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Blessed Lady above, thank you for your bountiful blessings of love.
The final book in the Shanhasson trilogy, Return to Shanhasson, is now available at Drollerie Press here. In the next few days it should also pop up on Amazon, B&N, etc. I’ll add buy links as they’re available.
Reviewers: please contact me (joelysueburkhart AT gmail DOT com) for a review copy!
I got bogged down in a few details this morning so I was afraid I wouldn’t get my words. I wanted a couple of variations of Kukulkan — all the names he’s been known as across the various Mesoamerican peoples. Then I needed Tecun’s real name — and I couldn’t find it. I knew I’d seen it somewhere, but it wasn’t in my notes. I finally remembered that it was at the end of the Popol Vuh (and since I have a copy with tons of post-it notes sticking out of it, I didn’t bother writing it down). Tecun Uman K’iqab, Black Butterfly Grandson of K’iqab, who was one of the rulers of the K’iche.
The scene I was working on was trying to introduce him — and I had to get it right.
Of course I had to look up how to spell some words too. Quetzalcoatl I got right, but not Teotihuacan. (I truly feel sorry for whoever gets to voice these names if the story is a). accepted and b). ever goes to Audible.) And yes, I know that in a real Fast Draft I shouldn’t have bothered spelling them correctly — that’s what Revision Xibalba is for. However, I want this draft to be as solid and readable as possible and misspellings of major things drives me nuts. Of course some of these details might get edited out in revisions too. I don’t want it to read like a history book.
Anyway, despite my hang ups this morning, I still made good progress, bringing my total wordage to 2,865. As always when I start a hard round of true Dark & Early — and drink too much coffee — I get an upset stomach. So only one cup this morning, along with toast. I’m also ravenous (because I’ve been up since BEFORE the butt crack of dawn) which makes my diet challenging. So I’m having smaller meals more often. I’m really craving scones, so I might try to make some healthy ones tonight. That’ll be my treat D&E tomorrow morning.
I’ll continue a bit from yesterday’s first line, but remember this is only first draft. I’m not sure that I’ve nailed the voice yet (which is CRUCIAL in first person). Openings usually go through several iterations before I get it right — but I’m pretty sure that first line has to stay. 🙂
I heard a quetzal calling outside my window again last night.
A few months ago—before I nearly drowned—I’d never even heard of the strange bird. Now it seemed to roost outside my window every damned night.
Glaring up at the invisible watcher hidden in the tree limbs, I muttered beneath my breath. “I thought queztals were extinct.”
“Some say they are, because the bird we know today surely isn’t the magnificent bird of legend,” our guide said in an agreeable voice. I don’t think anything would rattle Jose’s calm, leathery exterior. At least my constant American questions hadn’t upset him. “We still revere them.”
“I think that one has a red breast.” Natalie peered up into the shadowed growth like Sherlock Holmes. My best friend was determined to prove all this mumbo-jumbo shit was all in my head. I couldn’t fault her for trying. In fact, I wished she could. I didn’t want some strange holy bird howling outside my window every night. Let alone the other dreams.
Despite the sauna-like air filling my lungs and frizzing my hair, I shivered.
“Oh, very lucky, then,” Jose replied. “Let me tell you our legend of how the quetzal came to bear its red breast.
“Many say that when the great Tecun Uman went to fight the demon conquistador Pedro de Alvarado not far from here, that his quetzal nahual, or spirit guide, went with him. Some say Tecun even transformed into the mighty bird during the battle, his massive wings buffeting the Spaniards and shielding his people from their terrible weapons.”
Jose paused his tale as we reached the end of a long avenue of overgrown trees. Ahead, a sprawling house stretched across the countryside, beautiful despite the jungle trying to overtake it. Perched on the knees of a verdant volcano, the house commanded an incredible view of Lake Atitlan below.
Cradled between three massive volcanoes, Lake Atitlan claimed to be the most beautiful—and possibly the deepest—lake in the world. I couldn’t bear to look at it.
Water closing over my head. Cold. So cold. Blood on the water.
Shuddering at the memory, I shielded my eyes and scanned the house again. Rows of coffee fields curved up the side of the volcano. So green. I’d never known such an incredible, lush green before coming to Guatemala. Birds sang in the trees, not the annoying call of the quetzal that kept me up all night. With the huge bushes and trees trying to swallow the house, I could almost picture what Eden had been like. Lush, riotous growth everywhere I looked.
