Welcome to my blog!

Here, I write angsty (occasionally gleeful) updates on my writing progress (BLOOD MAGIC releases summer 2011!), nostalgic rambles, random weirdness, and in general try to be entertaining. Sometimes that means I'm only amusing myself. :D

Friend me! Comment so I know who you are! Or, you know, lurk. There is a lot to be said for lurking. Mysteriousness and shadows and all that.

Be sure to check out the free short stories posted every week over on merry_fates by myself, Maggie Stiefvater (m_stiefvater), and Brenna Yovanoff (brennayovanoff)!

Inspired by m_stiefvater recently amusing herself (and us) by looking through some of her oldest manuscripts, we, the Merry Sisters of Fate, have decided to use our common prompt week to celebrate something very, very special.

HOW MUCH OUR WRITING USED TO SUCK

Check us out! Brenna looking all alien and gorgeous, Maggie with that awesome 16 year old angst and totally geeky bagpipes, and me doing what I do best: wearing weird clothes (before a drama performance of Midsummer Night's Dream. I was Helena).




Writing is a learning process. Every time you write you get better... which means if you're doing it right, you're always improving. I don't think any of us can be considered master's of writing, but we've definitely moved into the journeyman phase of our careers. To keep us humble (ok, to keep Maggie and I humble) we're going to reveal stories or novel-excerpts that we wrote when we were in high school (or at least that age, for those of us who were home-schooled*), at the very beginnings of our apprenticeships.

Monday, Brenna will post, Wednesday me, and Friday Maggie, as is usual. Feel free to make fun of us, but take heart that we really worked hard to get where we are now. :D

And the following week, (Nov. 16-20) we'll be taking off completely in order to work on a Sekrit Projekt*** as well as various NaNo novels and editing and marketing and pr and raking our back yards (that might just be me).

STAY TUNED! It's sure to be hilarious. And I'm slightly terrified.


*That would be both of my fellow sisters. No wonder they're so weird.**

** I'm totally kidding. We all know Brenna's weird because she's a changeling and is still trying to figure out how to pretend she's human.

*** No I'm not going to tell you.

Awesome Thing One: The LINGER cover. Isn't it lovely? Matches the first so well, and also automatically bring to mind the warmer spring, but loss as well. <3

And here's the first paragraphs of LINGER:

• grace •

This is the story of a boy who used to be a wolf and a girl who was becoming one.

Just a few months ago, it was Sam who was the mythical creature. His was the disease we couldn’t cure. His was the good-bye that meant the most. He had the body that was a mystery, too strange and wonderful and terrifying to comprehend.

But now it is spring. With the heat, the remaining wolves will soon be falling out of their wolf pelts and back into their human bodies. Sam stays Sam, and Cole stays Cole, and it’s only me who’s not firmly in my own skin.

Having read the whole book in its entirety, I can say it isn't about what you think it's about, and it only gets better.

Awesome Thing Two: The HILARIOUS John Green on NaNoWriMo.



NaNoWriMo, also known as National Novel Writing Month where a bunch of crazy people sign up to write 50k in 30 days. I am doing it with Book Two (which I'm unoffically calling Crow Magic), but I didn't sign up since I'm expecting Blood Magic revision notes AT ANY MOMENT. That said, I'm on day 4, and have 5,755 words. Today's goal is a mere 6,668. I'm hoping to power through and build up some safety words.

Should-Have-Been Awesome Thing: Anniversary of Obama's election to office.

Last year today, I worked the polls. I'd spent 8 months being excited and blissful and terrified, volunteering and writing essays about my personal emotional journey in step with the election season (yes, they're all in my blog archives). I was so happy with the results, unbelieving yet also awash with all that jazzy community regard, love, and of course, hope.

It's been quite a year for me, personally. The highest of highs, balanced with a few extreme lows. Pretty much exactly what a year should be. I'm headed exactly where I want to be going. I wanted to be thrilled a year later, too, with the way our country is headed. And for the most part, I've been content. I know change takes a long time, and I'm willing to give Obama the benefit of the doubt. He's got a few years (hopefully eight) and the place our country was after the previous administration is a mire that even the most radically pro-active president would have a hard time dragging us out of. There are so many little positive signs

This morning, though, as I read about the wave of anti-gay referendums, I feel exactly the way I did so many mornings pre-Obama. It was silly to expect it, I know, but I didn't want to feel this sinking hurt and painful disappointment again. The right to love shouldn't be based on a popular vote.

