Steampunk!

I saw this girl and had to ask to take her photograph. She made her outfit herself. She’s beautiful.

I can’t do anything as grand, but one goal for this year (and I set this goal back in October when got to see several brilliant steampunk outfits in one day) is to make my own steampunk ensemble, and wear it to Comic Con 2013.

Years ago, I started noticing a certain style in a few films that made me say, “Oh, that’s cool. I like that.” But I didn’t have a name for it. Ten years ago, maybe? I’m not sure.

I’ve always liked a bit of Victorian. Not all of it, mind you. Then somewhere I came across an image of steam industry crossed with something Victorian. I don’t remember what it was, but it stayed in my consciousness, until finally my brain started connecting one image to another.

As a kid I loved gears and clockworks and wire. I wanted to keep little bits of machinery and metal. In the 8th grade I made a book cover for a textbook that was made of wire mesh. I liked carrying my silver, shiny, slightly dangerous (it gave my arm many tiny cuts and snagged a few threads in my clothes) and wear a dress with high heeled boots. Boots were ridiculous in Florida because the weather was almost never right for them, but I wore them anyway. Just like I didn’t care that other kids thought I was weird for my homemade metal book cover.

Anyway, the first time I came across the term steampunk, my mind went, a-ha! That’s it. That’s what I’ve been seeing.

What sort of style do you especially love or feel drawn to?

So, this year I’m putting together my own steampunk outfit. Suggestions welcome–though I have a limited budget. I’ve got so many writing and art projects, a different kind of project is necessary.

I’ll post photos of pieces as I go! Here’s hoping I don’t look too ridiculous.

Why is it dark in here?

my art + photoshop elements

Recently I joked, “I could’ve written a light comedy.” And my husband replied, “I don’t think you have light comedy in you.”

A friend said, “It’s odd because you’re a funny person.”

Hey, I didn’t set out to write a dark, emotional novel. I started with an image and went from there. But I don’t sit down with an agenda. I always start with an image.

The novel that is to be published this winter began with the sound of marbles hitting a wood floor. Just that. No characters. No plot. But I asked, why would the marbles be spilled on the ground like that? And all these words later there is a tale of abuse and violence and survival and friendship.

Another novel started with an image I’ve had since childhood–a girl with a paintbrush that can change whatever she wants. That became a story of murder and jealousy.

And another novel started with the image of a young man who loses the ability to sleep–which is about jealousy too, and secrets, curses, and death.

And another with a young woman putting on red lipstick–which became a story about falling in love with the wrong person and going through hell for them.

But for all I know I could write a comedy. You never know.

As I edit my novel, I’m having to think about some of the things I’ve put a character through, and I think, she may be too damaged to come out all right in the end. Then again, I know people in the real world who’ve been through very real hell, and on the surface anyway, they seem to be doing fine. It’s hard to know though, isn’t it?

You have to find a way to do justice to a character’s suffering. I don’t mean that the bad guy will end up in jail or realize the error of his ways. If you put a character through trauma, that character can’t just shrug it off and be fine.

Something JK Rowling said recently about how Harry Potter would function after all he’d been through–not very well. Don’t you imagine he suffers from bad dreams that wake Ginny up in the middle of the night? Or that sometimes he’s a morose and remote father–loving, and generally good, but a man who needs time alone to brood. Wouldn’t his children sense his sadness at all his losses?

JK Rowling doesn’t put that in the books, but she doesn’t make it an impossibility either.

My character is going through a dark time, and I’m not sure how she’s going to be.

I’m not sure what it is about me that compels me to write stories of loss and trauma, and I can’t afford the therapy to find out.

You? Are your stories mostly happy? Sad? Funny? Why is that do you think?

A Plum Heart

my art

Today a new friend in my life puts her heart out into the world. Her heart should be lifted up and celebrated.

Well, perhaps every heart should be.

Forgive the potential sappiness. But sometimes sappiness is okay. We don’t have to be all edges and armor every day of the week.