“Are you sure this is it?” I asked our guide.
“I checked the papers this morning. The house is still deeded to Carla Gonzales.”
My grandmother, Nana, who’d set my feet on this adventure.
No, I whispered to myself. Drowning started this little nightmare.
I really like this man even though he doesn’t have period clothing. I think it’s his eyes, and he’s the right age. What do you think?
It’s kind of an ugly word for me. It makes me feel fenced in and constrained. I immediately want to kick down the stall and race for the mountains again!
Don’t draw a line in the sand and tell me not to cross it, because @#%&* that’s exactly what I’m going to do. The surest way to get me to do something is to tell me it’s impossible. My great strength — and weakness — is accepting a challenge, no matter how…er…challenging.
Write a complete first draft (50K) in two weeks? Sure, no problem! Write a novella and polish it for submission in a month? Right on! Hear about a new anthology call, or, God help me, a CONTEST!?! Yeehaw, sign me up! Write a zombie romance? (See my story in Bump in the Night anthology). Guilty as charged.
But I’m at the place in my writing career where I can’t afford to be distracted. I need to build momentum. I have a full-time job and I can’t dedicate hours, weeks, months to projects that aren’t going to build my writing in the direction I want to go. I can write fast at times, sure, but I can’t write ten full-length novels a year. I just can’t.
So I applied an important new layer to my decision-making process yesterday about what I’m going to work on this month and going forward.
First, I made a list of every single project or task I have on my list, including website maintenance, promo, works in production, etc. I separated the to-dos into logical groups and created a separate list for just current DRAFTING projects. If I’ve jotted a line or two about this project somewhere — or made a mental note about what the next book might be — then I wrote it down, no matter how nebulous. I grouped those projects into logical series, target markets, etc.
Then I made a note beside each project: does this fit within my brand?
After crossing everything off the list that doesn’t target my brand, it was easy (snort, cough) to rank the projects and decide what I need to do going forward. Not every book I’ve already written fits within the brand I’m shooting for, so logically, it doesn’t make sense to keep follow-up books on the to-do list, right? Easier said than done, but I did it. I’ve got hours and hours (weeks, months, even years in some cases!) invested in these projects. That’s the freedom — and cost — of writing for small presses. I have so much flexibility I could really write anything I want, which I absolutely love! But throwing in a YA story, for example, or a cool demonic thriller (yes, I have notes for both of these and many many more), isn’t going to help build my writing career right now.
I consoled myself with the argument that I’m saying “not now” not “never.” I might also be able to take the original work and twist it so it does fit within my brand going forward. Or, I can always expand my brand down the road — but I have to be focused now. With the many genres that I like to write in, it may not seem like I really have a brand at all on the surface. I’ve accepted the fact that I’m never going to be able to say I’m writing in a SINGLE genre. I might as well stop writing all together than limit myself that way.
So I’m going to have to work really hard to tie my work together, and I can’t afford any distractions, no matter how bright and shiny they seem. I know my target, my goal, and I have to concentrate my will to get there.
It might seem ridiculous for me to struggle so much to find my “place” but I’ve accepted (cough, snort) that this is just part of my unique journey. It’s part of who I am, what brought me this far, and it’s something I’m always going to have to struggle with, like an addiction or obsession. I have to protect my work — most especially from myself! — and that means I can’t get distracted. Or if I fall off the wagon, I have to identify it quickly and race to jump back on before I lose too much time spinning my wheels on crap that shouldn’t bother or interest me. And yes, before I’ve even posted this blog entry, I’ve considered deleting it and changing my mind entirely. *grits teeth against temptation*
After some hard decisions, this is the list I’m concentrating on this year. Obviously I won’t be able to get all this done any time soon, and I’m going to be adding things to this list (I can’t help it – it’s my nature), but I’ll have to ask myself the brand question before it gets added. Priorities will shift up and down as contracts come and go.
Upcoming projects in the pipeline include:
This is not a treatise on why you should plot (because I don’t always plot either). This isn’t a “my way is best” argument because I know that’s BS too. Every book requires different skills or tools. Right now, I’m at the stage of my writing where I need a quick check sheet, or reminder list, of what I personally need when plotting. You may find this helpful, or you may run away screaming because I’m bringing out spreadsheets. Just know that I do NOT always do this — but it does help me organize my thoughts when I’m feeling scattered or stuck.