Today, a year after I breathed hope like it had transformed into golden oxygen, I'm having a difficult time seeing it anywhere at all.

But Mr. President, I'm looking for it.

This was the perfect Halloween weekend!

We had a surprise visit from nataliesee's little brother Adam, who lives in Seattle and like most young gay boys has been having a Very Hard Time. So we flew him out spur of the moment to join in our Halloween festivities. Three days of perfect autumn weather, Adam, lazing around watching TV, and dancing our bums off at a party = the ideal weekend.

In the category of More Real Author Firsts: On Friday I interrupted our lazing in order to run downtown and have coffee with soniag, one of my fellow Elevensies (meet us all at 2011debuts!). For a little over an hour, we sat at the bar at The Bourgeois Pig chatting about ourselves, our books, and our roads to publication. It was kind of like a blind internet date - thank god we had a few avenues for conversation! I'm delighted to report that I didn't need to worry. It was fun, Sonia was cool, and I'm really looking forward to her book, THE REVENANT, which is a historical set at an Indian Boarding School in Oklahoma.

Saturday, there was bacon and home-made scones, and more lazing. We watched the original X-MEN movie to get in character before costuming up for Le Dance Partay!

Since the idea of going to the trouble to do Adam up as Nightcrawler was intimidating for all of us, we went with a different blue! It was hilarious and fun to dress somebody ELSE up in Mistress Azure.



Adam also confirmed for us that wearing a tight bodice is exactly what wearing properly fitted body armor feels like. Um, yay?

We were joined at the party by Cyclops and Jean. (The always sexy onecrane and otterdancing. They even painted little Xes on their uniforms! I couldn't even be bothered to get a decent cigar!)


I was totally thwarted by my hair (which I'm sure NEVER happens to the REAL Wolverine). This is the good side.


However, it led to much scowling and being In Character. That is... until Sexy/Back came on at the party and I was out there shaking my tush. Lost me all my Wolverine cred, no doubt. Hugh Jackman dancing to Justin = big fat YES. Wolverine? Um... I can't see it. (Actually, I can, and it's beautiful.)

SADLY the evening ended with a very unhappy migraine attacking Rogue. No doubt when I stole one of her gloves and forced her to suck other people's energy away. That always gives her a headache.

We rounded out the weekend with a gorgeous Sunday downtown (and delicious breakfast at Miltons), followed by an afternoon of writing! That's right, all three of us hunkered down in the sun room and started our first day of NaNo. Adam got about 1100 words before we had to leave for the airport (sniff), Natalie wrote maybe 400, and I ended at -835. That's right... in the negatives. Oops. #nanofail.

Happily, Adam is returning for Christmas! By then, we should all have finished a novel. LOL.

Now I'm going to do some secretarial work (since that's what I get paid for) and fantasize about my next scene, which involves a dilapidated tile silo.

I am not in the mood to be cohesive, other than a general Halloween theme:

- Because I will not be in the office tomorrow, I promised to wear some sort of disguise today. Voila. I am in disguise. Sort of.

- This week, because it is Halloween, I wrote a theme-story for merry_fates, called The Summer Ends in Slaughter. It's about kissing during the three-day killing festival of old Samhain. (Ok, not really. It's about courage and tradition. But there is a tad bit of kissing. And horse skulls.) My favorite line is "The dead must eat this winter, too."

A lot of my favorite stories are the ones I've written for or around Halloween. "Horseman's Love" and "Dumb Supper" come to mind. It's because I write best in the winter, when everything is dead. Here in Kansas, the summer is thick. Literally and figuratively. There isn't room for me when the trees are full of huge green leaves, when the grass grows inches every day, and when the air chokes me with the weight of water.

In the winter, everything is dead, and I have plenty of space to be alive and let my imagination roar. Die, world, DIE!!!!!!! So that I may rise! Bwahahahahahahahahaha!

