Joely Sue Burkhart

Since we’ve been talking about a book that really pissed me off last week, I thought I’d do a “readers meme” of things an author does that you as a reader deem Unforgivable.  What makes you throw a book against a wall and scream “Never again?”

1. The Imhotep Syndrome:  The hero does something unheroic live action in the book, like leaving the love interest behind to die.  This is what made the recent book unforgivable for me personally and earned the Imhotep reference.  Yeah, Anck Su Namun does leave him to die at the end of The Mummy Returns, and she receives an appropriate recompense.  Unless you’re going to kill the hero for payment of such cowardly behavior, this is unforgivable in my book.
2. The “Who Shot JR” Syndrome:  Ever since the last episode of the season for House, M.D. (season 2 or 3?) was a dream sequence, only revealed at the end, I’ve refused to watch it.  I love musicals but despise Oklahoma!  Again, because of that retarded dream sequence.  Now if I *know* it’s a dream and the dream ends up crucial to the story, that’s different.  But as a reader or viewer, I despise being tricked.  (For those of you too young to remember Dallas, the evening sitcom very popular in the 80s, a very large mystery involving “Who Shot JR” was later revealed to be a dream.  At least that’s my foggy memory of the show, and if that’s an invalid reference, let’s call this the #$*@ Dream Syndrome.)
3. The “I See Dead People” Lie:  I loved Sixth Sense.  I loved watching it the first time, completely unawares, and then watching it again and catching the little clues.  I get goosebumps when stuff like that works.  As a reader, I relish those little crumb trails and follow it eagerly to the Gingerbread House in the center of the woods.  I want the Witch there ready to eat the little children.  If it’s all just random garbage thrown in there to trick or confuse me, and those little crumbs lead absolutely nowhere?  That’s unforgivable with a potty word flying from my mouth as your book hits the wall.
4. The Dr. Who Are you Again?:  I don’t actually watch Dr. Who (I’d love to but That Man is too busy watching Matlock and MASH), but one of the kisses of death for me as a reader is when it’s just not memorable.  When I’ve been reading the book, put it down to cook dinner, and then have a free half hour to spare between monster baths, dishes, bedtime stories, etc.  I look at the book, and I can’t remember the characters’ names.  Oops.  Why should I pick up that book again?  Definitely unforgivable.
5. The Death-By-Chocolate-Caramel-Butterscotch-Banana-Split-Everything-But-the-Kitchen-Sink Soup:  Oooh, paranormal is hawt!  Lots of sex is hawt!  Menage scenes are selling like hotcakes!  I’ll throw it all together and make a killer dessert!  Who cares if none of it actually makes sense….
6. The Perfect Record Seatbelt Law:  We should always follow the speed limit and wear our seatbelts because readers don’t like us to take risks.  It’s too shocking and not very politically correct either.  Safety first!  Meanwhile I’ve smeared ink on my forehead because I fell asleep on the book. 

I’m going to have to make some tough decisions this year.  Looking at my list of everything I want to work on, I’ve realized I simply can’t do it all.

At first, I was rather gloomy about it.  If only I had more time, I could finish more projects.  But this is my reality.  I have to make it work.  I have 1-2 hours each morning to write, depending on how early I can drag my ass out of bed.  Any time during the evening that I can write is gravy.  That’s it.

Meanwhile, April is a page I’ll soon be ripping off my calendar, and the year is slipping through my fingers.

Now that I’m under contract, I have commitments that must be met.  That’s a very good thing indeed.  That gives me my highest priority.  Road will be finished this year.  A third Keldari novella will be finished this year.  Book 3 in the trilogy will follow on those heels–maybe I’ll write the first draft as my NaNoWriMo novel this year, or at least start it.  Next year, Charon’s book for the Mythomorphoses world, unless Deena asks for it over Return to Shanhasson.

