.  She had never been a beauty.  Never lived a life of ease in a mansion, with servants to fulfil her every need.  Her work-roughened hands had never worn gloves of lace; only leather and wool.  In her warehouses she wore breeches and boots as she worked, rather than gowns and slippers of silk.  She had worked hard, earned her way, grown strong and callused in pursuit of the position and security that now lay at the bottom of the bay with her wealth.

She slowed as the steepness of the hill took her breath.  Practical, hard-working, sensible.  Those were the words of her suitors, themselves hard workers. Some honest, some, like herself, using the truth when it suited them.  No-one had ever called her beautiful, and they never would.

She met the road, finally, as it turned for the last ascent, and she slipped in behind a caravan of camels, all loaded with panniers that coloured the air with the scent of faraway lands.  At the front of the group the heavy curtains of a sedan chair hid a princess of some far off land, come to offer herself to a god.

Yesterday Rama would have been in the procession, with her horses and carts carrying all the wealth she had accumulated in her life.  Everything she owned, to be thrown away.  One last, great gamble, the businessman’s risk.  But today she was a bedraggled, dirty young woman with nothing left in the world to her name.

How to Apply Criticism and Not Lose Your Mind

Here, at last, is the final post in my series on criticism, which started with The Yin-Yang of Writing and continued with How to Interpret Criticism.

So you’ve sent your story out to impartial and honest readers for feedback.  The results come flooding in, and suddenly you are overwhelmed with pages of conflicting advice, comments, praise and condemnation, often all in the same critique.

How do you deal with this?  Even if you only get comments from a few readers, you’ll be very lucky if they all say the same thing.  How do you decide what criticism to accept, and what criticism doesn’t serve the needs of your story?

Like any phase of writing, applying criticism works best when a logical process is used. In this post, I’ll show you my method and explain why I do things the way I do.

I’m not dictating that you must do it my way, just demonstrating.  This process was developed mainly for short stories, but I’m sure you can apply it, or something similar, to a novel.  Take from this article what you find helpful.

Winning awards and entering contests

(I wrote the title that way so you wouldn’t think I’d entered a contest and won an award.)

In the last two days, three very nice people gave me the Prolific Blogger Award.  Thanks Kayla, J.C. Hart and NewtoWritingGirl for your kind thoughts.  (Either that, or there are three people out there thinking DEAR GOD DOES THIS WOMAN NEVER SHUT UP?) Edited to add: And thank you Karen for also passing on the award!

Anyway.  I haven’t been that prolific lately.  I’ve got 4 draft posts sitting unfinished in my folder.  I had planned to finish one of them this morning, but luckily there was this nice award to distract me.

So instead, I’ll talk about prompts and competitions.

Oh wait, I need to finish this award bit.  There are rules about this award, which you can read here.  I’m supposed to pass this on to seven people, but I think most of the blogs I follow already have it, or something similar.  Let’s see, who needs some love?  Well there’s Joseph, and Andrew, um, don’t forget Nick and Ryan, oh and Anna and Janette and Graham.  There!  Go visit them.  They aren’t all prolific, but they are all interesting people.

Back to prompts and competitions.  Since I’m writing so much short work at the moment, and don’t look like getting back to novel writing any time soon, I decided to put the effort into entering competitions.  Not with any view to winning, but because:

a) it’s fun

b) it’s good practice to work to a deadline

c) it encourages you to stretch past your normal story themes

d) you meet some great people

e) it can really revitalise your creativity

f) even if you don’t win, you have a story you can shop to magazines.

It’s a win-win situation.  So I’m searching for all the free-entry competitions I can find, and putting in an entry.  If you know of any, drop a comment in the box.   And while you’re at it, tell me about your short fiction.  Do you write it?  Do you like the short format?  Or do you struggle with it?

Standing up for my right to step aside

When I left my client’s premises on Tuesday, it was to discover a flat tyre and the offending screw.  It was 38 degrees in the shade.  I was in my business clothes, which don’t stretch to elegant, but are neat and professional.  Practical to a point, but not the correct attire for changing a tyre.

Nevertheless, I popped the boot and moved the stroller out of the way to get at the tyre.  The lab tech who had come out with me to open the gate was making manly tut-tut noises at the front of the car.

I dove into the boot and started pulling out what I’d need.  I’ve changed a tyre before, but that must be over 15 years ago now.