*ahem*

- I am going to be Wolverine for Halloween. Yes, there will be pictures. How could I not do it when I realized that I have the hair, the cigar, the dog tags, the tee shirt, and the BAD ATTITUDE.

... that is all.

So I'm officially an author. Look! I have proof!

My own Blue Fairy, nataliesee, made the business cards for me last week just in time for me to take some with me to my very first author talk.

I was invited by bountifulpots to the Kansas City Unconvention for BookCrossing. I'd vaguely heard of the group and agreed in a fit of official glee, not really knowing what I might have been getting in to.

Turns out, BookCrossing is awesome. The main purpose is this: buy a book, read it, and then release it back into the wild with a little sticker or ID number written in the front cover. The next person who finds the book is encouraged to go to the website and enter the number, and when they've read it, release it again.

Ad infinitum.

I adore this idea. When I was little, a book was this magical thing that popped into existence and then lived with me inside my imagination. That's all. I never thought about how it was created. Eventually I became interested in the writing part, and learned all about how a book goes from concept in a writer's mind, to hard copy in a reader's hands.

But even then, that was the end of the story for me. The book's physical life ends, belonging to a person, and only living on in the ways the characters live on in the imagination.

With BookCrossing... books have lives of their own, beyond the buyer's hands, beyond my hands and my shelf. Its home isn't a library or static location - it travels the world. Like a virus. A book virus. Suddenly the post-production life of the book is a dynamic, living thing with a history and a future. Isn't that thrilling?

There are more than 800,000 people around the world registered as Book Crossers, catching and releasing all kinds of books, spreading the wealth, and tracking the lives of their books.

I got to talk to about 25 of them this past Saturday, and it was a blast. As first talks go, they were so so nice to me. I had been prepared for an hour (gasp!) of talking and hopefully good Q&A - and of course, none of them were teens, which is the target audience for my writing. But it turned out not to matter, because they were all avid readers who believe in books as much as I do. They laughed at me (when I wanted them to, thank God), and asked great questions about publishing, writing, and even blogging. I told my "Journey to Publication" story, which is luckily filled with highs and lows, weddings in England, and the beaches of Florida.

Of course, one of the convention-goers had to point out that maybe I should, you know, mention what my book is about and maybe even its title. Thanks, apocalypticbob! Clearly I have some things I need to add into my book talk. Practice makes perfect!

Not only did the KC BookCrossing Unconvention let me pop that particular cherry easily and painlessly, but they gave me stuff! I left with four books to read and release. One of which is an old Victoria Holt that I haven't read since I was probably 9 or 10. Delicious!

So, thanks to all of you who were there. To everyone who wasn't, you should really check out this BookCrossing thing. It's keen.


***edited to add*** The logo on my business card was designed by the same awesome guy CK who did my website: ckladesign.

I've never had one of my novels reviewed. It's one of those things that will happen soon (in the geological sense), and I've been trying to prepare myself. Generally, I'm great at dealing with criticism - but reviews aren't the same as crits.

Like, when I totally pan a movie it isn't about me saying, "Hey guys, you asked my opinion and here are the ways I think you could make it better." No. It's about me laughing at what a crap job I think the final product is. There's no going back and fixing, no revising. Crit = opinion about ongoing project. Review = opinion about something that is totally out of my control.

I hate that. The lack of control thing.

Some bad reviews are so ludicrous that while they're memorable, they're easy to NOT take seriously. (See Maggie's "dog secks" review for proof of this.) Some are mean, or flippant, but some are thoughtful even when they're negative, and possibly also true. Or at least there's that little voice in your head telling you they just might be right and why didn't you see it or think to change it?

So I've been thinking about how I review things, how I make judgements about a work of art for various reasons. Last night, I was feeling melancholy so I put in one of my comfort movies: Kenneth Branagh's HAMLET. I watch it when I'm needing some beauty and tragedy. I just choose a scene and start. Sometimes I skip around depending on what I'm in the mood for. As I watched Hamlet say "time is out of joint" I realized that here was a perfect example, right in front of me, of how sometimes we hate things because WE'RE WEIRD, not because they're in any way bad.