I might, if I work really hard the last part of the year, be able to get through revisions on ONE story.  One.  While I’ll be grinding through editor revisions and promo on two other stories at the same time.  In my head right now, I hear the record guy from Walk the Line asking Johnny Cash what’s the one song he’d sing.  If he was dying in a ditch and this was his only chance to tell God what he felt about this life…

I love Letters.  I do.  But.  I don’t know that it’s the smartest choice for me right now.  Based on recent contest feedback, it might be better shelved.  It’s definitely a love it or hate it kind of story and it does nothing for my brand.  But.  That story’s a gut-wrencher and powerful in many ways.  The revision is almost finished.  Hmmm.  See why I keep waffling? 

RHP or Night Sun Rising.  Not sure which, yet.  The latter has a ticking clock associated with it and I know I’ve seen at least one other similarily premised story announced in Publisher’s Lunch already.  Both are rough first drafts.  RHP is a departure in many ways for me.  Both need so much work it makes my stomach clench with anxiety just thinking about sitting down and locking on to one or the other. 

But that’s exactly what I need to do.  One of these two stories is a definite must do for the second half of the year.  And the rest, well, will just have to be gravy.  With a cherry on top.  *winks*

What a great weekend! 

Saturday, I drove down to Joplin (a bit of an achievement because I really don’t like to drive on the freeway, but I didn’t have any problems) to go to a Ren Faire with my Beloved Sis!  I got to catch up with Pesh and meet her husband as well as several other friends.  They are a hilarious bunch, let me tell you, but with Molly as a friend, I expected nothing less than to come home with my sides hurting from laughing. 

Conn was rather disappointed with the weapons demonstrations, but otherwise, it was a lovely day.  Not too warm or too crowded.  I picked up some neat hair garlands for the monsters with matching magic wands.  They’ve been dancing around giving out wishes ever since, but oddly, no laundry or dishes fairy has shown up yet.

I did get a little writing done each day and I’m close to my 30K goal for April.  May is forming up to be a brutal month with at least 30K to finish the first draft of Road.  I mean, hello, I’m not even ON the Road to Shanhasson yet…  However, I’m definitely on the metaphorical Road, and some agonizing events must happen first to force Shannari’s feet onto the Road where she doesn’t want to travel. 

I’m just scenes away from Gregar’s heart’s desire.  That scene’s been years in the making, and I’m actually dreading it.  Lots of expectations and worries twisted together into such a simple scene.  I’ll just have to jump into the Well and hope for the best.

A new month is just around the corner.  Are you thinking about your goals yet?

Soleil Noir has given a terrific review of Rose!  She says:

 It took me three days to finish reading this book, and I have no doubt the characters and their world will haunt me for the rest of my life.

My hands are still shaking.

I highly recommend “The Rose of the Shanhasson” to any lover of romance, fantasy, or even better, both. I am seriously considering putting it above even the likes of The Princess Bride. (No small compliment from me here as I love that book. But, honeys? I’m so sorry, Wesley has got nothin’ on Rhaekhar, in my humble opinion.

Joely, you tore my heart out with this story and made me loved it! My heart’s still racing and my eyes are still a little moist, I need to go grab some Klennex.

What a fantastic review!  Thank you so much, Soleil.  Gregar salutes you.

I’m cursed, I say, cursed.  I’ve had so many computer problems over the years, almost all involving power cords in some fashion.  This laptop is not quite a year old yet, but it’s been through hell. 

There was the coffee spill…  I was sitting outside in the garage while the monsters rode their bikes last summer, and Middle Monster ran into my chair on her bike, spilling coffee all over me and the laptop.  Brand new keyboard, but at least the motherboard was fine.  However, while it was in the shop, they had to replace the power cord for some reason with a junky replacement one.  The original Toshiba cord just quit working.

Then two nights ago, I was sitting here in my green chair writing while That Man watched TV and I heard a strange snapping sound.  Coming from my computer.  No, coming from the power cord…  YIKES.  The flexible bendy part had a short in it!