(Anyway, I don’t know why black holes exist in space any more than I know why black holes exist in some human hearts, but those lost souls–the ones that suck in and destroy everything that comes too close are a problem for another day.)

As I was saying, the determined and caring Niamh Clune, author and founder of Plum Tree Books, is putting out a very heart-filled project today. Niamh has a great deal of personal experience with the drought and troubles in the Sahel in Africa.

You can find out more about events here and even more about the work Niamh is doing on The Plum Tree Blog.

Art is part of the solution too. Plum Tree is hosting an art auction–and one piece of mine is included along with several other beautiful pieces (I’d buy the Geisha right now if I could). The auction is the 16th.

And then there is music. A live radio show by the talented Claudio Fiore will be (is) in progress to support the auction and the book. Music is available to buy as well.

Oh. And the book. The book!! A book of poetry, stories, essays, and art is for sale. Song of Sahel. My art is in the book and a poem. Well, a sort of poem. A few tiny words to go with the art.

The proceeds go to help the people of the Sahel. Niamh has written more movingly (and knowledgeably) than I can, so if you go to the blog or the Plum Tree site, you can read the history and about the organizations that are helping in the region. Or if you have any questions, please ask.

Niamh has put heart and effort into this project. It’s an important cause and maybe you could do something to help. At the very least, share the word. The more people that know, the better.

Wow. I hope I covered everything.

Thank you!

Plum Monday: Perspective

The troubles in the world overwhelm some days. My own troubles take enough energy, don’t you think?

Well, not really. I mean, they take lots of energy, but I don’t have to worry about if I will eat. Perspective. Perspective may be one of the most commonly lost things.

It’s late. Do you know where your perspective is?

Well, someone I know who seems to have a great perspective on important things is Niamh Clune. She is organizing a book for a cause–Songs of Sahel. Here is a cause. Yes, causes flood the world and where to begin? Well, begin here.

Sahel. You could submit a piece (story,poem, art, photography) or maybe later buy the book. Share the title when the book is released. It wouldn’t take much to matter to someone. How important it is is a matter of perspective.

Anyway, once I get my laptop back (from an unfortunate fall), I’ll submit something too.

What’s your cause?

Investaphobia

All my eggs in one basket?

No one in the history of the universe invests money in a company knowing they’re going to lose all said money. Oh, some people may invest in losers because they know how to actually get more money later–yeah, real estate nightmare, anyone–but the plan is to make money eventually.

People lose money of course. Plans go awry. Hopes are dashed. Dreams are deferred.

I don’t really understand any of it. I confess a deep suspicion that making money without actually making anything in return feels wrong. This sort of thinking gets me nowhere and I’ll probably be a hair’s breath from living in a box and eating beans out of a tin when I’m old. Well, I’ll draw pictures on my box, so there.

Anyway, I want to be a writer. I guess I am a writer? (How does one even know? It’s not like I got a certificate saying so.)

And this has required the craziest kind of investment. Do you want to be a writer? Well, here is Book Street. How much are you going to invest?

How much time? I’ve written 8 novels and at least 80 short stories. That’s taken years. How much money have I made with my writing? $10. That’s less than a dollar per year.

(Thankfully, I like baked beans.)

Well, if you count the cost paper, ink, and postage, I think that $10. is, well, not going to cover it.

But I’m finally, FINALLY!!, going to have my first novel, The Blue Jar published. I am happy. Happy about this fact. Make no mistake. The feeling that I’m dragging my battered carcass over a finish line is nothing compared to the feeling of knowing I have reached that finish line.

Although, it isn’t a finish line, is it?

I’ve got all those other manuscripts, and more I want to write. And I’ll write even if they move the finish line across an ocean on fire and on the other side of a mountain of knives.

But it’s a lot to ask my family. Hey, sacrifice all this money and time on my dream! But else does a person say? Don’t mind me. I’ll give up my dream because you’re here.

No. Not going to do that.

There are no guarantees. No one can predict how a book will sell. My book could sell thousands of copies or next to none. All this work, time, and money and I could still be left with an unread book. And several never-going to be read books.