Take Kenneth Branagh. There are a million and ten reasons to love his Hamlet. And I do. For this post, though, I'm going to be EXTREMELY shallow in order to highlight my point. So just look at him. SEXY. And when he speaks those words (I'm thinking in particular of the longing in, "what a piece of work is man" and the despair in "I loved Ophelia!") I want to die a little from nerdy, passionate bliss.

But. And of course there's a but. I have a hard time watching his Henry V. Not because it isn't brilliant. Not because he isn't amazing and all the other actors, set designers, etc weren't also amazing. I can listen to it, and his delivery of all the lines is stellar. I just can't watch it.

Same with many of Branagh's other roles. Some make me cringe for no apparent reason, other's I'm cheering for even though the rest of the movie totally blows.

Why?!?

The answer came to me one day when I was watching the totally rocking movie Dead Again. Branagh plays two characters in two different times.

1)

2)

I love love love the past life Branagh. I hate hate hate the modern day Branagh.

Going back and forth as the movie does, I realized the answer. ( Answer and image-heavy proof back here! )

In a perfect coincidence, the Kansas City Renaissance Festival ended the same weekend I came down with the harrowing disease of the novelist:

BOOK BRAIN!

That's right, no matter what I'm doing (or trying to do) every five minutes (give or take) my brain turns back around to The Novel. No, not the one I'm going to be revising as soon as I get my letter from my editor, but the new one. The draft.

I'm dizzy with it. Distractible.

For the past few weeks I've been reading source material for the novel, brainstorming, looking on the internet for inspiring pictures (and, ok, LJ icons), imagining what I'll say to interviewers when they ask me about the theme, reading poetry for appropriate epigraphs, writing various first lines, and listening to Lady Gaga*.

The purpose of all that is to create a miasma of book ingredients in my imagination, all swirling around in there while I sleep and eat and read. I've written a few mini-character sketches, some cherry opening lines. Little things.

And then, Saturday morning at approximately 8:47am, my book exploded in my brain. The first three chapters rolled out with such clarity that I nearly cried for being in the car on my way to the festival instead of anywhere near my computer. Plot! Voice! Internal conflict!

Now, that's just the beginning. And I know the beginning can (and will) change, but it's momentum and the excitement I need to carry me through the sticky openings.

Of course, I'm going to get my Blood Magic edits ANY DAY NOW. At which point Book Two will go on hold. But at least I'll have a chunk of beginning to come back to between editing rounds.

Book brain!




* Gaga has nothing to do with my book... I just can't stop listening to her. Because dude. Did you see her performance at the MTV music awards? Google it. Srsly.

- Yesterday afternoon I did something I've never done before. I wrote the first chapter of Book Two (you know, that book that's the other half of "Blood Magic in a two-book deal"). Which means... I was writing words I was being paid to write. Ok, sure, so I won't actually see any money for Book Two for months. If not years. But STILL. I'm writing a contracted book. Which is really kind of freaky. Putting down that first line was stressful, even knowing that it could change a billion times.

So, here's to writing words I'm being paid to write. :)

- A couple of weeks ago, wyckedgood suggested in a chat that the Merry Fates draw Tarot cards some time for the common prompt we do once a month. I mentioned it to Brenna and Maggie, and they agreed, so voila! nataliesee drew three cards for us: The Devil, The King of Pentacles, and the Queen of Cups. My story went up yesterday, and I really like it. Which isn't always something I can say about the stories I write for merry_fates. This one is really a ME story. The best part is that I think I did it well: the feedback I'm getting suggests that readers got exactly what I was trying to say. Which REALLY doesn't always happen.

The Devils of Our Better Selves

- BAD ART: Tuesday night we went to see a local production of Macbeth. And I just have to say: if Macbeth is a crazy d-bag in act one, the tragedy doesn't work. The director sucked all the subtlety out of the play. Everyone was always yelling and carrying on, leaping about and staggering... it was awful. AWFUL. I mean, really, the "tomorrow and tomorrow" speech is ironic because of the meta-narrative, not because Macbeth is a crazy d-bag. Plus it's wildly insulting to make the Weird Sisters crazy gypsies. Also, Lady Macbeth is ambitious, not a crazy bitch with ZERO character consistency. If she's ranting and raving in act one... again, where's the tragedy in her ranting and raving in act five? AND it only works to make Macduff lose his cool so he can "feel like a man" if everybody else in the whole play hasn't been losing it ever five minutes. PS: Your sword shouldn't hang straight down between your legs and bounce around like a stiff, overlong third leg while you stagger around lamenting the loss of your pretty ones. If you know what I mean.