(Upcoming will be THEME and CHARACTER sheets too.)
I’ve tried every writing software under the sun, from Scrivener to TextBlock to Liquid Story Binder to….Lord, I can’t even name them all. I do like many and use many for different things, but sometimes, I need the physical touch of paper and ink. You may laugh, but there’s something very magical in purple ink. When I bring out my favorite pen (I’ve resorted to hiding the entire box from the monsters and threatening them with deadly harm if they steal them) and some white paper, my brain is freed. It touches on something creative – yet also analytical – in my brain that helps me tap down into the heart of what I’m trying to write.
I’ve got Marshall Plan worksheets, character portfolios, etc. that I’ve copied from online and print resources over the years, but there was no one single sheet that let me see the story at a glance. How LONG is this story going to be? Am I going to get to page 100 and realize I’m done? Or page 250 and realize oh, @&#*%, I’m nowhere near the end? I don’t want to have to carry around very complicated pages and details — I just want something brief and to the point, structured but also very simple and free. I want to customize it for a short story, or use it for a full-length fantasy novel at the same time.
What I came up with is a basic Act sheet (Excel, pdf).
A few general comments:
Here’s how I’m using this sheet. No matter the size of your WIP, Act 1 should be about 25% of the overall length, Act 2 about 50%, and Act 3 about 25%. This is not set in stone – merely a guideline for a satisfying story. I’m working on a novella right now, so I don’t need a lot of sections or scenes. 5 per act felt pretty good, and so if I print out 4 of these worksheets, that’ll give me about 20 sections (one page for each act).
If I want to write a longer novel (50-60K, a good length for epub), then maybe I need 8 pages, giving me about 10 scenes per Act, or 40 total. If I’m going to write a really detailed, longer single-title novel around 80-90K, then I’m probably going to need 3 or 4 pages per Act.
If I want to write a shorter story (around 10K), then I can probably get by with 2 pages, or 10 sections. If the story needs to be under 5K, then I’ve got to figure out how to tell the entire story on one page in 5 sections or less. See how that works?
Now if you want a little more structure to your sheets, I created 4 pages overlaid with the hero’s journey. The major points of the hero’s journey are obviously very flexible. e.g. you don’t have to have the dark moment happen in exactly section 014. This is entirely customizable to your story — so feel free to move the journey points around as needed. Again, I’m working on a novella length project, so I fit the hero’s journey onto 4 sheets, targeting 20 sections. Feel free to widen or narrow the pages down to fit your target.
Just so you know, this is still a messy process. I’m already on my second draft and still have scribbles all over the margins, etc. But at least I can SEE how much story I have without worrying about the monsters pulling sticky notes off the wall or making flashcards out of my index cards! I’m also probably going to end up using sticky notes on TOP of the spreadsheet to help me track the romance elements. e.g. first kiss, or building sexual tension.
This is not going to be an exact recipe — I didn’t measure anything. But it was so good, I had to blog about it.
What’s funny: I don’t even like blueberries. Not really. I can eat them in moderation but just to sit and eat them alone, no. However, I’d made some multi-grain pancakes this morning and I didn’t want to ruin all that healthy goodness with regular syrup, and we were out of applesauce.
[Aside: warmed cinnamon applesauce, no sugar added, is fantastic over whole-grain pancakes!]
I remembered the blueberries in the freezer, but I didn’t want to eat them whole on my pancakes. I was afraid I wouldn’t like them, and I certainly didn’t want to ruin my lovely pancakes! So I decided to try and make some syrup or compote – I’m not sure what it technically was, but it was sooo good, I’ll definitely do it again.
About 1 1/2 c. of frozen blueberries
About 1/4 c. of sugar. I just sprinkled a little to cover in a small saucepan.
1-2 T of water to moisten the sugar.
Cook on med-low as the rest of the breakfast is cooking. The blueberries melt and begin making their own juice.
Mine were too runny, so I mixed up a little corn starch in cold water and poured in. Instant blueberry “sauce” that tasted like pie.