It took about 30 seconds before my companion politely insinuated himself into the situation and took over.  And not for one second did I entertain the notion of saying “it’s ok, I can do it.”  He’s younger than me, fitter, and in much more appropriate clothing.  So we chatted as he jacked up the car and changed the tyre.  I handed him things when I could, but otherwise I was content to stand aside.

I have friends who would have been quite curt in their rejection of assistance, vehemently demanding that they can “do it themselves”.

But a reaction like that does nothing more than alienate someone who is trying to be nice.  I would rather a cupful of kindness any day than to stand on my pride and hurt someone’s feelings.  I’ve proved that I can change a tyre.  I’ve proved that I can compete in a male-dominated industry.  That I can retain my femininity and identity without subverting my dreams and desires to some social ideal.

In other words, I have nothing left to prove.

So I’ll leave the fight for the next generation of feminists, and buy a six-pack for a nice young man who broke a sweat and got his hands dirty to help me out.

Addendum: In defense of non-paying markets

I just want to add, that I was not trying to pick on those non-paying markets who are well-edited and presented.  I made a generalisation for the sake of the article.  I’m talking about the enthusiast-produced magazine who’ll publish any story that’s been through a spell checker.

But correcting the main article is going to interrupt the narrative flow.  So please accept this addendum as my combined qualification and apology.  If I think of a better way of saying it in the next few days, I’ll update the article.

In defense of the amateur

For every professional author, artist, poet, photographer, there are thousands* of aspiring amateurs; milling around, filling the forums, the blogosphere, and the twitverse with their drive and enthusiasm.

You know the ones I mean.  They’ve had a poem published in Poetry.com, and have their “book” proudly on display at home (not to mention many copies sent to relatives).  Their walls are covered with paintings of lopsided buildings, mentally challenged cats and psychedelic flowers.  They post their stories on message boards with the cheery demand of “I just wrote this what do you think?!?”.  They write fanfic about their favourite show/book, because they can’t bear to think that it’s over.

They love what they do.  Their enthusiasm is boundless.

Their skill, not so evident.  They’re the ones whose blurry photos get sent in to magazines.  Whose NaNoWriMo novels end up in the slush pile every January, without fail.  Who are completely over the moon about getting published in an obscure little non-paying journal**, and will post it on their blog as a “writing credit”.  Who firmly believe that “no new authors are getting published”.

I’m sure you’ve met one, or two, or a hundred or so.

But before you roll your eyes and mutter rude words, take a moment to consider this.

The people who write, or paint, or take photographs do it because they love it.  They may not have the skill, but they have the enthusiasm.  And it’s more than likely that they started to paint, or photograph, or write, because they bought something that moved them.  Something that made them think, “I’d love to do that.”

And whatever their skill level, or lack of it, they’re going to continue to buy books, and art, and magazines about the things they love.

These are the people who pay for writing classes.  Who buy anthologies about vampires, because they just can’t get enough.  They purchase subscriptions to e-zines.  They buy prints from their favourite artists.   They have a library of novels large enough to start their own bookstore.

These people are fans.  And fans are more precious than gold.

So next time you’re tempted to laugh behind your hand at someone’s songfic epic with matching pictures of characters in skimpy outfits, don’t.

That person may have bought a short fiction magazine with your story in it.  They have, indirectly, paid you.  And one day, they may be drawing disproportionate pictures of characters from your books.

Most of them will never produce work of any decent standard.  You are not competing against them – you are competing against other professionals.  A goodly number of these amateurs don’t even care about the standard of their work – they just want to share and enjoy.  And I say, good for them.

A little less mockery, people, and a little more appreciation.  Your life is funded by these enthusiasts.  Try not to forget that.

—–

*Rounded to the nearest thousand

** Addendum: In defense of non-paying markets

Minor update

I have so many articles bottled up inside, ready to spill out, but I don’t know where to start.  So I’ll bottle them a little longer and give you a short update.

Numbered, of course.