- GOOD ART: And speaking of subtle: Criminal Minds is the Best. Show. Ever. The character consistency from season to season! I love you.I love that you remember that Garcia counsels victims' families, even though it hasn't come up for two years. I love that you let Morgan be smart even when he's being dumb, and don't forget his massive character flaws! I love that on My Show, the team reacts differently to the same things, and the same way to different things. I loved when Hotch, Rossi, and Prentiss walked away from the final gunning-down, because their job was done and they wouldn't participate in that violent moment, but that Morgan HAD TO WATCH. I love Garcia telling Morgan she loves him, before reminding him that he's spiraling down a bad ethical path, and I love that Morgan can say he loves her back - and they don't mean sex, just... respect and friendship. Because they're grown ups.

To everyone who wants to learn to write subtly evolving, consistent characters: why aren't you watching this show?!?!

Plus, look how pretty they are! (I'll end on that shallow note. Heh.)

With the wig, I'm Sleeping Beauty/Princess Aurora:






Without it, I'm Ursula, the evil Sea Witch:

No, seriously.

It's August 7th, and Natalie and I are at home, chilling. I'm writing when the phone rings. I don't answer the phone, so she does... and brings it to me. "Here," she says, eyes gleaming.

I take it, wondering if it's my bank or something. But no. It's L'Agent. "Tessa? Hi, how are you?"

Me: "I'm good."

L'Agent: "You're about to be better."

We had an offer. A really good one. The kind that I could have accepted gleefully. But L'Agent says she's going to notify the other editors to drum up more interest and offers. That's when the word "auction" is first uttered.

I pass through the weekend in a fit of paranoid bliss. Which I'm sure was interesting to watch. On Monday, I talk to L'Agent again and she updates me on the different places interested in maybe offering. All I really hear is "multiple houses" and that she's setting a deadline of Tuesday, August 18th at 5pm for all initial offers. She'll call me right after.

Me: "Um, I'm flying to England on that Thursday morning."

L'Agent: "Well..... we'll manage. Somehow."

Fast forward a week. A harrowing, impossible week. At the close, we have two really awesome offers, and the next step is me talking to the editors on the phone. L'Agent tries getting in contact with everyone to schedule a time, and by Wednesday night when Natalie and I were driving into KC with our dog to get him settled I didn't have anything nailed down. *stress*

But after some brief phone tag, L'Agent and I talk. I have a phone meeting the next morning at 8:30 with Editors #1, and at 9:30 with Editor #2.

And of course, I'm leaving my parents' house at 10am to drive to the airport for my international flight.

I barely sleep. Mom is up early to make blueberry waffles, which I can barely eat because I'm a bundle of anxiety. At 8:25 I retire upstairs for some privacy... only to realize my cell phone gets no reception.

*panic*

I end up outside in the driveway where I finally have three bars. It's a couple minutes after time, and I think I might puke. I've got my notebook and pen, my phone... and my parents dog wandering around. (I'm getting slightly nauseated just thinking about it again!)

The phone rings.

And wow, I have to say, it was amazing. We talked for about 40 minutes, and when I was done, my most clear thought was my career will be safe in their hands. What a happy place to end up! And I had 15 minutes to chill (ha!) before the next call.

I managed to find a more comfortable spot to sit and wait. I didn't manage to calm down before the second call came in. While I talked, Natalie started sneaking around taking pictures of me. Hiding behind the car and all that. This second conversation was only about 20 or 25 minutes. It felt even faster. When it was over, I had no coherent thoughts. Just *GLEE*

I went inside, almost passed out, babbled at my mom and Natalie, then called m_stiefvater to scream "GAHHH!"..... and we packed into the car and fled to the airport.

The amazing thing is that I knew what my decision was then. I knew. In my gut, which is terrifying to me, since I tend to put more emphasis on my rational self. It wasn't rational, it was all instinct and emotion and... it still felt so absolutely right.