What kind of investment is the writing life and why do we do it?

I think Wall Street is too risky, and yet I do this.

Hope springs eternal. And foolishly. Gloriously.

“The point is that writing, for lack of a better occupation, is good. Writing is right, writing works. Writing clarifies, cuts through, and captures the essence of the evolutionary spirit. Writing, in all of its forms; writing for life, for money, for love, knowledge has marked the upward surge of mankind. And writing, you mark my words, will not only save my life, but that other malfunctioning part of me called my soul. Thank you very much.”*

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*Totally lifted from the Gordon Gekko speech in the movie Wall Street. (Though I’ve never actually seen the movie.)

Bad Stories and Good Fans

The other night I watch a documentary about a movie I haven’t seen. Well, the title Best Worst Movie caught my attention. And I had, at least, heard of Troll 2.

Have you seen Troll 2? Even if you haven’t, watch the documentary.

At one point, people in the film talk about how something badly done is still great if done with passion, love. Though they also say that is true of a film, not of a book.

I’ve heard people say a movie is so bad it’s good.

Does anyone ever say that about a book?

Do you love a movie that is so bad it’s good? A book? Anything?

Another moment from the documentary I could discuss–if someone were hear to listen to me!–was George Hardy’s reaction to the horror film fans. (Hardy is a dentist who starred in Troll 2.) Now, I don’t like horror films, but I love those crazy fans. Sci-fi fans, horror fans, fans who wait in lines, fans who collect insane amounts of memorabilia. They have passion. I don’t like apathy, and these folks are not apathetic. Even if I don’t get what they love, at least they love.

Good for them.

The other day someone on facebook–good ol’ facebook–posted about how he thought people who write fanfic are wasting their time. Well, okay. That’s his opinion. But he said he spent a lot of time trying to convince the fanfic writers how wrong they were to write their fan stories.

Would you try to convince these people they’re wasting their time? Is that true? Have you ever written fan fiction?

If you had (have) a novel published, and someone out there loved your characters so much, that person wrote more stories about the world you created, how would you feel? (And I don’t mean people who steal your work and call it their own. Maybe you still call it stealing, but if they’re honest about–hey, this is fan fiction–would you be bothered or flattered?

I’d be flattered.

A Mermaid Story

I came across a site I quite like, and the fellow over there is having a flash fiction writing challenge–a fairy tale upgrade in less than 1,000 words. The site is terribleminds.

The fairy tale upgrade is this.

The Mermaid

There are other fish in the sea and June Mintz is a fish that keeps getting reeled in. She tells herself to swim on by, to ignore the bait, but there is a weakness in heart that makes her bite.

Trent O’Connor lives to sail the sea of love and he is not a man who throws fish back. He has a smile that charms, but that is not what catches June the first time. He looks at her and says things like, “Tell me about that.” He says, “That must have been hard for you.” He says, “You’re a strong person to have gone through all your problems and survived.”

June believes the things he says means he cares. She thinks he is interested in where she has been and where she is going. She hopes that she is going into his arms and into his heart. But these are not the places he wants her to go.

Trent sees the harm he causes no more than a fisherman sees the blood on a hook. He notices, but he forgets. He says he remembers the important things.

This summer is long and hot. No breeze stirs the water. June stands on the pier and looks at the shadows of fish darting under the surface. Trent is talking to another girl back on the grass. The girl is pretty and young, shining in the heat.

The water shows the empty blue sky. June sips her wine and tries to remember why she accepted this party invitation. What fish has ever caught a fisherman?

She wonders how the ocean would feel on her skin. The girl’s laughter drifts over the grass and out over the water. The hot air is hard to breathe. June thinks about how there are so many fishermen in the world with nets and hooks. Every breath gets harder standing on the pier.

Trent is watching the shimmer of the girl’s hair, when the hostess taps him on the shoulder. “Have you seen June?” she asks.

“June? Oh. She’s on the pier.”

“No. Her glass is on the pier. And her purse. But I can’t find her anywhere.”