So good! I used it as topping on my pancakes, but it’d make an incredible crepe (if I knew how to make them) with a little cream cheese. Oh yum. I think I need to learn how to make crepes!
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Continuing from last week, this is Gregar’s story. Note: first draft, subject to change and heavy revision later before I compile the complete short story.
With Kae’Shaman’s instruction, I parted the mark’s dream as easily as a tent flap and stepped within. I had no need of the man’s name or Camp to know he was my target, because Vulkar’s Call pounded fiercely in my head, thundering hooves to split my skull wide open.
Kae’Shaman had assured me that a mark eliminated in his own dream would also die in the waking world unless he was an extremely strong dreamer, but I had to be certain of the blow. I had no guilt to weigh my heart, but I did have my pride and my kae’valda, the honor I wore in my hair and colors I wore about my hips. I was the best Death Rider and I would kill appropriately, cleanly, while awarding the most blood sacrifice to Vulkar.
Wrapped in Shadow to hide myself, I crouched in a corner of the man’s dream and paused to gain my bearings.
Despite being Sha’Kae al’Dan, the man dreamed of an outlander place, not the tents of our Plains. Cold stone pressed against my back and the rank odor of fear, blood, and urine burned in my nostrils. Distant screams and wails echoed eerily so I could not tell the source. This was no pleasant dream I had stepped into.
My mark dreamed of the Endless Night, confirming the necessity of his death.
I tasted something foul in my mouth as though I had been sick. My stomach churned. Inside my own gift of Shadow, my skin felt cold and clammy. No one could see me. No mortal eyes would pierce my invisibility.
But if I had stepped into a shadowed nightmare, a place ruled by the Endless Night…
Vulkar, let me strike quickly and leave this dream unnoticed.
Straightening, I glided silently after my mark. Creeping down a tunnel, he hunted someone, unaware that Death was already on his trail. Shadows cloaked the narrow way, thick and suffocating. They felt hungry, alive, and all-too knowing. My dark gift from Vulkar shivered on my skin, slinking and winding about me like snakes.
Shadows flock to me. As though they recognize me.
Furious, I sliced my left palm with the rahke. Pain cleared away the terror worming into my brain. I gave every drop of my blood to the Great Wind Stallion and His fire burns away the Endless Night!
Immediately, the tainted shadows flinched away from me. My mark was not so lucky. Shadows encircled his throat and winded about his limbs, pinning him against the wall. His eyes bulged and he opened his mouth to scream. A wrist-thick vine of shadow eagerly slithered around his throat, tightening like a noose.
I moved forward to put an end to the man’s suffering, but a voice echoed in the tunnel.
“COME, RIDER OF DEATH, AND SEE THE MARK I HAVE SELECTED FOR YOUR RAHKE.”
I scanned the tunnel, but no one was there, just the voice that made my teeth and bones ache. The man I’d come to kill struggled against the shadows binding him. “Never! I kill for Vulkar, not for you!”
Another Death Rider? Startled, I searched the mark’s hair, but in the darkness of the tunnel, I couldn’t tell if he wore red beads. However, his rahke shone in the darkness, pure bone against the black.
Exactly like my ivory rahke.
Chilled with foreboding, I drew my gift tighter about me, making myself as small and invisible as possible. If this mark was a Death Rider, lured specifically for some dire purpose, then I had to know the Endless Night’s schemes, not just to protect myself but all Death Riders who roamed the Plains in Vulkar’s name.
“HER DREAM AWAITS. STEP INSIDE AND MEET YOUR DESTINY. I GIVE HER TO YOU.”
Released from the shadow bonds, the man staggered backwards and instinctively brought his rahke up. “Death Riders never kill women.”
“SHE YEARNS FOR THE EMBRACE OF SHADOW, EVEN WHILE SHE RAILS AGAINST MY MIGHT.”
The voice crooned, still vile but sleek and soft and slick with oiled promises. The opposite wall swirled with shadows, opening to reveal a woman, asleep in a high bed. Her black hair gleamed against the sheets like a raven’s wing, and her skin was as luminous as though she’d swallowed the moon.
“ALREADY, SHE DREAMS OF YOU.”
Jane Brody named this recipe appropriately: My Favorite Lentil Soup. From her Good Food Book and my all-time favorite soup recipe.