So I went back to the computer place yesterday for yet another cord.  At least he had one in stock that does fit, and it’s a better quality one than the other.  (Cost me double, too.)

Writers beware:  keep my away from your power cords!!

I’m working on the first draft of Road with a goal of hitting “The End” by the end of May.  Since this is the second in a trilogy, I’m not going to be able to share a lot without giving away huge spoilers.  So I will edit these for content to hide certain facts that I don’t want you to know until you read Rose.  I know, I’m wicked.

Dharman and Sal are two young men (Dharman’s the oldest at age 15) and they’re making a bit of a nuisance of themselves.  Shannari doesn’t quite know how to handle them, but right now, they’re the least of her worries.

Of course, it wouldn’t be a Blood and Shadows world snippet without some Gregar action…

Dharman and Sal had been joined by a third boy with golden hair that glinted in the sun. Grazing nearby, Wind nickered softly, pressing her soft muzzle into Shannari’s back. The gesture was typically comforting, but she couldn’t help but worry. What did they want?

They said nothing and made no move to intercept or speak to her, but they watched. Every day, they lingered, making an appearance right as she left Camp to drill with the Blood. She highly suspected they followed to spy on her.

“Do not worry, Khul’lanna,” Gregar said, his voice carefully light and unconcerned. He touched her back lightly, a small soothing caress, his hand instead of the mare’s nose. “I’m glad they remain near. If I slip while we drill, shout Dharman’s name. He’ll hear you and reach you before Khul may.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she retorted. “I’m certainly not going to call for the boy, and I’m not afraid of you, either.”

Gregar could have called her on the small lie, but he let it slip. Standing across from him with knives in their hands was the hardest thing she’d ever done, and he’d promised to do it every single day. After nearly two weeks, it was a little easier, but her heart still pounded frantically. Sweat trickled down her back, her palm so damp the hilt felt oily in her hand as she drew the rahke from the brilliantly colored belt.

Wind didn’t like their drilling sessions, either. The mare hovered, bumping into her, snorting at the Blood and striking out at him with her hooves. She never kicked him, but her warning was clear. “Wind, enough. Go graze.”

The mare threw her head up, shaking silver mane in denial.

“Go on,” Shannari insisted, giving the horse a friendly swat. “I can’t practice if you interrupt. Go!”

Gregar inclined his head to the horse and touched his right fist to his heart. With a final fierce snort, Wind trotted off into the distance. Not too far, Shannari guessed, the same as those boys. Bloody hell. She might as well have Rhaekhar standing around playing nursemaid too.

Carved roses dug into her palm. Staring at Gregar, she struggled not to flinch back into a defensive crouch.

The Shadowed Blood stood with the sun at his back, his face lost in the brightness. He simply stood there, without the rahke in his hand, and she knew the cold suffocating terror of nightmares. When he spoke, his voice had dropped an octave, low and rumbly bass. “Attack me.”

She took a deep breath, focusing her will, gathering her courage. Fighting him tested every last one of her skills, and she still wasn’t entirely comfortable with the much shorter blade. The mirrored lake glimmered in her mind, and she methodically pushed her fears and thoughts into the water, letting them flow from her. Rather, the waters welled within her, filling her, bubbling up like a pure, sweet spring.

A vision flashed in her mind: a strange tree, a trunk gleaming like bone, and drops of blood on shadows for leaves.

“The kae’sangral,” he whispered, his voice so low, so dark. “I am your Shadow, and I will bleed for you this day. Attack!”

She darted forward, swinging the rahke in a quick arc, and he leaped back, his eyes glittering, taunting.

“Faster, Khul’lanna. Do not hesitate. This day, I want you to feel the cut of rahke through flesh, to measure your strike for exactly the right amount of blood. Remember, shallow, thin cuts will honor me. No injury, no stitches, just blood. Can you honor me? Can you bleed me?”

Blessed Lady, he knew exactly the best way to challenge her. She settled the rahke better in her palm and went after him. Even though he held no weapon and couldn’t block her strikes even if he’d wanted, he was incredibly fast. He let her have nothing easily.