1. Rather than flood the blog with too many topics, I’ve started a new blog dedicated to natural history.  At the moment, it’s just going to be trip reports, but hopefully I can add photos and articles as I go.   You can find it here at Wide Brown Land.
2. I have author Graham Storrs stopping in on the 12th of March as part of the blog tour for his upcoming science fiction novel Timesplash.  More news as we get closer to the date.
3. I also have Marcus Chown, author of We Need to Talk About Kelvin dropping in for a chat.  No firm dates yet, but I will keep you posted.
4. This year on the blog I will be doing a series called “How do you write?”, talking to published authors about their process.  No dates scheduled yet; again, watch this space!
5. Simon Larter and Carolina Valdez Miller have teamed up to hold a 100 posts flash fiction competition.  Details on Simon’s blog; prizes (ooh!  Prizes!) listed on Carol’s.  Sign up and have a go!

That’s all.  No rambling in this post.

Making the effort

One of the family goals we made this year is to get out more.

This was never a problem in Brissie.  The Brisbane hinterlands are rich and varied and all within a 2 hour drive in any direction; art, culture, nature, beaches, mountains, ocean, rivers….

Every weekend would see us going somewhere; to a national park we hadn’t seen before, or a lovely sheltered beach, a mountain village with markets and produce, a lagoon on the edge of a country road…and everywhere, birds in such profusion and variety that our heads spun.

We thought it would be the same in Perth.  After all, it’s a capital city on the coast, surrounded by fascinating Australian terrain, with some of the most unique flora in the world.

We were bitterly disappointed.  Perth, in general, just doesn’t give a damn about the natural environment.  I’ll probably get hate mail for that statement, but we’ve been here for 4 years now and I’ve yet to see anything to make me change my mind.

You have to pay to visit the national parks.  We thought this would mean that they were well maintained, cared for and signposted.

Well forget that.  Signage is non-existant in most of them.  Walk trails peter out, or are choked with brush.  And degradation from illegal 4WD activity is everywhere; yes, even in the national parks.  Ground churned to a sandy mass where nothing will grow.

Litter.  Invasive plants. Graffiti on beautiful old karri trees that deserve more respect.

Fuck you Perthians, in general.  You suck.

So gradually we stopped going out.  Stopped driving for an hour just to be disappointed, yet again.  Stuck to the places we could enjoy without pain; the wineries, the botanic gardens, the beaches.  But gradually we stopped going there too.  Because in Perth, there are a limited number of places you can go.  And on any fine, sunny day that’s not to hot, you go there.

And so does the entire population of Perth, apparently.

So for our holidays, we went further afield.  Margaret River.  Albany.  Mt Magnet.  And we found, finally, the beauty, the wonder, the vistas and the plants and the landscapes that we were searching for.

But to find them, you need to get the hell away from Perth.  I would rather drive 8 hours into mulga country to see a granite outcrop the colour of blood near Mount Magnet.  Or 6 hours south to the wind-lashed coast of Albany to hunt honeyeaters in the Banksia scrub.  Or go south for 4 hours to the Cape Leeuwin Lighthouse, where the wind is so strong that you can lean into it and not fall over.

Hubby just reminded me that the roads are better over here.  Which is true, and I give kudos to Main Roads WA for their work.  But I didn’t come over here to see the roads.

Anyway, this year we are planning trips to places we haven’t seen.  We’ve got 6 trips planned for places away from Perth, and a dozen or so day trips planned for places closer that we want to investigate.

Who knows?  I may yet change my mind.  At least I will be able to say, at the end, that we gave it a darn good try.  That we made the effort to love Perth.

I’ll keep you posted.

Liquid Story Binder video tutorials

Rosepetals over at Media through rose-tinted glasses has a series of video tutorials up about using Liquid Story Binder.

I haven’t watched all of them, but they are very well done, with good commentary and relaxing music to boot.  So if you like the video format, drop in and see what she has to offer.

This feels like me

I woke up at 5:30am this morning.

And I got up.

Coffee.

Computer.

Blinds open to see the sunlight streaming over the pavers, battering at the windows, charging into the house with the crash and roar of heat and glare, stamping summer on the walls and chasing shadows behind the couch.

I feel good.

I know my brain is back, because it keeps tempting me with little projects.  “We could do that, and how much fun would you have?  It won’t take long.  You can do it.”

Ah ha ha ha.  Shut up, brain. You always say that, and it always takes longer than you think.  Lets just relax and enjoy this time, okay?

In celebration of summer, I have a new header pic.  A Pacific Black Duck, Anas superciliosa, sunning himself on the shores of Lake Joondalup.

Yes.  Definitely me again.