My Favorite Lentil Soup
2 T. olive oil
2 onions, chopped (I only used 1 to hopefully convince the monsters to eat it)
3 carrots, grated or chopped
3/4 tsp. marjoram
3/4 tsp. thyme
2 14oz cans fire-roasted tomatoes, with juice
6-7 cups broth
1/2 tsp coarse salt
black pepper to taste
6 oz dry white wine
2 T. dried parsley
grated cheddar cheese for topping
Heat the oil in a Dutch oven and saute the veggies and herbs for about 5 minutes. Add the tomatoes, broth, and lentils. Bring to a boil then reduce the heat and cover. Simmer for about 1 hour until the lentils are tender. Add the salt, pepper, wine and parsely and simmer for a few more minutes. Top with cheese.
The cheese isn’t necessary, but it helps make the lentils a complete protein and is very tasty.
This recipe freezes really well.
8/5/2010 Update – it’s not too late to enter!
I’ve always tried to be pretty laid back about promoting myself. e.g. I really want the work to speak for itself. I do like to give away stuff here on the blog, and free books are almost always welcome, aren’t they? If some kindly reader posts a review or rating somewhere, I’m incredibly thankful.
Let’s face it: reviews and ratings matter. The more ratings and reviews a book garners, the more attention will follow. It’s a gradual snowball effect, especially when you’re a very small fish in the big world of millions of available books.
Thanks to Kait Nolan, I found this article Why Your Review Matters on Amazon and I’m curious. Really curious. Will a high number of reviews help a new release like THE BLOODGATE GUARDIAN? Will more reviews help some of my older releases, especially the ones that so far haven’t won any ratings on Amazon at all?
But Amazon is only one piece of the puzzle.
So here’s the scoop (I’ll create a clean page for this contest, but here are the details):
1. Rate and/or review ANY of my releases on any book site, including but not limited to Amazon, Goodreads, Shelfari, B&N, Audible, etc.
2. Review any of my releases on your blog or website.
3. Advertise this contest on your blog, website, Facebook and/or Twitter.
4. Send me the links. One link = one entry.
Prizes: We’ll begin with two $50 gift certificates to ANY online book retailer of your choice.
Optional Prizes: If we hit 20 Amazon reviews or more on THE BLOODGATE GUARDIAN before July 31st, I’ll throw in another $50 gift certificate to any online book retailer. If we hit 20 Amazon reviews or more on any of my other releases before July 31st, I’ll throw in an additional $25 gift certificate for each book that breaks the 20-review threshold.
To Enter: send an e-mail with subject BREAK 20 GIVEAWAY to joelysueburkhart AT gmail DOT com with your link(s) to each review and/or rating (or capture a screen shot of your Tweet). You may enter as many times as you wish before July 31st, 2010 midnight CST.
Please do write HONEST reviews for my books that you’ve actually read. The more real and thoughtful the review, the more impact it’ll have on future buyers. Obviously I hope you love my books, but I don’t expect raving fangirl 5 star +++++ reviews. Honest!
Please note: the reviews and/or ratings can be old! (e.g. previously submitted on any of my earlier releases) Please do send me the links, even if I’ve blogged about your wonderful review before. I simply don’t have the time to go searching across the ‘net because I’m writing a new book. I definitely want to reward people who’ve already reviewed me in the past.
THE BLOODGATE GUARDIAN is available for reviewers to download at NetGalley. For any of my other releases, if you have a blog/website for which you’d like to review a book, drop me an e-mail and I’ll hook you up.
Any questions, comments, etc. that I should address before I write up the main contest page?
Since I’m not writing new material this month and June is not that far away, I decided to start teasing you with snippets of The Bloodgate Guardian, coming this June from Carina Press.
You’ve been seeing bits of this story under several different names for quite some time. The original first draft was my first NaNoWriMo project in 2007, then titled Night Sun Rising. Over a year went by before I got around to the first round of Revision Xibalba. I spent a lot of time expanding the book, adding subplots and tons of characters. However, I kinda went overboard, and ended up cutting those subplots out. Can you say too many characters?
Now the story is leaner, tighter, and concentrates only on Jaid and Ruin (yes, he got to keep his name!!). Ironically, exactly the story I ended up with in 2007, just revised, polished, researched, etc. Not to worry, though — those subplots I spent so much time on will become the fertile soil for the next book. *winks*
So, here’s part of the opening scene of The Bloodgate Guardian, Chapter One.