But of course, it doesn't work that way in this kind of situation. From the Kansas City airport, I called L'Agent and told her about the phone calls. She was going to talk to the editors again, and keep doing what she does: negotiate. Hopefully I'd have internet in England and be able to communicate that way... if not, I could manage to find a way to call. This is a picture of me on the phone with her at the airport. Do you SEE the yellow bruising around my eyes? SO STRESSED.


You can probably imagine that it wasn't easy to relax into the airplane. I had no contact with L'Agent or internets for about 24 hours. It was harrowing. At least I had this whole other country to distract me.

I needed it, too, because the rest of the process dragged out for the whole week. More information kept coming in, L'Agent and I went back and forth every day, emailing about what I needed and what she wanted from the deal, all kinds of things that would have been so much easier to talk about on the phone... Meanwhile, I'm running around with Natalie, her sister and brother-in-law (now), my parents through , Cornwall, Glastonbury and Avebury... until finally everything was as final as it could be, and I had to pronounce the Final Decision.

It was Thursday, August 28th, and I was at a fancy wedding. Here's Natalie's post about the wedding itself.

The ceremony was at 4pm, and the first thing I did when it was over was accept the gin and tonic my Dad handed me. There were the usual wedding things: pictures, socializing, laughter. The reception began, and was lovely. There was champagne and wine, delicious food, speeches, and more laughter.

Then it was 9pm. I couldn't put it off any longer, so I went up to Natalie's Dad's room and begged to use his international cell phone. I called L'Agent.... and got her voicemail. I promised to call back in twenty minutes.

*panic*

But when I called back, she answered on the first ring, totally waiting for me. I was yelling, thanks to the pounding ABBA from the reception downstairs, possibly incoherent thanks to tiredness, alcohol, and stress... but L'Agent was fabulous, we chatted for a couple of minutes, solidifying everything.

The decision was made.

I went downstairs and danced my ass off.

The moral of the story: if you want your book to go to auction, plan to be out of the country. The universe likes it better that way.

"Tessa Gratton's debut BLOOD MAGIC, about two teens who meet in a cemetery and plunge into a dangerous world of dark magic, first love, and the deadly secrets that hide in blood, to Suzy Capozzi at Random House Children's, at auction, in a very good deal, in a two-book deal, for publication in summer 2011, by Laura Rennert of Andrea Brown Literary Agency (world)."

SEE?

( Publishers Weekly screencap behind here! )


That's me and my official book deal, right there in Publishers Weekly!

Later there will be links, and I will tell you the harrowing story of my auction (which ended WHILE I WAS AT A WEDDING IN ENGLAND. But for now, WOO!

These are the actual directions we used to find Cromlech Bodowyr on the Isle of Anglesey on our fifth and final day in Wales:

"West on A4080 through Brynsiencyn. After steep bend to left, take the first right. Continue to crossroads and go through. 1/2 mile to where the grass grows in the road. Just past some kennels is a lay by with a metal gate."

The truly amazing thing is that we found it.



Both of us were laughing the whole time once we got onto the island and veered off onto the small roads. At least we had a map, and it was a small island so eventually we'd find the ocean and be able to follow it around back to the bridge if we got totally lost. Plus, I have a rocking sense of direction and very rarely lose North on my internal compass.

( Nothing to worry about, right? )

A Prose Poem in Tweets:

tessagratton: ....my kitchen was just on fire.

tessagratton: Please don't go off, Mr. Smoke Alarm. The fire's gone, I swear.

tessagratton: I walked into the kitchen to the sound of my tea pot boiling. Smoke puffed around like some oil was burning off the stove.

tessagratton: Orange tongues of flame grasped at the tea kettle. I stood there for about 5 seconds just staring, thinking... "is...that...FIRE?"

tessagratton: It was, indeed, fire.

tessagratton: Next thought, "I should... do something."

tessagratton: I had no clue what started the fire. So no water. Instead I grabbed a tea towel, lifted up the kettle and batted out the flames.

tessagratton: Like they do in the movies.

tessagratton: Everyone survived, including tea pot and tea towel. Goblin the cat is tearing up from the smoke. All windows open, fan on.

tessagratton: I think I'll have a diet coke instead of tea this evening.