Dripping sweat, she finally felt the rahke catch him in the abdomen in a long flash of red. Her stomach pitched queasily and she faltered, her hand shaking.

“Good,” he said, his low voice thrumming her spine. “But you can do better. This is a bit deep. Try again. Honor me, Khul’lanna.”

The scent of his blood ripened on the air, dark syrupy caffe and baking bread, heated by the sun. It was easier to place the next cut on his arm, the next on his opposite shoulder.

When she would have called a break, he urged her onward. “Excellent. Feel how shallowly you cut? Control the blade. It is merely an extension of your hand. You can fight closer, whether with surprise or challenge, and my longer reach and greater strength is not as great a factor as when you wield the sword.”

“Your longer reach means nothing if you don’t even draw a weapon yourself,” she panted. Sweat burned her eyes, but she dared not pause until he told her. He was a fierce task master and could put her Rashan swordmaster to shame for barking orders. “No assassin will let me attack without fighting back.”

“I am not any assassin.” He laughed, and the sound slithered through her like dark chocolate. “Keep bleeding me, Khul’lanna.”

Fear clutched her stomach. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I bleed for you.”

Continuing the discussion from yesterday, yes, I’m still reading the problem book and I’m getting madder.  According to a very reliable source, I’m going to be even more pissed once I read the ending, and it has NOTHING to do with whether or not there’s a HEA.  I could care less.  Seriously.  I was all set for this book to NOT be a romance.  Whether or not HEA happens has nothing at all to do with my overall enjoyment–or more likely dissatisfaction–with this book.

Let me just get one more thing off my chest.

Riddick is an anti-hero for a reason.  Yes, he was going to leave the settlers behind in Pitch Black.  He had that power.  He didn’t have any moral obligation to them–all he cared about was himself.  He chose to go back, not because he felt like it was the right thing to do, far from it.  He went back because he could.  Because he was the only one who could.  That’s why he’s an ANTI-hero.  (Yeah, he’s also a murderer, but I still think he’s an incredible character.)

One cannot have a HERO make that same kind of decision and have me believe they’re heroic.  A hero cannot leave people behind.  I don’t care how scared they are.  I don’t care how many times they think “I’m not heroic.  I’m not.”  YOU, the author, TOLD ME this person was heroic by setting the character up as the protagonist of the story.  I don’t care if the hero then has a change of heart and does save said people.  I don’t care!!  IT’S TOO FRICKING LATE.

Said hero is done for me.

What’s even more alarming?  The one left behind was the LOVE INTEREST.  I’m supposed to believe they care about each other?  Instead, I’m staring at this book like Imhotep at the end of The Mummy Returns as his beloved turns and runs, leaving him to die.  Yeah.  Real heroic, hun.

Now such a set up might work as backstory — and then the book is about how the hero overcomes this past and grows beyond it.  But when such a thing happens live action in the book and then I’m supposed to believe the character grows in the last 100 pages or so?  It’s not happening.  Sorry.

I’m going to finish the book because I want to see how badly it all ends.

There’s a certain kiss of death for me as a reader when I hit a point in the book that makes me STOP. 

I’m not talking historical inaccuracies (not sure I’d pick one up unless it was blatant) or poor writing (although definitely that’s a show stopper for me, I typically figure out the author’s style isn’t for me very early).  It’s something much more insiduous. 

Choices.

I’m reading a book right now that I started on the plane home.  I was enjoying it, although it wasn’t as emotional as The Duke of Shadows (which is totally okay–I don’t want every story to be a tear-jerker).  The book is different and exciting.  It had quite a lot of buzz.  I enjoyed the new-to-me author’s style.

Until a certain choice the protagonist made. 

I was surprised.  I had this expectation built up within me that this book was different.  It wouldn’t fall into the same old genre traps.  And so when it DID, I was stunned.  My expectation was utterly dashed, and now I’m finding it difficult to get back into the story.  I still like the characters, the world, the style, but it’s just not the same. 