He never hated his magic until it compelled him to kill.
From the broken shadows of his temple, the priest watched the encroacher attempt to work his doomed magic. Brilliant ruby pooled in the pocked basin of the altar and overflowed, streaming across the hand-carved stone in vibrant filigree. The blood glowed like molten rock hot from the earth’s heart, releasing magic into the night.
The once all-powerful priest shuddered, his skin crawling with the caress of power. His nostrils flared to catch the tantalizing scent of sweet copper. Such temptation. He tightened his grip on the starved jaguar pacing within him. Such power.
The city once known as the Mouth of Creation had kept his secrets for a thousand years. Now he must kill this man to protect that forbidden knowledge. Keeping to the shadows, the priest called out, “As Gatekeeper of Chi’Ch’ul, I command you to leave my city or die.”
The man whirled and whipped the bloody heart behind his back. At least this one’s victim had been a goat and not human. “Nobody else should know the name of my dig. Who are you working for?”
The priest stepped into the moonlight, and the other man recoiled. With the jaguar prowling the cage of his body, he knew all too well the image he made: eyes gleaming like golden lamps, jaguar spots dotting his arms and blending with the tribal tattoos on his upper body, angular cheekbones and sharp forehead compounded by the stark topknot pulling his hair back from his face. The man had discovered the city, unburied it stone by stone. He could not help but recognize a priest of what had once been a grand and powerful nation. “My city has already been destroyed. Would you destroy the world as well?”
“I have powerful, rich friends,” the man said, backing away slowly. “Name your price.”
So be it. Small golden lights began buzzing around the priest and his bones throbbed with magic. “Nothing you can offer will stay my hand. As long as I live, these sacred waters shall lie still and silent. My curse demands your death. The Gates must remain locked until the Return.”
Ignoring his threats, the man smiled with elation. “We were right! I knew it. After all these years, I finally found the center of the world!”
The balls of light blazed brighter. A golden swirling wave obliterated his vision. Bones cracked and twisted. His scream of pain rumbled bass, a jaguar’s roar piercing the night.
Tail lashing, the jaguar crouched in a pile of torn denim. The sharp stink of his prey’s fear burned his nose. It had been a very long time since he’d hunted. The big cat knew his purpose. He was only called forth to kill.
The foolish man turned toward his modern equipment stationed on the nearby boulder, presenting his back to the jaguar. “Jaid, don’t come here! Don’t trust anybody and don’t let the codex out of your hands! Especially don’t give it to Venus Star!”
The jaguar growled a threat. If this person possessed the codex, he must die too.
Whirling, the man ran up the peninsula that extended over Lake Atitlan. He slung the goat’s heart out over the water and threw his weight off the side, angling toward the beach instead of the lake. Effortlessly, the jaguar leaped after him. The man gasped in pain and rolled away, narrowly escaping the slashing claws.
Wet with rain, a sudden gust of wind swept across the shore. Clouds boiled across the sky to hide the moon and stars. Thunder rolled through the night and the ground trembled. Lightning split the sky, winds increasing until the trees thrashed and waves whipped the surface of the lake.
A shape formed in the darkened waters. Thrashing, bulging outward, a hand rose from the depths. Water broke, cascading down the sceptered arm, which was white and blotched with spots of age and disease.
The jaguar clamped his ears and tail tight to his body and terror rippled through his fur. Oh, stupid human fool! Why had he opened Xibalba, with no wards to lock the demons beyond?
Shuddering with horror, the man whimpered. “Where are the golden plumes? The jade feathers? This isn’t Great Feathered Serpent!”
The jaguar swiped at the man’s abdomen. Jerking away, the man screamed and fell backward into the lake. He thrashed helplessly, then sank like a stone through the Gate as a Lord of Death crawled onto the beach with another demon right behind.
Snarling, the jaguar slammed into the first demon, trying to knock it back through the Gate. Even weak as a newborn babe, it refused to go back to the Place of Fright. The other Death Lord crawled out of the lake clutching a small hunk of flesh. Cradling the now-cold heart to its mouth, the demon feasted, while the other sniffed the air. His gaze turned unerringly to the goat carcass above.
Every drop of blood would give them power. Power that could destroy the world.