I was minding my own business, skimming LJ, when I saw a post from another writer mentioning that today is the ten year anniversary of finishing her first novel.

*blink*

It's mine, too! Not to the day - I've actually missed that by a few months, and I don't even know the exact date. But I do know that I finished my first complete novel sometime in May 1999. It was almost 200,000 words and, despite being about a half-faerie sorceress who steals other people's eyeballs in order to see for herself, was remarkably autobiographical.

I revised it, wrote a query letter, and sent it out into the world for instant fame and success. Got a few very nice responses along the lines of "dark and sexy, but not for me" (to which I shall be forever grateful). I wrote a sequel and part of the final book of the trilogy... and then got sucked into college life and thinking I was going to be a political activist or something. I didn't finish another novel until after graduate school when I realized I still didn't want to do anything as much as I wanted to write. Then, beginning in 2005, I stepped onto this path with every ounce of willpower I could find.

And I've made it, by most standards. Ten years after finishing that first novel I've not only finished a half-dozen more, but I'm working with an amazing agent and have things going on that are so awesome I can't talk about them. Like, real, professional secrets that I couldn't have properly imagined when I finished that first book, Shadow Kin my senior year of high school.

But that isn't how I know I'm a writer.

When I was little, my mom signed me up for piano lessons. It was important to her that her kids learn to play an instrument, and she thought the piano was a great stepping off place. My lessons weren't just about playing music; they included theory and history. But I hated it. Every moment of it. (In retrospect, I'm so glad I was forced to do it - not only did it work my brain differently and teach me another language, but it helped me learn to love music and to appreciate people who can make it. Thanks, Mom!)

Sitting down to practice every day after school was the worst. My own little hell. I tried to like it better by getting sheet music for songs I liked (I had the whole score for "The Little Mermaid"), but it didn't really help. Even though I had a desire to be good at music, I didn't practice. It was pure suffering. I felt uncoordinated and dumb when I couldn't get something correct, and the triumphs of memorizing a great piece and performing it at a recital (as in that picture) didn't last into the next day when I'd have to sit on the bench and sweat for the next piece.

Clearly, I was not a piano player. Nor ever meant to be.

This is what makes me a writer: I love to practice.

In fact, practicing might be the best part. When I get to start something new, to brainstorm all over the place, fling ideas down, toy with style and tone. Experimentation! It's liberating and a thrill every time.

Even when I'm angsting about the process or whining that my patterns are binding and I want to break out - I love it. Even when I'm sick to my stomach from the stress of waiting to hear back from an agent or editor - I love it. Even when I can't sleep at night because I had a great idea that won't quit racing through my imagination - I love it. When I delete and rewrite and delete and rewrite and delete again - I love it.

Because what I'm doing is practicing. Getting better. Improving myself with every word of concentrated effort.

Before merry_fates existed, I wrote short stories every month and posted them in my own journal. For my own edification. To share my work. To entertain. To practice. And that was one of the main tenets when Maggie, Brenna and I decided to form our group: writing a short story every week would be enforced practicing. It would be so hard, challenging, and some days would feel impossible, but all three of us were incredibly excited about it. Because we love to practice.

Just like every relationship, mine with my writing is full of ups and downs. Bliss and awkward silences. But I love it. Even when I hate it, I love it.

That paradox right there is what makes me a writer.

On Monday after all our castle adventures, we got back to Betws-y-Coed and ordered an official "tea for two" for our dinner.

Let me just say, it was HUGE. Just look at the layers!

Cream tea, pie, cakes, egg salad sandwiches (yes, with cucumbers in them), cookies... it was endless.

And way too much for us.

We bloated ourselves up anyway, though, and boxed up the rest. (Which was interesting, because clearly the server was surprised we wanted a box. She had to ask where they were and go hunting.)

Back at the B&B, the power was still out. This distressed me because I was supposed to be posting my fiction for merry_fates, which I'd been organized enough to write weeks earlier before we left Kansas. Maggie and Brenna had a copy in case I couldn't, but it was frustrating none the less!

However, Gwawr brought us a bottle of red wine to make up for the inconvenience and let us know they'd told her the power would be back by 9. So Natalie and I settled in and took turns taking long, hot baths by torchlight. With wine.