Trent, the girl, and the hostess walk onto the pier. They stare at the water. Something splashes off in the distance. “Look,” says the girl. “Did you see that fish?”

“I didn’t think there were any fish that size this close to shore,” the hostess said.

“Maybe it’s a mermaid,” Trent said. “I’d sell my soul to catch one of those.”

The Light around the Corner

Sending your work out into the world is an adventure–no matter the path.

E-publishing is a widening path these days, but that doesn’t make it easy.

Friend and colleague, Niamh Clune, launched her book a few weeks back, and due to technical difficulties, has had to launch the book again. Many lessons learned, including–Amazon isn’t as easy to deal with as it leads one to believe.

But when you’re putting your work out into the world and asking people to take part in it, you have to keep the faith. Things go wrong, you could take it as a sign that it isn’t meant to be. You could see it as a sign that you must really want what you say you want, that you must persevere.

I’ve seen women and men come to a speed practice, and never come back. Maybe the realized skating as fast as a person can wasn’t for them. Maybe they let the fear of the corner get the better of them.

Why do we say that anyway? Get the better of someone. Seems to me if you get what is better, they should come out shining, right?

Ah, language.

So, Niamh has worked hard and seen her efforts reach the light. See where it shines.

Find her book at Amazon.

Thank you. And keep writing. Don’t let those corners get you.

The Feminine in the Sky

A smart and talented woman I know wrote this book: The Coming of the Feminine Christ. (Which due to some technical difficulties, I’ve had to unlink to.)

at a church in London

This is not a review; I haven’t read the book yet. And this is not about your religion; I don’t need to know (and let’s not ruin a lovely relationship).

When I was a kid, my mother had a black tee-shirt that read in white script, “God is coming, and she is pissed.” My mother wore this in the 70s in our small hometown.

If she got any grief for it, she never said. (She was used to grief from people anyway.)

But my eight-year-old mind was stunned by that pronoun. She.

Not long after that I found a button in the bowling alley parking lot. It had been run over, but I could still read it. “A woman’s place is every place.” I pinned that button to my purse–my purse that held red rocks and barbies.

Sometimes I ask writing students to imagine how their lives would be different if they’d been born the opposite sex. My female students rarely have trouble with this. <My male students generally look horrified, make a joke about not being gay, and write either they'd go shopping and get married or that their lives wouldn't be different at all.

Sometimes I ask writing students to imagine a favorite character in fiction–and switch that character's gender. What if Harry Potter were Harriet? What if Batman were a woman–and I don't mean Batgirl. What if in Titanic you gave Leo Kate’s role and gave Kate Leo’s? What if James Bond were a woman?

(I’ve also asked them to change a famous character’s race or religion. Once I asked the students to imagine Edward from Twilight as Muslim…oh the expressions.)

Niamh Clune‘s book is not a game or a simple writing exercise. The book expresses a profound belief and way of seeing the world.

What are books about but seeing the world in a new way? (My mother used to say, “If you’re strong in your beliefs, you can always handle encountering someone else’s.”)

I’m looking forward to reading Niamh’s book. Maybe you would too.

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And for folks on Facebook, there is this.

Belief

Have you ever seen something–a garden gate perhaps, a picture hanging on a cafe wall, an odd, unexpected object in an odd and expected place–that made you stop and look again. That stirred your heart, maybe your gut, a place deep within?

I love connecting with a picture, a story, a random object.

Imagine if something I made did the same for someone else. Even if I never publish anything, connecting with someone through something I created would mean wonders.

When I was 16, I read this book, The Truth about Unicorns. I’ve blogged about it before. I loved that book so much, when I got to the end, I went straight back to the beginning and read it again. Why did I love it?

I don’t know.

But that book reached me. Maybe this is problem. I want to write a book like that book made me feel.

Or how Watership Down made me feel.

Or The Phantom Tollbooth.

Mama Day.

But how does one write a book like that?

I don’t know. But that’s why I write. Eight novels and a pile of short stories, and I haven’t written that story yet as far as I can tell. I believe in that story, and one day I’m going to write it.

What book do you aspire to?