I guess I lost my rose-colored glasses.  Or…maybe I was forced to put them back on.

I hate rose-colored glasses.  I really do.

In which I embarrass myself with a revolting coffee story…

As you know, I was in St. Paul all last week for the Evil Day Job.  Since I left Sunday morning at 4:30 a.m., I didn’t have time to wash my pot out before leaving.  That Man doesn’t drink coffee unless I make it, so my pot sat empty until Saturday when I eagerly rushed to the kitchen to make my home-brewed Caribou.

I washed the pot parts out well and started the brew.  I had two kinds of half and half in the fridge:  regular and fat-free.  I’ve been drinking the fat free and sniffed it carefully before using it, since the container was nearly empty and dated 4/22.  It smelled fine.  The regular half and half hadn’t been opened yet, so I cracked it open to extend my fat-free stuff (what I’ve coined “half-half-half”).  I sat down with my favorite cup, and…

It was nasty.  Ugh.  It tasted rotten.  We had errands to run (like picking out the monsters’ Build-A-Bear toys) so I didn’t make any more until that night.  Even after washing the pot again, it still tasted revolting.  I was really starting to panic.  I hadn’t even been able to drink a full cup yet!  (Considering how much I typically drink, I was nearly ready to declare a national emergency.)

Sunday morning, I took the pot apart again, filled the sink with scalding hot water, and let it sit in soapy water while I examined the pot carefully.  Jokingly, I told That Man to look for a dead mouse or something in my pot.  It tasted that bad.  Princess Monster offered to bring me a cup when it was done, which I gratefully accepted.  She came rushing in with half and half dripping down her chin, her face faintly green.  “Mom, this stuff tastes horrible.”

(Ah, the truth comes out.  She only offered to get me a cup so she could sneak a drink of my cream directly out of the carton!)

I took a whiff and UGH.  It was so totally rotten.  I never thought to check the real half and half because I hadn’t even OPENED it yet.  It was dated May.  Somewhere, somehow, that carton got too warm.

Gag.

It’s almost enough to turn me off half and half completely.

Almost.

I was hoping to get 10K last week while in St. Paul for work, but that didn’t quite happen.  I did get up around 4:00 a.m. most days, and worked hard to write and not goof off on the internet or e-mail.  Combined with the weekend’s count, I made almost 7K words last week.

For the month (including today), I’m at 19,930 words.  I really wanted to hit 30K this month, so I’m setting a firm goal for myself.  1K a day for the rest of the month.  I’ve got tons of story to get through in Road, and another round of Beautiful Death edits are likely by the end of the month.  We’ll see how much I can get done.  I promised Deena she’d have Road by July, so I must get this first draft done by the end of May to give myself time for edits in June.  If anyone wants to beta read Road once I finish it, let me know.

(Sis, I’ve already got you on the short list, as always!)

Looking forward to reading about everyone’s experiences at RT this past week!

Back in 2006, Lynn Viehl challenged her blog readers to write and give away a free e-book (complete list of participants here).  The Horse Master was my contribution. 

I wrote it for a rather selfish reason:  I wanted to explore how two separate lines of the Green Land monarchy had originated, one “Shadowed” and one legitimate, generations before Shannari’s story in The Rose of Shanhasson.  I hadn’t written a single Keldar story yet (I knew Keldar involved deserts and dragons, and that’s truly it), but Jake insisted that’s where he was from.  I didn’t know what tellan meant when I made that his tribe name.  I didn’t know about Chanda’s curse or Agni’s Coming.  

The Horse Master started it all.

I’ve had so many people tell me that they read and enjoyed that story and then went on to pick up the other Keldari novellas at Drollerie Press.  When Jayne reviewed The Fire Within, several people mentioned that free story, including Patricia Briggs!  *squees*  How amazing is that?

So here’s another huge thank you to PBW for starting that challenge, and here’s a big hooray for free reads!