It was kind of awesome. :D

And the power did eventually come back on so I got my story posted.












( Pics of B&B and driving through Welsh mountains! )

In honor of Banned Books Week, John Green on his book being banned.




Favorite line: "Shut up and stop condescending to teenagers... When they read Animal Farm do they run out to farms in order to kill all the pigs before they become communist autocrats?"

Is it any wonder I have an internet crush on this guy? Check him out on his website.

If you aren't reading brennayovanoff you really should be. Not only because she's my crit partner and has a book coming out, but because she writes amazing things like this.

It's part of a blog series she's writing about what it was like for her in high school, after being homeschooled until age 16, and how it's influenced her life and writing.

The Monday fun started Sunday night, around 830pm, when the power in the B&B went out. It was rainy and there was a little bit of lightning, but nothing to constitute power outages that we could tell. We never heard any thunder, and the wind was minimal.

When we woke up Monday, it was still out. However, we got our hot breakfast, because Gwawr our hostess, is awesome and has a stove that never turns off. It's gas, and I can't remember what it's called (Natalie?), but I had my melted Welsh cheese and toast with roasted tomato, and Natalie had her veggie big breakfast thing. And despite the rain we got in the car and headed for Caernarfon.

That pic to the right is us at Caernarfon castle, and remember that the power was out so there was no hair dryer or much in the way of light to get dressed. Don't judge us by our hair.

I wish I had the pictures of our drive, but they're haven't been uploaded to Flickr yet. Suffice it to say, we drove through a mountain pass with misty rain and fog so thick we were taking it on faith alone that the road ahead didn't just end, sending us careening over the cliff edge to a flaming Welsh death. There will definitely be a Massive Driving and Other Travels post next week.

However, we were lucky in that nobody else was out. Monday was a bank holiday, and apparently nobody in the UK gets out the door before 9 like we do. We were at Caernarfon by 10, and practically had the castle to ourselves. Which was nice, because it was effing HUGE.
( More pictures and fun back here! )

A man was metal detecting in his friend's farm field in July when he discovered a huge pile of buried treasure. No. Kidding.

It's Anglo-Saxon, probably from the 7th century. When the area (Staffordshire) was part of the Kingdom of Mercia. There are so far at least 1,345 different items!

DUDE. I know this is seriously nerdy of me, but I'm practically dancing in my seat. Initial reactions are that although this is a buried hoard instead of a funereal burial, it could be as important a find as the Sutton Hoo burial ship. Or the discovery of the Book of Kells. It is such a rich find that they suspect it belonged to the king. It could have been spoils from a single great battle, or the treasure built up over a lifetime by a particularly successful war leader.

*bounce*

Go look at all the pictures!

***EDIT*** BETTER PICTURES!!! via the awesomesauce Saundra Mitchell. RAWK. ***EDIT***

Some of the collection's highlights:

SWORD HILT FITTINGS: At least 84 pommel caps and 71 sword hilt collars have been identified so far. They would have adorned a sword or seax (short sword or knife). Their elaborate and expensive decoration - many are made of gold and inlaid with garnets - suggests the weapons were once the property of the highest echelons of nobility.

HELMETS: Experts are piecing together what they believe are parts from several splendidly decorated helmets, including what appears to be a cheek-piece with a frieze of running animals. It has a relatively low gold content and has been specially alloyed, probably to make it more functional and able to withstand blows. There are also fragments of silver edging and reeded strips that may have been helmet fittings and an animal figurine that was possibly the crest of a helmet.

BIBLICAL INSCRIPTIONS: A strip of gold bearing a biblical inscription in Latin is one of the most significant and controversial finds. One expert believes that the style of lettering indicates it is from the seventh or early eighth centuries, while another dates it to the eighth or ninth centuries. The warlike inscription, mis-spelt in places, is thought to be from the Book of Numbers, Chapter 10 verse 35. The translation reads: 'Rise up, o Lord, and may thy enemies be dispersed and those who hate thee be driven from thy face.'

FOLDED CROSSES: The largest of two or three crosses in the hoard may have been an altar or processional cross. It has been folded, possibly to make it fit into a small space prior to burial. The apparent lack of respect shown to this Christian symbol may point to the hoard being buried by pagans.